August 14, 2008

I could’ve never imagined how I could suffer so many devastating blows in one day. Now life isn’t the same. It won’t be that way ever again. It’s brutally sad and scary beyond words how things can come crashing down so quickly. Life is prompted to be percieved as an exponentially trecherous scheme to aggravate and destroy it’s contestants. You have no idea…you’ll never know…even if I told you, you still wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t care. My perception of life and outlook on the world has been damned for all that was overlooked. A sword has struck my heart; a false message in a bottle has crashed to the floor and landed in a thousand broken pieces.

It contained all of my giddy, stupid hopes that were no more than rainbows – exactly so! Rainbows. Views that were so clearly unrealistic and foolish to ever believe. It doesn’t even matter anymore though. Alas, now I mourn at the shattered rainbows.

It started out a normal fine day, and now I see it as sheer horrid irony. I had an appointment to talk to my theripist. There have been numerous things on my mind this summer, so there was so much that I needed to say. And so I spoke of my paranoia that things wouldn’t be the same with my friends, along with all of my other worries. Then, she told me something. My theripist said that she would be leaving to go take care of her father. She told me it was similar to when my mom was busy taking care of my grandpa. She wasn’t around as much.
At first, I didn’t fully understand. She said that I could still email her, and maybe once in a while she could come back and we could talk.

I had been coming to talk to her ever since I was seven, and I found a sense of security and stability through seeing a theripist. Talking to someone besides Mom was a secondary referance that I could always fall back on. I bet you’re laughing now. Hey, look at me, I’m the crazy little girl who just lost her shrink! I never told any of my friends that I go to see a theripist, since they just wouldn’t understand. I didn’t need another reason for people to think I was strange; at least not in an insane way. But the truth is, I don’t think it’s someone’s fault if they have to see a psycologist. How is it? It’s not like I asked to have OCD and anxiety issues and everything. I just am…me. Suffice to say, I knew I couldn’t talk to anyone besides my mom about losing my theripist. If anything, I need people to think that I have it all together. After all, I think I do; more than some of my friends do, anyways.

Yet at the same time, I yearn for the whole world to feel bad for me. I deserve it, because of… everything…

I found it hard to swallow that my theripist would be quitting her practice; I didn’t know how to react. I told myself that I would get through it and this problem could be fixed. Luckily, she told my mom about another phycologist who words in the same building. Before I left, she handed me a small package wrapped in blue paper. She told me that I had come a long way, and that she was so proud of me. I knew that life was changing, but I kept my faith in hope.
I believed that I could hold on somehow.

When I opened up the package, it revealed to be a little book titled, “Believe & Achieve: Inspiration for the Journey Called Life.” On the inside, my theripist had written a message.
It said, “I will miss you very much. You are a strong person with countless gifts to offer the world and everyone you meet.”

As mom and I left the office today, I felt bittersweet emotions. On one hand, I felt accomplished and wise. My heart was warmed by the book, and even more by the thought behind it. At the same time, I felt like a part of my support system was gone, and vulnerable by the fact that I needed one to begin with. But I felt okay by and large, because…because I didn’t know. That’s why.

When I came home, I was thrilled to find out that I had recieved a letter in the mail from my friend Julie. We had just gotten to know each other this year, but we had so many things in common. If only we weren’t both so shy. Getting the letter was the best part of the day, but perhaps also the worst. Correction. Definately the worst.
Her letter was very sweet and filled with kind words. Julie’s handwriting was meticulously neat. My heart was warmed by her kind words, up to the part where she wrote,
Love from your friend who sincerly closes this letter with best wishes, Julie. If only the letter had ended there.

If that was the ultimate closing of the letter, then I wouldn’t have burst out into tears. But the last two sentences were the most defining part of the whole message, as well as the part that broke my heart. It read:
P.S. – I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t think I’m coming back to St. Anges next year. I want to stay in touch and do things together, no matter where I go to school.

For a moment, I stopped breathing. Tears trickled down my face nonstop. The last time I had been so shocked was when I found out that my grandpa died. I realized once and for all with monrose and penetrating sorrow just how cruel life can be. I lost January, just as I had lost two of my other friends who had gone to St. Agnes. Except, this time, Julie had the ultimate say. She chose to leave the school she went to forever. She had been accepted into a lottery school called Oscar’s that was meant to be more academically challenging. How could she do something so inexplicable haunting?

How could she give up Religion class and all of her friends..and being the smartest kid in school? But on the other hand, she took her SATs for crying out loud, and she’s only 13 years old. Nothing makes sense anymore. Well, maybe life stopped making sense a long time ago. I don’t know what I imagined. That we would develop a strong friendship in 8th grade and be BFFs forever? I’m not a fool, and I can’t say that I imagined that. But I thought if Julie came back, then things would be…I don’t know, more promising? Even with the paranoia of all of my friends suddenly abandoning me, I knew that Julie would always support me and never shun. After all, she did that for one of our other friends, who was a big gossiper. So I knew that Julie would definatly be friends with a weird girl like me, despite what anyone else thought. What was to become of my school days?

