- To
- Be
- Written
- Later
I even procrastinate posting things on my own blog... something I do for fun... aha... XD
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
TBWL
I even procrastinate posting things on my own blog... something I do for fun... aha... XD
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Halving the Bones Paper - Rough Draft
Cinéma vérité
Vibrantly colored, helium-filled balloons and the joyous cracks of a $2 noisemaker engulf a dining room in the aura of “Happy Birthday!” as a little brother’s face is smashed mercilessly into a double chocolate cake. That same little brother’s mother whips out a disposable camera and exclaims, “Say cheese!” Later, the mother will develop her film, and paste the freshly recorded event into a family album. Will a single photo capture the essence of the occasion? Will it capture the smells, the sounds, the guests’ thoughts, and their laughter? How should she, and how should we, as a humanity, go about recording our families’ histories? Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury asks the same question of her viewers in the opening of her documentary: Halving the Bones. Coincidentally, Halving the Bones is Ozeki’s answer to her own question. In this film, she leads her viewers on a complex journey through her family’s past. She presents her grandmother’s “written autobiography” of her immigration to the US, and then tells the tale of her mother, the cancer. Though this film seems to be a simple documentary of a Japanese immigrant and her offspring, Halving the Bones is entrenched with excepts of film previously recorded for some other purpose and ideas that simply do not match up. Even so, Halving the Bones is a reflexive documentary – it follows the approach, style, and technique of any other documentary, it just does so in a fashion that challenges the foundation of documentary filmmaking.
The general approach to making a documentary is to convey a message by enlightening viewers on a certain topic. In Halving the Bones, the surface topic in need of enlightenment is Ruth Lounsbury’s family’s history, but through the layers of her film, viewers can find the true topic. This is a film about race and family. It begins with the tale of Ozeki’s grandmother: a Japanese girl of 18, Matsuye, is sent to Hawaii to marry an American man she knows only by a picture. The two eventually become intimate enough for Matsuye to “develop cancer.” After a small trip to Japan to determine that the cancer she had developed was merely Masako Ozeki Lounsbury, Matsuye returns to Hawaii, where she raises her child. Masako graduates from high school but cannot find a job. Americans in Hawaii did not approve of those of the yellow peril. Japanese people were inscrutable, they were not worthy of trust. Due to her unsuccessful endeavors in America, Masako returns to Japan to expand on her education. She ventures back and forth between the two countries and ultimately receives a PhD from Yale. At last, Masako reaps her reward for all of her arduous work. Yet she forgoes her accomplishments to create a family with her husband. Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury is born. Ruth grows up in a world that is accustomed to belittling anyone or anything that is Japanese. During WWII, her grandfather was put into an internment camp. She wants to be an American, so she hides her Japanese pride. There were no other Japanese people in Connecticut. She was alone. Ruth becomes disconnected with her family due to her shame, and finally, she is left with her grandmother’s bones. She does not know what to do with them. Ozeki shows us how difficult it must have been to live as a Japanese person during the times that she, her mother, and her grandmother did. She shows us how American hate for all things Japanese can tear a family apart. Her approach is that of a filmmaker creating a documentary – there is a message, and she uses her fiction to proclaim it to all those who wish to examine it.
Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury employs the essence of documentary style, but challenges the foundation of the documentary genre by just barley fitting her picture into the framework of that style. Throughout the film, there are scenes that are frequently desaturated, tinted, or edited in some sort of manner. The general documentary does not contain edited images. Premeditated camera shots align this film. Ozeki shoots footage of her mother preparing a turkey from outside her home to give her viewers a complete perspective of the activity. In a typical documentary, all camera shots are taken as the action happens. They are not taken as long drawn out processes so that the viewer can observe the action upfront and watch as it unfolds. She uses excerpts of film that she did not even record as evidence to the facts she narrates. In a standard documentary, all of the footage is genuine. None of it is taken from anywhere but the filmmaker’s work. She takes her challenge a step further by employing actors to play some of the roles of her family members. There are no actors in common documentary. Multiple times in the film, Ozeki states, “I just made this up.” She undermines the foundation of her film – facts. She questions the documentary genre as a whole by making her viewers question her credibility as a narrator. Her narrative voice is split into three: an American voice, an American voice with a Japanese accent, and a Japanese voice. She undermines herself by using these multiple voices. It is unclear as to why there is a different voice narrating different sections of the film. If Ozeki cannot be trusted telling her own family’s story, how can trust between viewers and documentaries be established? Even though Halving the Bones questions its own genre, and shakes its own foundation, factual information is delivered through the use of film, voice, camera angles, editing, and characters. It is a documentary.
The technique of assembly in this film is surprisingly more relatable to that of a classic documentary. Ruth conducts interviews with her mother much as any other director constructing a documentary would. She sets up her equipment, and starts an interview. Ruth leads her mother, Masako, into commenting on certain items that belonged to her mother, Matsuye. The only difference between Ruth’s interview and a general documentary’s interview is that Ruth’s interview pertains to her personally, and she takes part in the discussion as herself. She steps away from the camera to play her part. Filmmakers creating a documentary generally have no connection to the action or dialogue. They are simply there to record happenings of the world. Candid scenes are not found in everyday documentaries. They are found in Halving the Bones, but there is an authenticity in their falsehood. Masako is a very well learned woman, but she acts as if she is a mere simple old lady on camera. Through her fake demeanor, she reveals that she is a reserved woman who does not take well to having her privacy invaded. Ruth’s narration is another element of her film that relates better to that of classical documentary. Even though her voice is split into three, it is still there as a guide through the film. It serves its purpose in Halving the Bones as it would in any other documentary.
The fact that Halving the Bones is an extremely abstract and complicated film affects the narrative. The viewers of such a film as this are much too lost or confused to look through the multiple layers. They are simply trying to piece together the main plot of the film. The messages that Ozeki wants to convey are not presented as profoundly as they could have been, but because of the extreme abstraction, another point is made: it is a formidable task to prepare a family album.
Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury has tried her best to preserve her family’s memories and stories. She has attempted to preserve life with the best medium she could think of – film. She has created an elaborate mess of adventures, blended them together, and asked her viewers to unscramble them. She even goes as far as to layer in her feelings about how America treated Japanese people. She layers in relationships between her and her family members. She exposes her mother for who she is. She creates a double chocolate cake for the mind, and after the brain has processed every single morsel, a greater level of satisfaction is reached. There is a greater understanding of Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury. This is the point of documentary film, and this is why Halving the Bones is a documentary.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There's shit in here that needs to be fixed, but overall I'm pretty proud of this draft. Woohoo!
Vibrantly colored, helium-filled balloons and the joyous cracks of a $2 noisemaker engulf a dining room in the aura of “Happy Birthday!” as a little brother’s face is smashed mercilessly into a double chocolate cake. That same little brother’s mother whips out a disposable camera and exclaims, “Say cheese!” Later, the mother will develop her film, and paste the freshly recorded event into a family album. Will a single photo capture the essence of the occasion? Will it capture the smells, the sounds, the guests’ thoughts, and their laughter? How should she, and how should we, as a humanity, go about recording our families’ histories? Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury asks the same question of her viewers in the opening of her documentary: Halving the Bones. Coincidentally, Halving the Bones is Ozeki’s answer to her own question. In this film, she leads her viewers on a complex journey through her family’s past. She presents her grandmother’s “written autobiography” of her immigration to the US, and then tells the tale of her mother, the cancer. Though this film seems to be a simple documentary of a Japanese immigrant and her offspring, Halving the Bones is entrenched with excepts of film previously recorded for some other purpose and ideas that simply do not match up. Even so, Halving the Bones is a reflexive documentary – it follows the approach, style, and technique of any other documentary, it just does so in a fashion that challenges the foundation of documentary filmmaking.
The general approach to making a documentary is to convey a message by enlightening viewers on a certain topic. In Halving the Bones, the surface topic in need of enlightenment is Ruth Lounsbury’s family’s history, but through the layers of her film, viewers can find the true topic. This is a film about race and family. It begins with the tale of Ozeki’s grandmother: a Japanese girl of 18, Matsuye, is sent to Hawaii to marry an American man she knows only by a picture. The two eventually become intimate enough for Matsuye to “develop cancer.” After a small trip to Japan to determine that the cancer she had developed was merely Masako Ozeki Lounsbury, Matsuye returns to Hawaii, where she raises her child. Masako graduates from high school but cannot find a job. Americans in Hawaii did not approve of those of the yellow peril. Japanese people were inscrutable, they were not worthy of trust. Due to her unsuccessful endeavors in America, Masako returns to Japan to expand on her education. She ventures back and forth between the two countries and ultimately receives a PhD from Yale. At last, Masako reaps her reward for all of her arduous work. Yet she forgoes her accomplishments to create a family with her husband. Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury is born. Ruth grows up in a world that is accustomed to belittling anyone or anything that is Japanese. During WWII, her grandfather was put into an internment camp. She wants to be an American, so she hides her Japanese pride. There were no other Japanese people in Connecticut. She was alone. Ruth becomes disconnected with her family due to her shame, and finally, she is left with her grandmother’s bones. She does not know what to do with them. Ozeki shows us how difficult it must have been to live as a Japanese person during the times that she, her mother, and her grandmother did. She shows us how American hate for all things Japanese can tear a family apart. Her approach is that of a filmmaker creating a documentary – there is a message, and she uses her fiction to proclaim it to all those who wish to examine it.
Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury employs the essence of documentary style, but challenges the foundation of the documentary genre by just barley fitting her picture into the framework of that style. Throughout the film, there are scenes that are frequently desaturated, tinted, or edited in some sort of manner. The general documentary does not contain edited images. Premeditated camera shots align this film. Ozeki shoots footage of her mother preparing a turkey from outside her home to give her viewers a complete perspective of the activity. In a typical documentary, all camera shots are taken as the action happens. They are not taken as long drawn out processes so that the viewer can observe the action upfront and watch as it unfolds. She uses excerpts of film that she did not even record as evidence to the facts she narrates. In a standard documentary, all of the footage is genuine. None of it is taken from anywhere but the filmmaker’s work. She takes her challenge a step further by employing actors to play some of the roles of her family members. There are no actors in common documentary. Multiple times in the film, Ozeki states, “I just made this up.” She undermines the foundation of her film – facts. She questions the documentary genre as a whole by making her viewers question her credibility as a narrator. Her narrative voice is split into three: an American voice, an American voice with a Japanese accent, and a Japanese voice. She undermines herself by using these multiple voices. It is unclear as to why there is a different voice narrating different sections of the film. If Ozeki cannot be trusted telling her own family’s story, how can trust between viewers and documentaries be established? Even though Halving the Bones questions its own genre, and shakes its own foundation, factual information is delivered through the use of film, voice, camera angles, editing, and characters. It is a documentary.
