09:25 and all's well!

Blood on my lips, I am drinking it all in.

Felt like writing, but am in no particular mood to say anything. I guess that this is just a ramble without a cause, yuck yuck. Get it? Like rebel w/out a cause?

Ok, nevermind.

So how come pigs can't fly? It would be cool if they could.

I need more honey for my throat, I will ttyl.

I am bothered tonight by something

I begged him, "tell me you love me. . ." But he just caressed my neck. He carried on as if he never heard, convinced me to get him off and then threw me away like piece of garbage. Yet now he crawls back, begging for more because he knows I am what he wants and yet I hold it out, keeping it from him. I am not garbage, and I will never be his.

I dream of the day when I can be loved for who I am, not just for what I have between my legs.

I think of a quote made by Ryan Gosling in 'Murder By Numbers' that goes a little something like "She spreads like peanut butter. It's amazing what a girl who is ignored by her father will do for a little male attention."

I am not that girl! Fuck anyone who thinks I am easy. In addition fuck sexual frustration, as ironic as that statement is. Fuck anyone who wants to make me into what they think I am. Thus I will never again "hook it" with someone who only wants sex.

I am tired, determined, and oh so alone. I hate being touched, yet I yearn for it. I am so messed up.

Thanks Mom.

I am plagued by a vision of my mother that I am not ready to share yet. I have NEVER told ANYONE about it, and it really changed my life. It is horrible what she did, and at the same time, it is horrible what she was being forced to do. Other people have always told me that they want to "rip their eyes out" when they see something "horrible" but you do not know the vision that keeps me awake tonight, and you do not know how little good it would do to actually tear my eyes out, because I can only see it when I close my eyes.

"You love tragedy. . ." Mother's words echo in my mind, this blog of insanity, this moment of pain, keeps me awake.

I no longer want to have someone to tell, because I am not sure that what I have left is safe enough to share. I look in the mirror and I see the destruction and am attracted to it, you all are, like we turn to see the parent disciplining their child behind us at the line at the grocery store, or we open up book and read of another's suffering. We can not escape our lust of human suffering, but we can stop sharing it.

If she is able to see me, I wonder what she thinks. Is she satisfied that she has created another one like her? Is she angry at my sins? Does she miss me?

Alas, wondering this is irrelevant. She is gone, and I am left with these hauntings, these fearful spirits of her, tearing me up inside.

Dumb little "Poem," ah, the "art" of freeverse

There is a crazy philosophy, spraying through
my mind
like water from a broken hydrant
and I cannot help but think that maybe I have
made
a mistake
in writing at all
but I think back to a day
when a friend told me never to stop
and so I dish out this crap
this free
f
o
r
m
poem
that says nothing
but how I know nothing of art
of how I cannot write
of how ignorant in writing I truly am

How silly I be
randoml!y th.rowing;
in pun(c)tuation
just to make my
.

Then I am horrified to find the words of
a bathroom stall
coming through
this disorder
of my mind
making some sort of order
of my mess and
clarity
comes through

I see the words
and they describe it all
PLEASE FLUSH


Like the shit I shovel through
if others just had the courtesy
to flush their own mess
then I could carry on my own life
and not have to clean up the rest.

I flush my own, in this dumb jot I have
and I post it
putting it up
and risking your critique,
but I have to say
THANX
for just being you
and letting me
still be
N-a-t-a-l-i-E

"Why are you so insecure?"

"You never tell me that you love me, unless I say it first!"
"Why are you so insecure?"

When my boy posed that question earlier this evening, I could not come up w/ a response for him. I need to have people tell me that they love me because I have to work for it so frequently. I just want to be loved for me, for who I am, not for the things I do.

Perhaps it is best summed up by my conversation that I had w/ Ben a few hours after the first conversation.
"Dad and I used to watch this show all the time."
"You just watched it because you wanted Dad to like you because you could never make Mom happy."
"No. . . I liked the show."
"Yeah right. You were just kissing up."