I remember how I couldn’t stop crying, and Mom knew why. After all, she had heard all about how Julie was considering going to Oscar’s, and she understood why it would be able to offer so much to Julie. Mom told me that now our friendship could blossem freely. True, we didn’t talk very much at school, but still. It’s not like anyone else would’ve objected to our friendship. And if so, then to hell with them!
None of my friends would’ve understood how much losting Julie could hurt me, just like how they couldn’t understand me seeing a theripist. When I really think about it, I know that I am not overestimating Julie or underestimating my ability and capability to stand on my own.

Friends forever…friends forever…friends forever… a part of me whispered. Why did fate have to be so bloody cruel? After all, I had already lost my grandfather, who meant more to me than all of my friends put together. It was only a matter of time before I lost someone else whom I also held dear.

“She was the one who taught me what forever meant!” I shouted. Whenever I heard someone say, “Life’s not fair,” I never believed that I would someday have to take so many blows as to acquire that knoweledge so sharply and thoroughly.
Well, it didn’t end there. Of course, another letter came in the mail today. It regarded academics, but in a different way than Julie’s letter had. It was from my school, St. Agnes, and it informed me that it would be best if I stayed in the regular math program for 8th grade, instead of taking advanced math. I wonder if my friends decided to take advanced math. Did my math teacher even know that I wanted to be in Math A? I had learned so much this year, and it would be such an honor if I could… it doesn’t matter. I tried to put it out of my mind, for I knew that I couldn’t deal with it today.
Not after everything else that I had gone through.

Even so, I still felt the additional sting of pain that was marked by a serious damage to my pride as a straight A high honor student. Oh, God, when will it all be over? Had I unconsciously predicted these misfortunes all along? I knew all hell would break lose at some point. It was inevitable. Now I’m afraid of sounding like every other teen who had a bad day. The sort who, at the end of the day, groans, “Life really sucks for me because…”
Well, though it’s pretty ironic, I now believe that not wanting to follow the crowd has done me some harm. If I wasn’t me, then would I be going through any of this crap right now? Would I have to worry about my (normal) friends abandoning me? Would I have been so captivated by Julie or close to my grandfather as that my whole world would shatter at the thought of them leaving me? The scary part is, it’s going to be more than a though – it will be an unbelievable reality.

Damn, what am I going to do now? Sadly, I am ashamed to say that on this occasion, I do not wish to be an individual out of courage. The reason why I do not want to sound like every other angsty teen is not because I want to stop feeling sorry for myself. It is because of the opposite reason. I do want to be pitied right now. I wish for people to feel sorry for me, so I can almost feel special. I know, this is so terrible, to have sunk this low, but I swear, I’m not the only one in the world who has! Other people are ten times more superficial than I am, and they actually have the nerve to show it! Then again, I could be dishonest because I don’t show my contemptable side to my peers or friends. But then again, I wouldn’t care if they saw me at my breaking point in a time like this.

I mean, people have seen me freak out numerous times, yet they still must believe that I mean well.

But now, oh, nothing will ever be the same again!
I’ve gone from a pitiful complainer to a blithering idiot and back and forth again. I have started to weep but only finished for the day; I’ve taken my blows but most likely not all of them, and I still haven’t fought any of my battles.

I have to fight my own battles, but without fighting at all. Something that was justly and positively powerful wouldn’t assist in fighting, but feeling…

As I recall the words I wrote so recently, I pray that in the midst of this chaos, I can find the goodness of what once was in order to get me through.

Maybe I am crazy and melodramatic, but I can still identify with myself and others.

I fervantly, intently, and considerably quickly wrote back to Julie today.
I remember in my long letter, one thing I recall writing was, “you are an angel, and now it is time to spread your wings.”

I can believe the first part of the statement, and perhaps someday the second part will hold the same meaning for me as it may for Julie.
She should not let anything keep her from flying, but I really, really, wish/don’t believe that she should leave St. Agnes.

In the past, crazy things have led to wonderful and astounding innovations. So I believe that in Julie’s case, a multitude of possibilities are capable of happening.
She could find a cure for cancer or…or simply move on. But I hope that she will not forget her memories.

Her mind is keen and her heart is pure, so I can’t imagine that she will forget her years at St. Agnes School or our religion teacher or the rest of our friends.

While my heart is still bleeding and broken, my eyes can still see the hidden valley (not the salad dressing!) of relatively believable hope. I will not lie.
I feel as though I have lost my therapist, my potential best friend and/or future school year, as well as my academic self respect in one day.

Though something keeps me going, my heart still cries. It cries for what could have been, what never will be, what used to be, and what is. Still, it gives a little smile for what could still be, and also for what is. The question is, what could it be?

Hopefully,

Me

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One of my journal entries. Names of people and places have been changed for privacy reasons.

updated Aug 25 '09 by SaveTheUnicorns