The technique of assembly in this film is surprisingly more relatable to that of a classic documentary. Ruth conducts interviews with her mother much as any other director constructing a documentary would. She sets up her equipment, and starts an interview. Ruth leads her mother, Masako, into commenting on certain items that belonged to her mother, Matsuye. The only difference between Ruth’s interview and a general documentary’s interview is that Ruth’s interview pertains to her personally, and she takes part in the discussion as herself. She steps away from the camera to play her part. Filmmakers creating a documentary generally have no connection to the action or dialogue. They are simply there to record happenings of the world. Candid scenes are not found in everyday documentaries. They are found in Halving the Bones, but there is an authenticity in their falsehood. Masako is a very well learned woman, but she acts as if she is a mere simple old lady on camera. Through her fake demeanor, she reveals that she is a reserved woman who does not take well to having her privacy invaded. Ruth’s narration is another element of her film that relates better to that of classical documentary. Even though her voice is split into three, it is still there as a guide through the film. It serves its purpose in Halving the Bones as it would in any other documentary.
The fact that Halving the Bones is an extremely abstract and complicated film affects the narrative. The viewers of such a film as this are much too lost or confused to look through the multiple layers. They are simply trying to piece together the main plot of the film. The messages that Ozeki wants to convey are not presented as profoundly as they could have been, but because of the extreme abstraction, another point is made: it is a formidable task to prepare a family album.
Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury has tried her best to preserve her family’s memories and stories. She has attempted to preserve life with the best medium she could think of – film. She has created an elaborate mess of adventures, blended them together, and asked her viewers to unscramble them. She even goes as far as to layer in her feelings about how America treated Japanese people. She layers in relationships between her and her family members. She exposes her mother for who she is. She creates a double chocolate cake for the mind, and after the brain has processed every single morsel, a greater level of satisfaction is reached. There is a greater understanding of Ruth Ozeki Lounsbury. This is the point of documentary film, and this is why Halving the Bones is a documentary.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There's shit in here that needs to be fixed, but overall I'm pretty proud of this draft. Woohoo!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Persepolis II
Amazing.
Awesome.
For me, this is one of the best novels I've ever read.
I connect so well with Marji sometimes.
Graphic novels are mind-blowing when done right!
Go read these - they're great!
Dinner Last Night
soooooooooooooo amazing
I want more of that cake...
reallllly bad...
I ate so much foooooooood!
:]
I want more of that cake...
reallllly bad...
I ate so much foooooooood!
:]
Now What?
Marc [x]
David [x]
Michael [x]
Sennate [x]
Only one left is College 8 kid...
but he's from College 8...
...douchebags live there!!
Boy oh boy, I hate boys.
David [x]
Michael [x]
Sennate [x]
Only one left is College 8 kid...
but he's from College 8...
...douchebags live there!!
Boy oh boy, I hate boys.
Laundry Parties
... bonding time
"I've got a load of whites... anyone have any more that need to be cleaned?"
"Yay we can share bras!"
"Go get your scarf! We gotta show everyone creeper Asher!"
"Darlene, can I put my pants in your washer? They're not really clean yet."
"I hate this book. I relate to it too much."
"It's okay, we love you."
Thank you, guys.
Good laundry party.
"I've got a load of whites... anyone have any more that need to be cleaned?"
"Yay we can share bras!"
"Go get your scarf! We gotta show everyone creeper Asher!"
"Darlene, can I put my pants in your washer? They're not really clean yet."
"I hate this book. I relate to it too much."
"It's okay, we love you."
Thank you, guys.
Good laundry party.
Colllllllld
"Will you take care of me?"
"You're none of my business."
Well, he def doesn't like me :( lol
>.< "You guys are doing laundry? That's freakin' awesome." "Do you need to do any? It'll be fun! Laundry party woooo!" "No, not really." /backtozombie Way to not even fucking look at me, David
... I hate boys
"You're none of my business."
Well, he def doesn't like me :( lol
>.< "You guys are doing laundry? That's freakin' awesome." "Do you need to do any? It'll be fun! Laundry party woooo!" "No, not really." /backtozombie Way to not even fucking look at me, David
... I hate boys
Friday, October 23, 2009
Sennate
Hello cute boy, how are you doing?
..!
ZOOOOMG CUTE BOOOOY
*ALARM*
ringringringringring
IN OTHER NEWS:
DAVID ATE DINNER WITH US LAST NIGHT!
...then proceeded to be whisked away by his B5 North "friends."
...I'm gonna hurt those 'lil beezys one day~ fuck you Sub-Free Hall!!
It's gonna be so awesome when David finally comes out of his shell...
He's gonna be even more fun!
Wooohooooo :]
Astronomy midterm today! SCURRRY.
But, I am prepared.
& I am happy.
..!
ZOOOOMG CUTE BOOOOY
*ALARM*
ringringringringring
IN OTHER NEWS:
DAVID ATE DINNER WITH US LAST NIGHT!
...then proceeded to be whisked away by his B5 North "friends."
...I'm gonna hurt those 'lil beezys one day~ fuck you Sub-Free Hall!!
It's gonna be so awesome when David finally comes out of his shell...
He's gonna be even more fun!
Wooohooooo :]
Astronomy midterm today! SCURRRY.
But, I am prepared.
& I am happy.
Urban Dictionary #4
| last texter | ||
| → That friend that always sends you a meaningless text after the obvious end of a text conversation, just to get the last text. They do this while totally oblivious to their uncontrollable habit. "OMG, Jan is SUCH a last texter it drives me crazy. The other day, she sent me a text 'K' back after I texted her 'don't text me, in a meeting.' So then I had to dig out my phone again to clear it so it wouldn't keep vibrating for the rest of the meeting" | ||
THESE PEOPLE DRIVE ME INSANE!
!!! Awesome
http://www.cnn.com/2009/POLITICS/10/22/hate.crimes/index.html?eref=rss_politics
Hate crimes bill goes to Obama for signature
WASHINGTON (CNN) -- The Senate passed groundbreaking legislation Thursday that would make it a federal crime to assault an individual because of his or her sexual orientation or gender identity.
The expanded federal hate crimes law now goes to President Obama's desk. Obama has pledged to sign the measure, which was added to a $680 billion defense authorization bill.
President George W. Bush had threatened to veto a similar measure.
The bill is named for Matthew Shepard, a gay Wyoming teenager who died after being kidnapped and severely beaten in October 1998, and James Byrd Jr., an African-American man dragged to death in Texas the same year.
"Knowing that the president will sign it, unlike his predecessor, has made all the hard work this year to pass it worthwhile," said Judy Shepard, board president of the Matthew Shepard Foundation named for her son. "Hate crimes continue to affect far too many Americans who are simply trying to live their lives honestly, and they need to know that their government will protect them from violence, and provide appropriate justice for victims and their families."
Several religious groups have expressed concern that a hate-crimes law could be used to criminalize conservative speech relating to subjects such as abortion or homosexuality.
Attorney General Eric Holder has asserted that any federal hate-crimes law would be used only to prosecute violent acts based on bias, as opposed to the prosecution of speech based on controversial racial or religious beliefs.
Holder called Thursday's 68-29 Senate vote to approve the defense spending bill that included the hate crimes measure "a milestone in helping protect Americans from the most heinous bias-motivated violence."
"The passage of this legislation will give the Justice Department and our state and local law enforcement partners the tools we need to deter and prosecute these acts of violence," he said in a statement.
Joe Solmonese, president of the Human Rights Campaign, called the measure "our nation's first major piece of civil rights legislation for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people."
"Too many in our community have been devastated by hate violence," Solmonese said in a statement. "We now can begin the important steps to erasing hate in our country."
This month, Obama told the Human Rights Campaign, the country's largest gay rights group, that the nation still needs to make significant changes to ensure equal rights for gays and lesbians.
"Despite the progress we've made, there are still laws to change and hearts to open," he said during his address at the dinner for the Human Rights Campaign. "This fight continues now, and I'm here with the simple message: I'm here with you in that fight."
Among other things, Obama has called for the repeal of the ban on gays serving openly in the military, the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. He also has urged Congress to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act and pass the Domestic Partners Benefit and Obligations Act.
The Defense of Marriage Act defines marriage, for federal purposes, as a legal union between a man and a woman. It allows states to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages. The Domestic Partners Benefit and Obligations Act would extend family benefits now available to heterosexual federal employees to gay and lesbian federal workers.
More than 77,000 hate-crime incidents were reported by the FBI between 1998 and 2007, or "nearly one hate crime for every hour of every day over the span of a decade," Holder told the Senate Judiciary Committee in June.
The FBI, Holder added, reported 7,624 hate-crime incidents in 2007, the most current year with complete data.Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Urban Dictionary #3
| Procrasturbating | ||
| → Using masturbation to otherwise occupy yourself while pressing matters await. "I had a paper due today, but I spent all night procrasturbating, so fuck that noise." | ||
Developments II
First of all - giving up on David
Silly boys make me cry...
NOW: D E V E L O P M E N T S!
Michael Rubino has someone at home?
...what?
↑ My mind fucking exploding.
Has he been lying to the WHOLE 5th floor?
HOLY FREAKIN' SHIT!
The intensity, it is so intense.
What a fabulous plot twist!
Hrrrm... Sweedish guy in Econ is kinda cute, but he smells funny...
THE SEARCH CONTINUES!
dundunduuuuun
PS: I love Juila, Noms with her are soooo delicious!
& Allyson brought me fresh undies ♥
I love her, too.
Silly boys make me cry...
NOW: D E V E L O P M E N T S!
Michael Rubino has someone at home?
...what?
↑ My mind fucking exploding.
Has he been lying to the WHOLE 5th floor?
HOLY FREAKIN' SHIT!
The intensity, it is so intense.
What a fabulous plot twist!
Hrrrm... Sweedish guy in Econ is kinda cute, but he smells funny...
THE SEARCH CONTINUES!
dundunduuuuun
PS: I love Juila, Noms with her are soooo delicious!
& Allyson brought me fresh undies ♥
I love her, too.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Urban Dictionary #2
| broner | ||
| → A slang term used to explain the phenomenon during which a fiercly heterosexual male achieves an erection (or, "boner") for or while in the company of one of his male friends (or, "bros"). This may only occur while engaging in all-male activities, particularly those which include feats of strength or displays of hyper-masculinity. Upon achieving a broner, the man in question is often known to exclaim, "dude, suck that shit!" or "meet me in the shower." "The way you creamed that linebacker gave me a total broner." | ||
Today:
is going to be an interesting day...
Watch it, sooooooon.
Today will be inspired by:
"Oh, he thought you didn't like him."
and
"Hey, I really freakin' like you."