I have spelled it out before but apparently it was not clear enough, I need constant reassurance because I was trained by my Mom's actions to constantly need it. I need others to tell me that they care, otherwise I just believe that I have not deserved it and thus am a failure. An unloved failure. Besides, I really do not feel I deserve love, so I see no reason why someone would simply love me, there must be a reason, but no one is willing to fight for me, or let me know that they love me without me reaching out first, so how am I supposed to know? I have frequently wrote letters, emails, poems, stories, and even tried my hand at painting and drawing for the ones I love, but my own mailbox is empty. I have a dream of someone, a man loving me so deeply that he would write it, he would shout it out to the world, he would come after me if I was leaving, but no one will do it. I am not worth that. I suppose, in the end, it comes down to this, my mother was right, I am unloveable and only made to serve.

I am a very insecure person, I will not deny that, but I just want love. Is that really such a crime?

The Perfect Man

I saw him yesterday and I had not the opportunity to write about it until now, so here is the blog I promised ya'll.

He was standing in a line alone, silent, leaned up against a wall. He was quiet, no expression on him as he watched a little boy annoyingly proclaim every little thought that came to his under used brain. I glanced at him and found myself quickly turning my head back to look at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He was skinny, but not unhealthily so. He was definitely attractive, unblemished skin, unshaven face, longish blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail, and blue eyes. His demeanor was of someone that I would want to spend time with, and I realized all too late that he had raised his eyes and was staring back at me. He must of been somewhere in between 20-28 in age, and he was still staring at me. I looked at him, realizing that I was the only one in the room that saw his perfection. I felt as though his eyes read my mind.

'Do you know how beautiful you are?' I thought.

A slight turn of his lips that indicated a small smile.

He has a story, I know it, and I wonder if all the people he spends time with everyday know how special he is.

The thing is, it was not that he was a perfect human, he might be a complete jerk, but I saw perfection in that moment. I wonder if it is possible to see perfection in every person just as I saw in this man. It must be so. There was something beyond just a look toward another person. There was a magic I cannot describe. He was awesome in an indescribable way, and I wish that I could have captured it and given it out, like a piece of perfection that each person can hold, feel, just for a moment, and then pass it on.

From Disneyland

Number of times my Dad has called me a liar: 2
Number of times my Dad has said I do not know what love is: 3
Number of times my Dad has lectured me on my grades at school: 90
Number of times Dominic has interrupted my Dad's lecture to tell me how much he hates me: aprox. 94
Number of times I have wished I could go to my own room and escape their unnecessary noise and aggravation: A HELL OF A LOT.

But I am having fun anyone. Disney is amazingly good at what they do, and it captivates me to try and even comprehend the massive number of details they have to look at the do what they do.

With that I must go.

But I will leave with a teaser for the next time I write:
I saw what, in my humble opinion, can only be described as the most perfect human being of my life. He was amazing. In addition, I know that I was not attracted to him, but just in awe of his perfection. Do you want to know why I can tell it was not attraction? Because when I am attracted to someone the first thing I notice about a person is their smile, but I did not even see his until later. It was simply his being, the way he carried himself, I will have to explain it later.

OH! Before I go, this park has made me realize something important about myself, I want to have children. I want to hold their hand as we walk down Disney's Main Street. I want to take them to the park, teach them to ride bikes and read, I want kids and all the responsibilities that come with them.

"What do you know? You're Suicidal!"

The words ring out again, echoing in my memory, haunting my dreams. I can think back to Christmas, when my whole family knew that I was thinking about killing myself. Even then it was over-shadowed by Ian's chaos. I know this makes me crazy, but I was so jealous of him. I wish that I had taken my life then.

As Dominic said earlier today, "I hope that nothing else big happens with the family this week so that my broken arm can be the big thing for a while."

I just wish I was the big thing, just for a little while. If I not willing to take my own life immediately, I do not exist. Amazing. I do not exist unless I do not want to exist. Murphy's law.