...intense shit.
TODAY
WILL NOT BE INSPIRED
BY STUPID BOYS
THAT CANNOT GET OUT OF THEIR BOXES!
....!!
>.< ...at least he wasn't ignoring me ._. Today- Michael Rubino's story continues. The "Jerk" ...I like him <.>
Watch it, sooooooon.
Today will be inspired by:
"Oh, he thought you didn't like him."
and
"Hey, I really freakin' like you."
...intense shit.
TODAY
WILL NOT BE INSPIRED
BY STUPID BOYS
THAT CANNOT GET OUT OF THEIR BOXES!
....!!
>.< ...at least he wasn't ignoring me ._. Today- Michael Rubino's story continues. The "Jerk" ...I like him <.>
Developments
Michael Rubino doesn't hate me
David is very afraid of change
Ryan is hilarious high
Pranov is really drunk
...Senate is really cute
MARK IS SUPER COOL!! :]
That is all. Sleepy time.
(Please be ok Pranov >.<)
David is very afraid of change
Ryan is hilarious high
Pranov is really drunk
...Senate is really cute
MARK IS SUPER COOL!! :]
That is all. Sleepy time.
(Please be ok Pranov >.<)
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The Quill
New Link: http://thequillnews.wordpress.com/
Friend's blog - hilarious takes on random stuff... :]
"Untitled Webcomic! is a DIY webcomic that is updated on Tuesdays and Thursday, with other UW-related things appearing on various other days. The humor ranges from very nerdy to very stupid, and it makes fun of subjects such as computers, programming, existentialism, other webcomics, the Pope, roombas, animals, pop culture, music, historical events, stick figures, and many other topics. Also, strong language appears really fuckin' frequently in these comics. Because the writers of Untitled Webcomic! are constantly playing a game chicken with the border of tastefullness, viewer discretion is advised."
Friend's blog - hilarious takes on random stuff... :]
"Untitled Webcomic! is a DIY webcomic that is updated on Tuesdays and Thursday, with other UW-related things appearing on various other days. The humor ranges from very nerdy to very stupid, and it makes fun of subjects such as computers, programming, existentialism, other webcomics, the Pope, roombas, animals, pop culture, music, historical events, stick figures, and many other topics. Also, strong language appears really fuckin' frequently in these comics. Because the writers of Untitled Webcomic! are constantly playing a game chicken with the border of tastefullness, viewer discretion is advised."
Femme de Lumière Outline Part 1
3rd person limited
parents were royalty
describe mom
describe dad
Instant Targets
hide from world
trying to live life normally
invasion of city
introduction to the haggers
called out for who you are
sentenced to death
hidden child
1st person
that was me
watch execution - beheading
running the fuck away
starving
cold
nasty smelling
miserable
homeless
alone
day-to-day
a cat
a back door
a warm glow
a family
observing happiness
a stranger
startled
wide eyes
my figure - skinny
wonder
being taken in
given affection
- food / drink
- a bath
- clothes
cat comes to play
a good night's sleep
warm blankets
soft skin
experiences- happy times w/rescuers
bliss to build a relationship
school
class mostly boring
interest in military
elementary friends
military games
telling of interest
but you're a girl
ok, if it makes you happy
off to school
a girl at a military school?
showin the bastards up
ms independent
want to get some food sometime?
a boy
what are boys
why do i feel like this?
new emotions
a hug
a kiss
a lot of kisses
confusion
really showin the boys up
getting attention
developing
do you know what sex is?
could be called rape
top of the class
graduation
separation
off to the military
boot camp
guns
swords
losing half my sight
artillery
fun stuff.
http://www.militaryschoolalternatives.com/index.html - for research
parents were royalty
describe mom
describe dad
Instant Targets
hide from world
trying to live life normally
invasion of city
introduction to the haggers
called out for who you are
sentenced to death
hidden child
1st person
that was me
watch execution - beheading
running the fuck away
starving
cold
nasty smelling
miserable
homeless
alone
day-to-day
a cat
a back door
a warm glow
a family
observing happiness
a stranger
startled
wide eyes
my figure - skinny
wonder
being taken in
given affection
- food / drink
- a bath
- clothes
cat comes to play
a good night's sleep
warm blankets
soft skin
experiences- happy times w/rescuers
bliss to build a relationship
school
class mostly boring
interest in military
elementary friends
military games
telling of interest
but you're a girl
ok, if it makes you happy
off to school
a girl at a military school?
showin the bastards up
ms independent
want to get some food sometime?
a boy
what are boys
why do i feel like this?
new emotions
a hug
a kiss
a lot of kisses
confusion
really showin the boys up
getting attention
developing
do you know what sex is?
could be called rape
top of the class
graduation
separation
off to the military
boot camp
guns
swords
losing half my sight
artillery
fun stuff.
http://www.militaryschoolalternatives.com/index.html - for research
Slaughterhouse Five
Read this in AP English last year!Awesome ass novel - it's funny, depressing, amazing, historical, insane, and it has a point. It makes ya think a bit, too.
Go read it. You will be pleased.
Outline of "Are You Scared Yet?"
Some happy family experience... learning to shoot w/dad... going home for noms after... bliss
Attack on village - heroine's father goes down
escape from village
the horse and the carriage
managing to live
the first city - devastation of war
observation of the guild & calvin
the second city - meeting shu (hes lagging behind for some hilarious reason)
traveling with potatoe
pitfall
the cave
the SHIT INSIDE THE CAVE
victory
arrival at the metropolis
meeting vryali & tememn - the bffs
inspiration
meeting classy & looty - the secretary &the absent one who cares
observation of a meeting
wtf is that guy doing?
meeting calvin - the bastard fisherman
admittance to the guild & chat with the JB darlin'
Puddin runs the guild's bar
drinks with KJ - the sweetheart, DP - the bad influence, and Rhae - the kind of crazy guy
Jack is a bard. lol
observation of Az angry in a corner (♥ Az XD)
the next day:
off to breakfast!
Halo runs the bakery in town
observation of Furen being entranced by the pretty cakes in the bakery
observation of Draez purchasing his petit pains
observation of Wiggles and BigAl with their faces stuffed with pie - eating contest!!
On the street:
Humi, Trey, and Amethyst - trey thinks he is a damned pimp, but the girls put him in his place! teehee :3
PT following Calvin around asking "how i mine for fish"
Calvin going to fish market - explaining things to PT while fighting over fish market w/Deme
Meeting w/Leader Vry & JB
noticing Ari behind JB
Mission statement: helping the war effort
but for now, you're still a scrub, so go explore
Ari
departure
travel
observations of nature
sleeping - leaves awakening
do you mind if i tag along?
awkwardness
persistence pays off
some smiles and laughter
arrival
um, wtf are we doing?
oh good god - ominous feelings
ninjaing through
sighting of the goal
fighting
loss
panic
corner
sandwich
sweat, breath
shuuuush
a strike
WHAT?! That's out of character!
tending wounds
going to my new "home"
reunion
Attack on village - heroine's father goes down
escape from village
the horse and the carriage
managing to live
the first city - devastation of war
observation of the guild & calvin
the second city - meeting shu (hes lagging behind for some hilarious reason)
traveling with potatoe
pitfall
the cave
the SHIT INSIDE THE CAVE
victory
arrival at the metropolis
meeting vryali & tememn - the bffs
inspiration
meeting classy & looty - the secretary &the absent one who cares
observation of a meeting
wtf is that guy doing?
meeting calvin - the bastard fisherman
admittance to the guild & chat with the JB darlin'
Puddin runs the guild's bar
drinks with KJ - the sweetheart, DP - the bad influence, and Rhae - the kind of crazy guy
Jack is a bard. lol
observation of Az angry in a corner (♥ Az XD)
the next day:
off to breakfast!
Halo runs the bakery in town
observation of Furen being entranced by the pretty cakes in the bakery
observation of Draez purchasing his petit pains
observation of Wiggles and BigAl with their faces stuffed with pie - eating contest!!
On the street:
Humi, Trey, and Amethyst - trey thinks he is a damned pimp, but the girls put him in his place! teehee :3
PT following Calvin around asking "how i mine for fish"
Calvin going to fish market - explaining things to PT while fighting over fish market w/Deme
Meeting w/Leader Vry & JB
noticing Ari behind JB
Mission statement: helping the war effort
but for now, you're still a scrub, so go explore
Ari
departure
travel
observations of nature
sleeping - leaves awakening
do you mind if i tag along?
awkwardness
persistence pays off
some smiles and laughter
arrival
um, wtf are we doing?
oh good god - ominous feelings
ninjaing through
sighting of the goal
fighting
loss
panic
corner
sandwich
sweat, breath
shuuuush
a strike
WHAT?! That's out of character!
tending wounds
going to my new "home"
reunion
Sophie's World
This is a novel I read my sophomore year in AP Euro...It's like a philosophy textbook and a novel in one...
The story is compelling, and the "textbook" part isn't God awful. You want to read the philosophy so you can get back to and understand the story!
Great novel - I recommend this book to anyone who loves a read to make you think... it's wonderfully put together.
:]
Femme de Lumière Ideas (Woman of Light)
NEED A NAME!
One eye
Dark features, light eye, eye patch
dark horse
Corsair-like garb; thigh high boots, kinda British style
THIS
PLUS THIS
AND THIS
...with some tweaking ...and less cat-girlness
the dress - like this, but purple (purple = royalty)
brown hair - tied like cornelia's
2 rapiers & a gun pew pew bad ass
around napolean's era (weapons, tactics)
on the field: strong, independent, sexy, fucking bad ass, smart
off the field: witty, sweet, loving, beautiful
known for: "the one eyed goodbye" - when the opposing army surrenders, one eye is taken from each man, and the men are told to not return - if a 1 eyed man is caught fighting again, he will be taken prisoner, and tortured until he A) dies during torture B) asks to die (beheading, escorted by a beautiful woman) C) becomes an inquisitor - the inquisitors will not kill intentionally, some mistakes will be made though! all prisoners are given a pen and paper... the system is there to not take life from the opposing team, but to remind them that war is shitty by disabling them a bit... if they come back... then its lights out... don't fuck w/this country lol
dies during childbirth
husband commits suicide when child is 5 or 6, his whole story is finding lumi a home
lumi's story begins ~ bringer of joy
narrative transition:
main (Woman of Light) → her man (Man of Shadow) → her child (Child of Dawn)
"I've been able to withstand the pain of the world because I can only see half of it."
inspired by one of my favorite figures in history:
and this guy:
...the shit I come up with in the shower is ridiculous
One eye
Dark features, light eye, eye patch
dark horse
Corsair-like garb; thigh high boots, kinda British style
THIS
PLUS THIS
AND THIS
...with some tweaking ...and less cat-girlness
the dress - like this, but purple (purple = royalty)
brown hair - tied like cornelia's
2 rapiers & a gun pew pew bad ass
around napolean's era (weapons, tactics)
on the field: strong, independent, sexy, fucking bad ass, smart
off the field: witty, sweet, loving, beautiful
known for: "the one eyed goodbye" - when the opposing army surrenders, one eye is taken from each man, and the men are told to not return - if a 1 eyed man is caught fighting again, he will be taken prisoner, and tortured until he A) dies during torture B) asks to die (beheading, escorted by a beautiful woman) C) becomes an inquisitor - the inquisitors will not kill intentionally, some mistakes will be made though! all prisoners are given a pen and paper... the system is there to not take life from the opposing team, but to remind them that war is shitty by disabling them a bit... if they come back... then its lights out... don't fuck w/this country lol
dies during childbirth
husband commits suicide when child is 5 or 6, his whole story is finding lumi a home
lumi's story begins ~ bringer of joy
narrative transition:
main (Woman of Light) → her man (Man of Shadow) → her child (Child of Dawn)
"I've been able to withstand the pain of the world because I can only see half of it."
inspired by one of my favorite figures in history:
and this guy:
...the shit I come up with in the shower is ridiculous
Oh Shit
Kim just walked in with a guy...
Oh dear lord.
...I'm going to sleep...
AWKWAAARRRDDD.
...Kim is not a slut, btw.
That's just her favorite video, ever, and it fits really well...
Oh dear lord.
...I'm going to sleep...
AWKWAAARRRDDD.
...Kim is not a slut, btw.
That's just her favorite video, ever, and it fits really well...
Persepolis
Great graphic novel by Marjane Satrapinot manga.
GRAPHIC NOVEL!!
Story of a girl growing up in Iran during the revolution
It's very good - and you can read it in one day
There's also a sequel; but I haven't finished reading that yet.
First Rain Wiki
→ First Rain is an annual event held at the University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC) beginning at Porter College. It is also known as Naked Run and Porter Run. During the first rainfall of the school year, students run naked through the campus, starting at Porter College at 10:10pm, stopping in each college and gathering more runners, before returning to Porter for a drum circle. To officially be considered "first rain", it must have been raining from at least 7:00pm-10:00pm on a school night.
→ First Rain started in fall of 1989, following the weeks of the Loma Prieta earthquake. Students, afraid to sleep inside the Porter College dorms, would sleep outside in the quad. Upon developing an outside lifestyle of playing small games like Simon Says, students dared each other to strip and run around campus naked. Aiming to make this event a yearly tradition as it is at other universities, the students decided on running during the first rain of every school year (since other events, like the first school day or first snow had already been taken by other universities).
→ First Rain started in fall of 1989, following the weeks of the Loma Prieta earthquake. Students, afraid to sleep inside the Porter College dorms, would sleep outside in the quad. Upon developing an outside lifestyle of playing small games like Simon Says, students dared each other to strip and run around campus naked. Aiming to make this event a yearly tradition as it is at other universities, the students decided on running during the first rain of every school year (since other events, like the first school day or first snow had already been taken by other universities).
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Depressing.
I want to write..
I have a lot to write...
but it's such a pain to write...
with only one hand...
:(
SadADD.
I've got a few things I want to work on:
Butterfly // David's Story ~ grumbbbbbblllllllle immature douchebag booooys
Are You Scared Yet? // Mashu & Calvin's Story ~ Tribute to my time in FFXI ~ gonna feature Magitek :]
Palm Trees and Streetlights // New idea based off of a childhood experience - no plot to this yet :( Gonna be something sci-fi... inspiration: Slaughterhouse 5... imagination needs to figure this one out still :P This one may be a tribute to the people from high school...
First Rain // Narrative of the Night
My Slug // The first heartbreak of college.
The "Jerk" // Discussion of why he intrigues me
Behind That Corner // Why I hate the dark ~ Poe inspired
Marco // Change of life, inspiration
Palm Reading // What Melody said
Music Store-Hopping // A great night out ~ friendship and bliss, acceptance
1, 2, 3, Pass // The first underwear party ~ friendship and bliss, acceptance
Kenny's 17th // Why drinking scares me & why Kenny is so important to me
I Punched a Bear in the Face // How I broke my hand ~ a lesson learned the hard way & fiction as a better truth
Femme de Lumière; Homme d'Ombre; Enfant de Aube // The epic story that will make me money someday!! :] THE WIN, IT WILL BE SO INTENSE. Dusty will be in this one. Justin too, I think. Some Greg in here, too.
Pigeons and Lawnmower Races // My father as I know him
Contradiction // the story of a girl who fears sex but is a very sexual person
The Tree In the Yard // a tribut t my best friend Nicole
Growing Up "Poor" // a discussion of what "poor" is
Anti-Sadness // Why I don't like gory films
Uneducated, Uncultured // why it fucking sucks
Blowing Minds // Allyson & Tanner ~ Orgy in the Dorms 2 ~ Freud and blushing
lol30H!3 // the simple pleasures
Dancing // why do I ask if people like to dance?
Pooping in Public // funny shit ~ why do people feel so damned awkward in the dorms?
The BJ// what society's take on this issue does to me
Hot Chocolate // simple pleasures
Dangerously Cute // Halloween costume discussion
K maybe more than a few :]
Most are short memories... some I expect to be longer...
I wrote an outline for Calvin's story in Astronomy... hopefully I'll write it out someday. Probably won't even be started until my hand is better...
I have a lot to write...
but it's such a pain to write...
with only one hand...
:(
SadADD.
I've got a few things I want to work on:
Butterfly // David's Story ~ grumbbbbbblllllllle immature douchebag booooys
Are You Scared Yet? // Mashu & Calvin's Story ~ Tribute to my time in FFXI ~ gonna feature Magitek :]
Palm Trees and Streetlights // New idea based off of a childhood experience - no plot to this yet :( Gonna be something sci-fi... inspiration: Slaughterhouse 5... imagination needs to figure this one out still :P This one may be a tribute to the people from high school...
First Rain // Narrative of the Night
My Slug // The first heartbreak of college.
The "Jerk" // Discussion of why he intrigues me
Behind That Corner // Why I hate the dark ~ Poe inspired
Marco // Change of life, inspiration
Palm Reading // What Melody said
Music Store-Hopping // A great night out ~ friendship and bliss, acceptance
1, 2, 3, Pass // The first underwear party ~ friendship and bliss, acceptance
Kenny's 17th // Why drinking scares me & why Kenny is so important to me
I Punched a Bear in the Face // How I broke my hand ~ a lesson learned the hard way & fiction as a better truth
Femme de Lumière; Homme d'Ombre; Enfant de Aube // The epic story that will make me money someday!! :] THE WIN, IT WILL BE SO INTENSE. Dusty will be in this one. Justin too, I think. Some Greg in here, too.
Pigeons and Lawnmower Races // My father as I know him
Contradiction // the story of a girl who fears sex but is a very sexual person
The Tree In the Yard // a tribut t my best friend Nicole
Growing Up "Poor" // a discussion of what "poor" is
Anti-Sadness // Why I don't like gory films
Uneducated, Uncultured // why it fucking sucks
Blowing Minds // Allyson & Tanner ~ Orgy in the Dorms 2 ~ Freud and blushing
lol30H!3 // the simple pleasures
Dancing // why do I ask if people like to dance?
Pooping in Public // funny shit ~ why do people feel so damned awkward in the dorms?
The BJ// what society's take on this issue does to me
Hot Chocolate // simple pleasures
Dangerously Cute // Halloween costume discussion
K maybe more than a few :]
Most are short memories... some I expect to be longer...
I wrote an outline for Calvin's story in Astronomy... hopefully I'll write it out someday. Probably won't even be started until my hand is better...
The New Players
...to be written/updated later/periodically
Kim - Roomate: She likes boys, baking, and taking care of people. I love her.
Lia - Roommate: Mostly quiet, only went to two years of high school, but super cool
Noa - Roommate: "Dude just chill." Likes weed and music... plays guitar and sings at Open Mic Night sometimes... she's wonderful
Ryan - New BFF #1: in a band called "Rockit Zombies" (Battle of the Bands Finalist) AMAZING TALENT. Great guy with pretty hair... but his love of music is my favorite thing about him... plays upright bass
Pranov - New BFF #2: short Indian guy who loves music like Ryan... sweet, caring guy who needs to not smoke... :P Shared a giant milkshake with him~ was sick for the rest of the night :] Really ridiculously funny... plays clarinet
Allyson - crazy girl who loves Unicorns and who is dating Tanner: I love her... she doesn't like clothes
Juila - music goddess~ Juila makes my days brighter
Rayne -
Tanner
David... (grumble)
Asher
Cooper
Mark
Marc
Casey
Liz
Joe
Miguel
Michael R.
Dylan
Michael B.
Zach
College 8 Kid - Guy who is really super sweet and likes violas... wants me to play in the dining hall when my hand is better...
The "Other" Ryan - guy with a baby face and nice hair...met him at Late Night Noms w/Pranov... I'd like to get to know him more
Kyle from College 8 - random guy I ran into at Brunch... his face reminds me of Jason... pretty chill guy... hope I run into him again...
Econ Guy - cute-ish guy I keep running into in Econ... potential for good things
Marco - Awesome amazing instructor for Porter Core
Rhiannon - IA for Porter Core: adorable, sweet, smart
Analisa - girl from the bathroom... really nice
Kristen - other girl from the bathroom... also really nice
Cameron
Chick w/the Viking Hat
Michael G.
Trevor
Shannon
Giles
Melody
Shirtless Guy
British Jon from Crown
Kim - Roomate: She likes boys, baking, and taking care of people. I love her.
Lia - Roommate: Mostly quiet, only went to two years of high school, but super cool
Noa - Roommate: "Dude just chill." Likes weed and music... plays guitar and sings at Open Mic Night sometimes... she's wonderful
Ryan - New BFF #1: in a band called "Rockit Zombies" (Battle of the Bands Finalist) AMAZING TALENT. Great guy with pretty hair... but his love of music is my favorite thing about him... plays upright bass
Pranov - New BFF #2: short Indian guy who loves music like Ryan... sweet, caring guy who needs to not smoke... :P Shared a giant milkshake with him~ was sick for the rest of the night :] Really ridiculously funny... plays clarinet
Allyson - crazy girl who loves Unicorns and who is dating Tanner: I love her... she doesn't like clothes
Juila - music goddess~ Juila makes my days brighter
Rayne -
Tanner
David... (grumble)
Asher
Cooper
Mark
Marc
Casey
Liz
Joe
Miguel
Michael R.
Dylan
Michael B.
Zach
College 8 Kid - Guy who is really super sweet and likes violas... wants me to play in the dining hall when my hand is better...
The "Other" Ryan - guy with a baby face and nice hair...met him at Late Night Noms w/Pranov... I'd like to get to know him more
Kyle from College 8 - random guy I ran into at Brunch... his face reminds me of Jason... pretty chill guy... hope I run into him again...
Econ Guy - cute-ish guy I keep running into in Econ... potential for good things
Marco - Awesome amazing instructor for Porter Core
Rhiannon - IA for Porter Core: adorable, sweet, smart
Analisa - girl from the bathroom... really nice
Kristen - other girl from the bathroom... also really nice
Cameron
Chick w/the Viking Hat
Michael G.
Trevor
Shannon
Giles
Melody
Shirtless Guy
British Jon from Crown
PMS Sucks
Gave me waaaay too much time to mess with blog today.
Ow, my uterus is falling out.
...but the blog does look really pretty... >.>;
Ow, my uterus is falling out.
...but the blog does look really pretty... >.>;
Why ADD Love?
'cause the world needs more love... :]
& it sounds a lot cooler than ADD Real Life
!
Love is also more or less always on my mind, anyway
I am a dreamer and a hopeless romantic...
Most of the new stuff I plan to write about is more or less centered around "love."
Calvin also told me once that I was a fickle lover...
like how people with ADD have a fickle attention span...
It fits! Remarkably well, I must say.
There's not going to be a new URL... I don't want to break links.
& it sounds a lot cooler than ADD Real Life
!
Love is also more or less always on my mind, anyway
I am a dreamer and a hopeless romantic...
Most of the new stuff I plan to write about is more or less centered around "love."
Calvin also told me once that I was a fickle lover...
like how people with ADD have a fickle attention span...
It fits! Remarkably well, I must say.
There's not going to be a new URL... I don't want to break links.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The "Real Mccoy" Final Draft
Now it doesn't sound like puke... lol
The “Real” McCoy
Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I always wrote about a blissful childhood experience, or some other trivial thing. Those stories were great; I always got my A and didn’t have to pour my heart out. Nobody ever knew who I was, or what I was about, and I thought I liked it that way. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It’s not the truth; it’s a front for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that has defined me for five years more than anything, and after living through years of misery, I think it's finally time for that instance to stop defining me. I am going to define me. I want to move on, I need to move on. This essay is simply a stepping stone on my path of self-definition. I will live my life as a happy person once again – not a normal person, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world and all of its wonders.
My story starts at the age of four. I was a cheerful little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too infatuated with my own world to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. She didn’t literally throw us, because that’d be damn crazy, but with how frantic she was, she might as well have. When we left that house on 62nd street, we only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between my parents to this day. Both of them tell me lies about the other, so who am I to believe? I doubt I will ever know the full truth.
I spent two casual weeks in Missouri. I was still far too confused and young to have a care in the world, but when we were finally forced home all hell broke loose. Apparently, my father had accused my mother of molesting my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then found some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that, and I never will. She’d never hurt her baby boy - ever. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took my brother and me away. I was taken to a family of misfits - a foster home. I knew nobody there, I was scared, and I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they separated me from my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old, and he was horribly ill. I had never been away from my brother before, and because he was so sick it was absolutely terrifying. I remember lying awake on that foreign bed every night and crying into my Cheerios every morning. I didn't understand anything, I was four. Why was I there? Where was my Mom? Was my brother dead? Like hell a four year old understands what the flu is. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks I spent in that desolate house were the longest of my life.
After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We fled west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some sympathetic lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket - it’s worn and tattered now, much like my life, but it still keeps me warm somehow.
After leaving the women's shelter we moved into apartments in Rancho Cordova, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a “dad.” I believe I was much more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday rather than the fact I had no father, though. I missed him, but after a while it was like he had never existed, so I didn’t bother to care too much. There was that and one other tidbit – my Mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father, so we didn’t need a real dad or anything.
I don't remember much from elementary school besides that it was a simple and pleasant time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys. I occasionally had a quarrel or two with my brother, but it was all in good sibling spirit. Getting to college and growing up was always on my mind. I just couldn’t wait to be older so I could go off and learn neat things! At Williamson Elementary, students are allowed to take either choir or orchestra when they reach the fourth grade. Band was reserved for fifth graders. We had an assembly introducing all the different string instruments – the violin, the viola, and the cello. I chose the viola because the lady who introduced it played Star Wars on it, the viola wasn’t ridiculously squeaky like the violin, and I couldn’t really see myself lugging a cello around. A few weeks later my Mom told me that a lady at a convention downtown had told her that the viola was a good instrument to play because college orchestras needed them, and it might be easier to be admitted to a dignified university. That sealed the deal. I was going to play the viola like none other, because I was going to college someday. The fourth grade was the year I was introduced to the thing that I consider to have saved my life – music.
My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, I was in the orchestra, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tried really hard. It’s kind of what I do. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just pass out on the couch within five minutes of sitting down.
Sounds pretty normal right?
Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.
All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a dad, and I didn't care.
There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? How could a parent be so ignorant to not notice their child being molested? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C. I forgive her for not being there for me because of the sickness, but only because she was sick.
One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, and she was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and the tears were not those of a typical sixth grader’s tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.
My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying again. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong - as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfection turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. It smelled kind of weird in there. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."
Nobody in the family ever spoke of it again after that day. My Mom, my brother and I stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.
Everything was okay, physically, but it was clear to the doctors that I had been molested.
I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked more awkward questions by people who were only looking for a paycheck.
I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?
All of that drama was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. I ignored my pain; I shut it away and vowed to never let it resurface. I didn’t want to deal with that. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. The 8th grade produced the blissful childhood experiences I used to write about. It took me a while to understand what had happened to me, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something so vile. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people. I was a good person, why should I have to deal with nasty things?
God, I was such a silly little girl.
I spent most of my freshman and sophomore years at Cordova High School as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing. He was funny, smart, cute, and he played the viola, too. We both shared a passion for music, and even though he could play better than I could, my passion could basically annihilate his with a single bow stroke. Greg and I had been friends all through middle school, and he just sort of kissed me one Monday. We used to joke that we never were technically “going out” because neither one of us had asked the other. We were the best of friends, and a damn good couple to boot. We were classy – eating each other’s faces in the middle of the quad just wasn’t how we rolled. We did that on our own time! Teachers used to come up and thank us for being classy. It was about the most amusing thing in the world. Besides finally finding someone to take care of me again, I had terrific grades and I had the best friends. I was just missing that dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy. I didn’t need a dad - they only caused pain in my eyes. I couldn’t ask for one either, because there were already far too many positive things going for me. It would have been simply selfish to ask for more from life.
This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I without a doubt wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.
A year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads labels. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg told me later what was asked, and I just shrugged. I didn't know the answer. He didn't know the answer. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together, as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart to the degree that some people even considered us the same person.
Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. I couldn’t drag him through life anymore. I wanted him to experience all the wonderful things life has to offer and to be happy. If he had to experience it with someone else, because I was broken, then I guess I could live with that after a while. I can’t say I’m glad we broke up, because that’d be quite a fib, but it was such a relief, because even though I cried every night for at least a month, an incredible weight had been taken off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. If you knew Greg Will, you knew Darlene McCoy. That sort of happens when you’re with someone for three years. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. I didn’t want to relive the new found pain every time I ran into somebody I knew. Instead of letting my friends help me through my anguish, I was a hermit. I didn’t want to bother my precious friends with my issues, they had lives to live. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. I came to the conclusion that what had happened to me was the issue. I figured that I had suppressed my memories of the time so well that they only ever existed in my subconscious, so only something close to what had happened would trigger a reaction. I don’t know if the actual experience or the experience of what happened resurfacing into my conscience was worse. That summer was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.
Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have done the job: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.
I found that shelter in music, in my viola. Music does not judge, music understands. Music is everything you want it to be. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. When I play, I forget the world, and concentrate on only the notes before me. I’ve never actually been that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had to make up for my technical shortcomings. I did so many things that I would have never done. Every year the music department puts on a crab feed. This crab feed was the most enormous fund raiser for music by far at Cordova. We started planning for the January event in at least early November. Tickets were already for sale by Thanksgiving Break. Now, it is no big deal to work hard for a worthy cause, but I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a six hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I was ready to kill that woman complaining about butter. I did not comprehend how she did not realize that her wait staff was a bunch of grimy teenagers who were trying their best to serve everybody to raise money for the thing that had brought them there in the first place - music. Our microwave was also broken. Nobody had melted butter. I told her simply that, because I love my orchestra. I worked so hard my senior year to make sure every single member of that orchestra understood what magic music really was. It helped save me from a life of drugs, alcohol and most importantly, misery. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!
Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then to top it off, a layer of some crazy crap you’d find only in movies. I literally transformed into a hermit from the bubbly loud person I was.
Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Why do I say all on my own? What about my Mom? Wasn’t she there for me? My mother is another essay. After this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me smolders in my heart. I know that it’s not true - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. Mentally, my Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her. At least physically she has always been there for me, and I can never thank her enough for that. I’ve always had food, I’ve always had shelter, but after Larry, I never had a mother to take care of my thoughts. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally. Nobody has ever been able to look at me and understand every concept of my being. I don’t expect to find someone that will, but I’d like to meet someone who understands me well enough that I can feel comfortable around them – no matter what we’re doing. The only thing that I can put my whole being into is my viola. It is my voice, my song; it is me, in my rawest form. Otherwise, I feel as if I am a lone ranger, and I've accepted the idea that the only person I can count on is me, and what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. It’s important for others to understand why I am the way I am. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I will never write of blissful childhood experiences again as a cover; if I write about them again it is because writing immortalizes memories, and I want to keep them the way they are supposed to be. I am proud that I have come this far in life without the continued support of another human being. Music will be my love until I find my “special someone.” I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. By telling myself that he is dead, I allow myself to keep the fond memories of a father in my heart. He was my dad, but he is gone. I know that there is good in life. I know that there is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. Not everybody is a bad person, and not every boyfriend of my Mom’s is going to molest me. I can trust people in this world but when it comes down to it, I’m on my own until I find the right person for me. I'm not a pessimistic person, but I'm an optimistic person turned realist. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody, nor any instance, will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.
The “Real” McCoy
Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I always wrote about a blissful childhood experience, or some other trivial thing. Those stories were great; I always got my A and didn’t have to pour my heart out. Nobody ever knew who I was, or what I was about, and I thought I liked it that way. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It’s not the truth; it’s a front for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that has defined me for five years more than anything, and after living through years of misery, I think it's finally time for that instance to stop defining me. I am going to define me. I want to move on, I need to move on. This essay is simply a stepping stone on my path of self-definition. I will live my life as a happy person once again – not a normal person, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world and all of its wonders.
My story starts at the age of four. I was a cheerful little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too infatuated with my own world to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. She didn’t literally throw us, because that’d be damn crazy, but with how frantic she was, she might as well have. When we left that house on 62nd street, we only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between my parents to this day. Both of them tell me lies about the other, so who am I to believe? I doubt I will ever know the full truth.
I spent two casual weeks in Missouri. I was still far too confused and young to have a care in the world, but when we were finally forced home all hell broke loose. Apparently, my father had accused my mother of molesting my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then found some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that, and I never will. She’d never hurt her baby boy - ever. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took my brother and me away. I was taken to a family of misfits - a foster home. I knew nobody there, I was scared, and I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they separated me from my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old, and he was horribly ill. I had never been away from my brother before, and because he was so sick it was absolutely terrifying. I remember lying awake on that foreign bed every night and crying into my Cheerios every morning. I didn't understand anything, I was four. Why was I there? Where was my Mom? Was my brother dead? Like hell a four year old understands what the flu is. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks I spent in that desolate house were the longest of my life.
After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We fled west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some sympathetic lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket - it’s worn and tattered now, much like my life, but it still keeps me warm somehow.
After leaving the women's shelter we moved into apartments in Rancho Cordova, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a “dad.” I believe I was much more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday rather than the fact I had no father, though. I missed him, but after a while it was like he had never existed, so I didn’t bother to care too much. There was that and one other tidbit – my Mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father, so we didn’t need a real dad or anything.
I don't remember much from elementary school besides that it was a simple and pleasant time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys. I occasionally had a quarrel or two with my brother, but it was all in good sibling spirit. Getting to college and growing up was always on my mind. I just couldn’t wait to be older so I could go off and learn neat things! At Williamson Elementary, students are allowed to take either choir or orchestra when they reach the fourth grade. Band was reserved for fifth graders. We had an assembly introducing all the different string instruments – the violin, the viola, and the cello. I chose the viola because the lady who introduced it played Star Wars on it, the viola wasn’t ridiculously squeaky like the violin, and I couldn’t really see myself lugging a cello around. A few weeks later my Mom told me that a lady at a convention downtown had told her that the viola was a good instrument to play because college orchestras needed them, and it might be easier to be admitted to a dignified university. That sealed the deal. I was going to play the viola like none other, because I was going to college someday. The fourth grade was the year I was introduced to the thing that I consider to have saved my life – music.
My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, I was in the orchestra, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tried really hard. It’s kind of what I do. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just pass out on the couch within five minutes of sitting down.
Sounds pretty normal right?
Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.
All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a dad, and I didn't care.
There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? How could a parent be so ignorant to not notice their child being molested? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C. I forgive her for not being there for me because of the sickness, but only because she was sick.
One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, and she was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and the tears were not those of a typical sixth grader’s tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.
My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying again. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong - as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfection turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. It smelled kind of weird in there. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."
Nobody in the family ever spoke of it again after that day. My Mom, my brother and I stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.
Everything was okay, physically, but it was clear to the doctors that I had been molested.
I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked more awkward questions by people who were only looking for a paycheck.
I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?
All of that drama was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. I ignored my pain; I shut it away and vowed to never let it resurface. I didn’t want to deal with that. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. The 8th grade produced the blissful childhood experiences I used to write about. It took me a while to understand what had happened to me, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something so vile. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people. I was a good person, why should I have to deal with nasty things?
God, I was such a silly little girl.
I spent most of my freshman and sophomore years at Cordova High School as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing. He was funny, smart, cute, and he played the viola, too. We both shared a passion for music, and even though he could play better than I could, my passion could basically annihilate his with a single bow stroke. Greg and I had been friends all through middle school, and he just sort of kissed me one Monday. We used to joke that we never were technically “going out” because neither one of us had asked the other. We were the best of friends, and a damn good couple to boot. We were classy – eating each other’s faces in the middle of the quad just wasn’t how we rolled. We did that on our own time! Teachers used to come up and thank us for being classy. It was about the most amusing thing in the world. Besides finally finding someone to take care of me again, I had terrific grades and I had the best friends. I was just missing that dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy. I didn’t need a dad - they only caused pain in my eyes. I couldn’t ask for one either, because there were already far too many positive things going for me. It would have been simply selfish to ask for more from life.
This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I without a doubt wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.
A year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads labels. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg told me later what was asked, and I just shrugged. I didn't know the answer. He didn't know the answer. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together, as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart to the degree that some people even considered us the same person.
Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. I couldn’t drag him through life anymore. I wanted him to experience all the wonderful things life has to offer and to be happy. If he had to experience it with someone else, because I was broken, then I guess I could live with that after a while. I can’t say I’m glad we broke up, because that’d be quite a fib, but it was such a relief, because even though I cried every night for at least a month, an incredible weight had been taken off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. If you knew Greg Will, you knew Darlene McCoy. That sort of happens when you’re with someone for three years. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. I didn’t want to relive the new found pain every time I ran into somebody I knew. Instead of letting my friends help me through my anguish, I was a hermit. I didn’t want to bother my precious friends with my issues, they had lives to live. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. I came to the conclusion that what had happened to me was the issue. I figured that I had suppressed my memories of the time so well that they only ever existed in my subconscious, so only something close to what had happened would trigger a reaction. I don’t know if the actual experience or the experience of what happened resurfacing into my conscience was worse. That summer was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.
Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have done the job: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.
I found that shelter in music, in my viola. Music does not judge, music understands. Music is everything you want it to be. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. When I play, I forget the world, and concentrate on only the notes before me. I’ve never actually been that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had to make up for my technical shortcomings. I did so many things that I would have never done. Every year the music department puts on a crab feed. This crab feed was the most enormous fund raiser for music by far at Cordova. We started planning for the January event in at least early November. Tickets were already for sale by Thanksgiving Break. Now, it is no big deal to work hard for a worthy cause, but I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a six hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I was ready to kill that woman complaining about butter. I did not comprehend how she did not realize that her wait staff was a bunch of grimy teenagers who were trying their best to serve everybody to raise money for the thing that had brought them there in the first place - music. Our microwave was also broken. Nobody had melted butter. I told her simply that, because I love my orchestra. I worked so hard my senior year to make sure every single member of that orchestra understood what magic music really was. It helped save me from a life of drugs, alcohol and most importantly, misery. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!
Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then to top it off, a layer of some crazy crap you’d find only in movies. I literally transformed into a hermit from the bubbly loud person I was.
Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Why do I say all on my own? What about my Mom? Wasn’t she there for me? My mother is another essay. After this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me smolders in my heart. I know that it’s not true - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. Mentally, my Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her. At least physically she has always been there for me, and I can never thank her enough for that. I’ve always had food, I’ve always had shelter, but after Larry, I never had a mother to take care of my thoughts. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally. Nobody has ever been able to look at me and understand every concept of my being. I don’t expect to find someone that will, but I’d like to meet someone who understands me well enough that I can feel comfortable around them – no matter what we’re doing. The only thing that I can put my whole being into is my viola. It is my voice, my song; it is me, in my rawest form. Otherwise, I feel as if I am a lone ranger, and I've accepted the idea that the only person I can count on is me, and what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. It’s important for others to understand why I am the way I am. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I will never write of blissful childhood experiences again as a cover; if I write about them again it is because writing immortalizes memories, and I want to keep them the way they are supposed to be. I am proud that I have come this far in life without the continued support of another human being. Music will be my love until I find my “special someone.” I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. By telling myself that he is dead, I allow myself to keep the fond memories of a father in my heart. He was my dad, but he is gone. I know that there is good in life. I know that there is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. Not everybody is a bad person, and not every boyfriend of my Mom’s is going to molest me. I can trust people in this world but when it comes down to it, I’m on my own until I find the right person for me. I'm not a pessimistic person, but I'm an optimistic person turned realist. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody, nor any instance, will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sometimes,
I just can't help but feel hopeless and lost without you...
You're just so Far Away...
...and I miss you so much.
>.<
Sometimes,
the heartbreak, it is so intense.
It's going to be a long four years...
You're just so Far Away...
...and I miss you so much.
>.<
Sometimes,
the heartbreak, it is so intense.
It's going to be a long four years...
Monday, October 12, 2009
Good Lord
That new banner is beautiful!!
:]
Tribute to the old:
...we might have to go back to the blue template though
:]
Tribute to the old:
...we might have to go back to the blue template though
Renovations Soon~
ADD WHM will be changed to "ADD Real Life" soon...
soon as in... when I get time to do a new layout for the blog
If the URL is to change, it'll be:
http://www.addrl.blogspot.com/
this blog isn't about FFXI or WHMs or anything of that sort anymore... so it needs to be redone :]
The smiley face shall remain!
This thought came to me in light of the 1 year anniversary of my blog
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADD WHM, YOU'RE GETTING A MAKEOVER!!
Edit: did some tonight :P
soon as in... when I get time to do a new layout for the blog
If the URL is to change, it'll be:
http://www.addrl.blogspot.com/
this blog isn't about FFXI or WHMs or anything of that sort anymore... so it needs to be redone :]
The smiley face shall remain!
This thought came to me in light of the 1 year anniversary of my blog
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADD WHM, YOU'RE GETTING A MAKEOVER!!
Edit: did some tonight :P
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Good Times
:]
New friends,
New life,
New experiences,
I love college.
HALF JAPANESE CUTENESS SYNDROME
I HAS IT /
New friends,
New life,
New experiences,
I love college.
HALF JAPANESE CUTENESS SYNDROME
I HAS IT /
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Note On Last Blog:
"Anonymous said...
disturbed, your seriously disturbed girl.disfunctional families eat your heart out you ain't got nothin on Darlene and her attention seekin blogcrap"
el oh el much?
See, I'm basically gonna tell you why you're a damned retard.
K SO
EVERY ESSAY I'VE EVER WRITTEN & POSTED ON ADD WHM WAS NOT WRITTEN FOR BLOGGING PURPOSES ONLY.
Do you seriously think that I sit in my dorm all day thinking of sad stories to tell?
Good God, I have a LIFE TO LIVE
THERE'S FUCKING CUTE BOYS EVERYWHERE
Do you know what that is?
A life?
See I feel I have to defend myself every time I make fun of Ellatrix
...I know I don't
but I do
'cause I'm really not a crazy brooding person.. I'm just not
Its just fun as hell to joke about such an extreme character
Do I wish him any harm? No.
Do I want bad things to happen to him? No.
Do I really give a rat's ass? No.
It's just funny.
Now why do I post crazy intimate things about my life?
→ I AM ME, AND I AM DAMN PROUD OF BEING ME.
You're just simply retarded if you can't understand the concept of being honest with one's self
Try it sometime.
PS: don't mean to be a bitch, but I can't think of any other word than retarded, my hand hurts, and I have a 8 AM class...
OUT~
Hey, Do You Want to Know EVERYTHING About ME?
Read this shit, soooonn.
WARNING: Depressing Story Alert
The “Real” McCoy
Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It's a cover for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that defines me more than anything, and after years of misery, I think it's finally time for me to move on. I want to use my story for some good in the world. I want to move on so I can live my life as a happy person - not normal, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world as I once used to.
My story starts at the age of four. I was a happy little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too little to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. We only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between them to this day. Both of my parents tell me lies about each other, so who am I to believe?
When we got home from Missouri my father had apparently said that my mother had molested my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then used some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that to my brother, and I never will. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took us away. I went to a family of misfits, a foster home - I knew nobody there, I was scared, I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they took my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old to a different home, and he was sick. I remember lying on that foreign bed and crying every morning at breakfast. I didn't understand anything. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks were the longest of my life.
After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We left west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some nice lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket. It's worn and tattered, much like my life, but it does its job.
After the women's shelter we moved into apartments, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a dad. I believe I was more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday than my father, though. It was like that part of our lives had never existed.
The reason why my brother and I lived normal lives during our younger years was the fact that my mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father. I don't remember much from elementary school besides the fact that it was a fun happy time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys.
My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tired really hard. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just fall asleep on the couch.
Sounds pretty normal right?
Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.
All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a Dad, and I didn't care.
There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C.
One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, doing whatever she did on that at the time. She was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and not your normal sixth grader tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.
My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong, as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfect bliss turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."
Nobody really spoke of it again after that day. We stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.
Everything was okay, physically.
I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked even more awkward questions by people I didn't even know.
I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?
All of that was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. It took me a while to understand, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something horrible to me. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people.
Goodness was I a silly little girl.
I spent most of my freshman year as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing, I had good grades, I had good friends, I was just missing that Dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy.
This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I really wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.
Then a year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads nutrition facts. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg had told me what happened, and I just shrugged. I didn't know. He didn't know. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart, ever. Some people even considered us the same person.
Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. The relationship was just so much stress that I believed it was unhealthy for us to try anymore. It really was, because even though I cried every night for about a month, I had an incredible weight off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, all of my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. Last summer I was a hermit. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. It was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.
Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have been good: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.
I've been playing the Viola since the fourth grade. Music has always been in my life and I think it is just about the best thing in this world. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. I was never actually that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had. I did so many things that I would have never done. I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a 6 hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I loved my orchestra. I worked so hard my Senior Year to make sure every single person in that class understood what magic music really was. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!
Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then a layer of some other worldly material that would be impossible to destroy on this planet.
My Senior Year, I had a small schedule conflict so I ended up taking AP French in a French II class. The people I met in that class - Kenny, Crissy, Sara, Martin, Irina, Anna, and Patrick all helped me tear some of those reinforced walls down. They were absolutely the most accepting and wonderful people in the world, and I hope they know how much they mean to me. They have no idea how simple acceptance and friendship can literally change someone's life. They were my drugs, too.
Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Many people would ask, "what about your Mom?" Well, my Mom, after this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me hurts. I know that's not true either - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. My Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her the most mentally, but she has always been there for me physically, and I can never thank her enough for that. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally when I needed them the most. I'm a lone ranger, and I've accepted that. The only person I can count on is me. What doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
When I think of my story, I think of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, or the other countless stories of misery. Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I am proud that I have come this far in life on my own - no drugs, no nothing, just me. I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. It lets me keep the good memories in my heart, because when he was my Dad, he was the best damned Dad on the planet. I'd also like people to know that there is good in life. There is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. I'm not a pessimistic person, I'm just a realist. Not everybody is a bad person, but when it comes down to it, you're on your own, so be prepared. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.
WARNING: Depressing Story Alert
The “Real” McCoy
Ever since I was three I've wanted to go to college. I didn't even know what college was back then, but I knew I wanted to go. Now that I'm finally here, and have been asked to write this personal narrative, I think it's finally time to share my real story. See, I've always had an issue with writing these narratives, because I always felt that my story was too intense for normal high school classrooms. It probably was. I've never written in the way I plan to now. Earlier this week I wrote an essay about why I don't smoke pot. It’s something that defines me – yes, but it's all just a load of crap. It's a cover for a girl who can't get over her own tragedies. There's one point in time that defines me more than anything, and after years of misery, I think it's finally time for me to move on. I want to use my story for some good in the world. I want to move on so I can live my life as a happy person - not normal, for I'd hate to be considered normal, but a happy person who can enjoy the world as I once used to.
My story starts at the age of four. I was a happy little blonde kid causing mischief, sneaking over to my friend's house, and just basically living life. I was far too little to understand, or merely notice the chaos of my parent's relationship deteriorating before my very eyes. There are two key things that stick out in my mind when I recall being four - the Power Rangers, and the night we left for Missouri. Apparently, something so horrible had happened between my mother and father that my Mom decided to throw my brother, Waylon, and I out a window. We only had the clothes on our backs, but we had a train to catch. We were going to see Uncle Andy, it was a surprise vacation. I still do not know what happened between them to this day. Both of my parents tell me lies about each other, so who am I to believe?
When we got home from Missouri my father had apparently said that my mother had molested my brother on the trip. He'd called CPS, and then used some law crap to make us come back to California. I don't believe that my mom did that to my brother, and I never will. Either way, CPS came to meet us at the train station, and they took us away. I went to a family of misfits, a foster home - I knew nobody there, I was scared, I was alone. I just wanted to go home. The worst part was that they took my brother, who could not have been more than two or three years old to a different home, and he was sick. I remember lying on that foreign bed and crying every morning at breakfast. I didn't understand anything. Even though I can only remember two details, I would have to say those two weeks were the longest of my life.
After my mother was cleared of any wrongdoings to my brother, we were released to her custody. We left west Sacramento and ended up in a women's shelter. I don't remember anything about that place except that it was blue like the sky, and that some nice lady had given me a blanket. I still have that blanket. It's worn and tattered, much like my life, but it does its job.
After the women's shelter we moved into apartments, and about six months later we moved into a duplex across the street from Williamson Elementary School. Since my brother and I were much too young to understand the ordeal we had been through, we were both enrolled in school and started our lives out much like any other kids. We just didn't have a dad. I believe I was more interested in my favorite color or what I wanted for my birthday than my father, though. It was like that part of our lives had never existed.
The reason why my brother and I lived normal lives during our younger years was the fact that my mom had a boyfriend. His name was Larry, and he looked more like my brother and I than our own mother did. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like us. As far as we knew, Larry was our father. I don't remember much from elementary school besides the fact that it was a fun happy time in my life. I was a hyper kid who just liked to play tag with the boys.
My happiness continued through middle school, I succeeded in just about every aspect of school, and I had a wonderful group of friends. I decided to join track in the sixth grade, and I put absolutely all my effort in being the best I could be. That doesn't mean I was good, I just tired really hard. My aunt was a coach and I wanted to make her proud. See, I just tried so hard that I physically wore myself out. I would walk home, sometimes limp home, and just fall asleep on the couch.
Sounds pretty normal right?
Since Larry was basically my dad, he sometimes offered to massage my feet or legs or something so I'd feel better. Of course I thought nothing of it - and nobody ever would, but sadly the world is a little more fucked up than that. These "massages" turned into something quite different; something that I didn't understand, something that my brother was sent to bed early for. I had always thought I got to stay up later because I was older. It's a damn shame that I was so ignorant. To put it frankly - my father molested me. Now, shit happens. I know it does, but usually things don't continue on for a year. Almost every day I came home from track, things happened. It started to happen when I went to sleep too. I slept on the top bunk and he was really tall, so I guess it was easy.
All I knew at that time was that I was happy. I had a Dad, and I didn't care.
There's one very odd thing about all these happenings - where the hell was my Mom? My Mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C when I was in the sixth grade. She had to give herself shots twice a day, and continue working. The shots made her basically unable to pay attention to anything. She did a lot of sleeping during that year. Luckily, she is now cured of Hepatitis C.
One day, August 15th, if I remember correctly, I decided that I didn't want to do the dishes. My Mom was on her computer, doing whatever she did on that at the time. She was a tad annoyed with me, because of course, the dishes were the most important thing in the world and they had to be done right then. Larry stormed out of the bedroom and said something to the extent of, "Do the God damned dishes, you little bitch." I instantly started crying, and not your normal sixth grader tantrum. I was bawling my eyes out. I eventually stopped, did the dishes, and went to my room.
My aunt was having a party that day, and of course I had to go. I don't really like my aunt's house, it's always full of cat hair, and I didn't really have the most pleasant of mornings. A few minutes after arriving, I couldn't help but crying. I didn't even know why I was crying. My Mom and my aunt took me to the side and asked me what was wrong, as usual family members do. My Mom was sort of upset that Larry had called me a bitch and asked me about that. I remember nodding my head, and just crying more. More and more, for some reason that I didn't understand. She asked me if anything else had ever happened, and my world just shattered. In that single instant, my world of perfect bliss turned to chaos and regret. I told my Mom what had happened. The party afterwards was very interesting, and all I can remember is sitting on my aunt's bed, thinking about how awkward it was being in her room. I heard a few noises, a door slam, and then my aunt came into her room to tell me, "He's gone."
Nobody really spoke of it again after that day. We stayed the night at my aunt's, I was asked some rather awkward questions, and a few weeks later I visited a doctor to make sure everything was okay with my body physically.
Everything was okay, physically.
I decided not to press charges, which is the one decision that I regret more than anything in the world when I look back on my life. I would have loved to send the bastard to jail if I had the chance now, but at that time all I wanted was closure. I didn't want to go through a whole trial and be asked even more awkward questions by people I didn't even know.
I still thought of this person as my father - the one who was supposed to protect me. It took me a while to even realize what had happened. I had only told my Mom because I was so upset about being called a bitch. That's it. I was a happy 13 year old, why would I change that?
All of that was the summer before the 8th grade started, but surprisingly, I continued living in a world of bliss. The 8th grade, to this day, was one of my favorite years of school. It took me a while to understand, and I think it took so long because I couldn't accept that the one person I trusted the most in the world had done something horrible to me. It didn't make sense; the world was a happy, good place, where good things came to good people.
Goodness was I a silly little girl.
I spent most of my freshman year as a normal teenager again. I had a boyfriend, Greg Will, who was amazing, I had good grades, I had good friends, I was just missing that Dad thing again, but it was no big deal. I was happy.
This bliss continued until about my junior year. Greg and I had been dating for a good two years, and we were both about 16. 16 year olds in high school who have been dating for two years are thinking about one thing - and one thing only - sex. We both wanted it. We started getting intimate, and all that fun stuff, but when Greg touched me, my head started to hurt. I felt faint, and sick. I asked him to stop - and he did because he is the best damn guy in the world. Greg had known what happened to me, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why I couldn't do something I really wanted to do. He didn't understand why I cried, and why I felt sick. I didn't even understand. He was always privileged. He always had everything he needed. He'd never experienced my pain. He told me that sex wasn't important, and that he loved me. Good lord was he a good boyfriend. He said he'd wait until I was ready.
Then a year went by, and we had made a new friend named Jon. Now, this guy did not look intelligent, but he could read a person like a girl on a diet reads nutrition facts. He asked Greg one day, "How can you go out with someone for three years and not have sex?" Greg had told me what happened, and I just shrugged. I didn't know. He didn't know. Ever since that day, our relationship just started dying. It had cancer. I stressed about not being ready for sex, and he stressed about me being stressed. I hate vicious cycles. They're incredibly vicious. We spent the rest of senior year together, because breaking up at the time would have been too much to handle. We wanted to experience Senior Ball and Sober Grad Night as ourselves, and by ourselves I mean together as the couple we always had been in high school. We were never apart, ever. Some people even considered us the same person.
Soon after Graduation, on June 15th, I broke up with Greg. The relationship was just so much stress that I believed it was unhealthy for us to try anymore. It really was, because even though I cried every night for about a month, I had an incredible weight off my back. I didn't have to pressure myself to have sex anymore. The thing was, all of my friends from high school were based off of mine and his relationship. I felt it was much too awkward to hang out with anyone, and I didn't want to talk about what had happened. Last summer I was a hermit. I spent most of my summer thinking about what had happened between Greg and I, why it happened, and life in general. It was the longest summer of my life, and I don't know if I will ever have one longer.
Now, I come from a family notorious for smoking pot, drinking, dropping out of school, all that junk. As soon as I figured out what happened to me, I should have probably gone off the deep end. Just about anything would have been good: weed, alcohol, anything to make the pain go away. God, growing up is such a bitch. But, ever since I realized how much I didn't want to be like my family, I've refused to do anything of that sort. I had to find solace in something else in this world.
I've been playing the Viola since the fourth grade. Music has always been in my life and I think it is just about the best thing in this world. When I finally figured out why I couldn't love the person I loved more than anything, music was my drug. Music cured my pain, music made it all go away. I was never actually that great at playing anything though, so I decided because I wasn't that fabulous at making music that I would try to support my orchestra with everything I had. I did so many things that I would have never done. I walked, in the rain, for a half hour, to work a 6 hour shift, on my period, to serve some bitchy lady complaining about melted butter, for free. I loved my orchestra. I worked so hard my Senior Year to make sure every single person in that class understood what magic music really was. I like to think that I accomplished that goal, or at least made them appreciate orchestra a whole lot more!
Because of what happened to me, I grew to be a very shy person with very tall walls made of brick, reinforced with steel, and then a layer of some other worldly material that would be impossible to destroy on this planet.
My Senior Year, I had a small schedule conflict so I ended up taking AP French in a French II class. The people I met in that class - Kenny, Crissy, Sara, Martin, Irina, Anna, and Patrick all helped me tear some of those reinforced walls down. They were absolutely the most accepting and wonderful people in the world, and I hope they know how much they mean to me. They have no idea how simple acceptance and friendship can literally change someone's life. They were my drugs, too.
Now that I'm at UC Santa Cruz, I feel that nothing can stop me. These walls of mine are tumbling down, and even the gravel piles that remain afterwards will soon be shipped off. My life has seriously been fucked up, but I've made it. I did this, all on my own. Many people would ask, "what about your Mom?" Well, my Mom, after this incident with Larry, well, we never had the same relationship again. She cried for months afterwards. I've always felt that she believes that I was lying, and that it's my fault that she's now single. I don't believe that her unhappiness in life is my fault, but the idea that my Mom basically secretly resents me hurts. I know that's not true either - because she is my mother, but I can't help but feel that way. My Mom has rarely ever been there when I needed her the most mentally, but she has always been there for me physically, and I can never thank her enough for that. Nobody has ever been there for me mentally when I needed them the most. I'm a lone ranger, and I've accepted that. The only person I can count on is me. What doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
When I think of my story, I think of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, or the other countless stories of misery. Many shitty things happen to a lot of people. I know that. I'm not trying to sob, I don't want attention, but I want people to know me for who I am, and my story. I am tired of hiding behind shame. I am proud that I have come this far in life on my own - no drugs, no nothing, just me. I still think of Larry as my father today, but instead of what happened, I just like to think he is dead. It lets me keep the good memories in my heart, because when he was my Dad, he was the best damned Dad on the planet. I'd also like people to know that there is good in life. There is good in peoples' smiles, their hearts, and their words. I'm not a pessimistic person, I'm just a realist. Not everybody is a bad person, but when it comes down to it, you're on your own, so be prepared. I have learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, and if I am able to read these words out loud, I believe that I can move on, after five years of living in my own personal hell. I will move on, I am moving on. This is my story and it will be a damned good one, because I call the shots. Nobody will ever dictate my life again, and I will press on like the trooper I am. Life is a bitch, but only if you let it knock you down.
Looking Up Again :]
The ADD WHM, it'd be so intense, but the ADD only has one hand to type with.
oh baby, life is good.
oh baby, life is good.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
If You Read My Last Blog
... out loud like this guy
it's kind of hilarious
POWERTHIIIRSSST
YOU'LL HAVE 400 BABIES!
PS: Fuck yeah Astronomy Discussion was only a half hour long :]
it's kind of hilarious
POWERTHIIIRSSST
YOU'LL HAVE 400 BABIES!
PS: Fuck yeah Astronomy Discussion was only a half hour long :]
Thursday, October 1, 2009
ARE YOU FREAKIN' SERIOUS?!
Way to push me down the stairs,
watch as I fall and bleed and hurt myself
and then point and LAUGH AT MY ASS
Thank you life, you are a damned bitch.
GRRRRRRR D:
K so
TODAY
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GOOD DAY
I WAS SUPPOSED TO ENJOY SOME TIME WITH THE SLUG.
THE SLUG, YES, THE SLUG.
THE CUTE ONE.
....
BUT APPARENTLY,
SOMEBODY
HAD BEEN LEADING
SOMEBODY
ON
A LITTLE
AND DIDN'T THINK TO TELL THAT PERSON 'TIL TODAY!
WHEN SHE WAS SUPER EXCITED TO SEE HIM.
AND HAD JUST DONE SOMETHING TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID D:
NOPE.
DON'T TELL ME!
WHAT THE FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK XD
REALLY?
*jawdrop*
K so then
I had my Porter Core Tutorial
Where that JERK was
and where I was going to make him feel bad
ABOUT BEING A JERK
BUT
I didn't get a chance to read my paper
which is good, 'cause I WAS SO DAMN MIND FUCKED
that I couldn't really think straight anyway
BUT
I learned a lot about that JERK today
and some other RANDOM DUDE
but I don't care about the RANDOM DUDE
...and I like the jerk again
teehee :3
WHAT A DAY
WHAT A WORLD
Oh but let me tell you something very funny:
My friend Alex, (man I sure talk to him a lot lately ...eww) told me last night that Marc was going to tell me he was gay today.
Gay.
I lol'd at Alex's stupidity.
BUT HES NOT FUCKING GAY
HES GOT A GIRLFRIEND
WHAT THE FUCK
See, it went like this, Alex said
"Marc's gonna say Darlene, I have something to tell you."
AND GUESS WHAT MARC SAID EH
EXCEPT HES NOT GAY
WHAT THE FUCK
When he said THOSE EXACT WORDS
I almost died
HOLY SHIT
lol
Darlene, I'm actually seeing someone else right now
*jawdrop*
*smile→frown*
FUCCCCCK
Now I'm stuck with deep jerk guy with nice smile
and fucking Tanner
"HEY DARLENE, CALL ME SOMETIME K?"
/walks around the corner
lolno
XD
PS: Halving the Bones = good movie
I also cried to my roommates for like an hour today.
Fucking intense bonding shit, like you don't even know.
!!!
Oh and I made fun of Oboes
lolOboes
XD
watch as I fall and bleed and hurt myself
and then point and LAUGH AT MY ASS
Thank you life, you are a damned bitch.
GRRRRRRR D:
K so
TODAY
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GOOD DAY
I WAS SUPPOSED TO ENJOY SOME TIME WITH THE SLUG.
THE SLUG, YES, THE SLUG.
THE CUTE ONE.
....
BUT APPARENTLY,
SOMEBODY
HAD BEEN LEADING
SOMEBODY
ON
A LITTLE
AND DIDN'T THINK TO TELL THAT PERSON 'TIL TODAY!
WHEN SHE WAS SUPER EXCITED TO SEE HIM.
AND HAD JUST DONE SOMETHING TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID D:
NOPE.
DON'T TELL ME!
WHAT THE FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK XD
REALLY?
*jawdrop*
K so then
I had my Porter Core Tutorial
Where that JERK was
and where I was going to make him feel bad
ABOUT BEING A JERK
BUT
I didn't get a chance to read my paper
which is good, 'cause I WAS SO DAMN MIND FUCKED
that I couldn't really think straight anyway
BUT
I learned a lot about that JERK today
and some other RANDOM DUDE
but I don't care about the RANDOM DUDE
...and I like the jerk again
teehee :3
WHAT A DAY
WHAT A WORLD
Oh but let me tell you something very funny:
My friend Alex, (man I sure talk to him a lot lately ...eww) told me last night that Marc was going to tell me he was gay today.
Gay.
I lol'd at Alex's stupidity.
BUT HES NOT FUCKING GAY
HES GOT A GIRLFRIEND
WHAT THE FUCK
See, it went like this, Alex said
"Marc's gonna say Darlene, I have something to tell you."
AND GUESS WHAT MARC SAID EH
EXCEPT HES NOT GAY
WHAT THE FUCK
When he said THOSE EXACT WORDS
I almost died
HOLY SHIT
lol
Darlene, I'm actually seeing someone else right now
*jawdrop*
*smile→frown*
FUCCCCCK
Now I'm stuck with deep jerk guy with nice smile
and fucking Tanner
"HEY DARLENE, CALL ME SOMETIME K?"
/walks around the corner
lolno
XD
PS: Halving the Bones = good movie
I also cried to my roommates for like an hour today.
Fucking intense bonding shit, like you don't even know.
!!!
Oh and I made fun of Oboes
lolOboes
XD
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