I hate life. I hate this world. I hate pain, I hate everything. I hate God and I hate you, his precious beings.

No Better Than Mom

After Louie and Maria left today, my Dad went right back to his old ways and flipped out on all of us. No surprise eh?

I cry and cry. . . yet no one thinks to dry my tears. I am alone.

Epiphany week strikes again. I have finally figured out my life, and I still hate it.

I still want to die. How can I face my peers when I hate myself? How can I love others when I am still struggling myself? Yet I do. I still strive on.

I have lived my life in the hopes that I can save Dominic and Ben some of the pain that I have suffered, but that is all lost. They have suffered other pain, and they are still along their own paths. Dominic broke his arm and I could do nothing to aid him or stop his pain, it was completely out of my hands. That is how it is usually. I just pick up the blame. Others really do have the control.

I love Matt. I talked to him, and we hung out a little bit this week. We really are meant to be. The worst part, everyone hates us being together, and while we say it does not matter, it really does.

“I've waited all my life to cross this line
to the only thing that’s true
so I will not hide
its time to try anything to be with you
all my life I've waited
this is true” –Ryan Cabrera

He is back at West Point, and now I realize, it is still not “us.” It is not “our future” it is “our futures.” However, we both know how much we love each other, and in the end, it is not whether or not we end up together, but whether or not we gave it a fair shot. If our story really is “The Notebook” then I will be there, in New Mexico, as his Noah, waiting with a career and hope. If not, then I will move on and accept the invitation to his wedding to someone else.

As far as that goes, I have no idea what may happen. I know that for now, I do not have a boyfriend, nor am I trying to win one. I have too much to worry about.

I am failing English. Yep, that is pretty interesting.

In other news, Speech and Debate changed a lot of things about me, and this weekend has also changed me a great deal. I have decided on Creighton, I hope my Dad will help me with payments. I am pretty tired because I have not slept well for a week, less than four hours every night, but I had not told anyone. It did not matter though because I have been catching up during Theology class. Ian and my fish spawned, I have been up late every night watching that happen.

I also realized that there is no one I can count on. When I cry, I cry alone. When I fall, I must pick myself back up. I want to die. I was slipping from the edge and I thought someone, ANYONE, would catch me, but no one did. I am alone. No one can hear my screams. No one will ever be there for me, because by the time someone figures out that I need to be saved, I will have already found the strength to fight myself.

This brings me to my next point. I want to be famous; Nay, I will be famous. I want to be rich and well known. I want to be a great author, so that no one can deny my awesome gift for writing. I will be so famous that everyone who reads my words will be haunted by them. They will be propelled, motivated, to know me, but they never will. Anyone who tries to reach me will find themselves beyond my touch. I want to lose weight, I want to be beautiful so that men will look at me want to know my touch. They will love me from afar, but never be able to get close. I want to be seen as an amazing work of God’s art, so that people will wish they could say “I knew her before she was. . .” But no one will get the honor. For you see, while I will know many people and be there for them, I will trust people, as Ian would say, “no further than I could throw them.” They will wonder what goes on in my mind, what I have seen, what I would motivate me so highly, but it is simply raw revenge. By the time I am famous, even this dinky little blog will have ‘disappeared’ so that anything that I might have been at one time will be no more. My family, friends, even my spouse, will know about as much about me as the next average Joe that walks up.

Sleeping in my bed for the first time

Last night, or rather, really early this morning was the first time I have ever REALLY slept in my own bed. I was not curled into a ball on the edge of my bed. I was not in fetal position as close to my alarms as I could get. Instead, I was sprawled across the middle of my huge soft bed just sinking into the matress.

This weekend blew, hard. This week at school is going to be even worse, but I do not have time to explain it right now. For now, just know this,

I have slept in my bed, finally. 5 years of ownership, and I finally know what my bed really feels like. Anyway, have to go meet my family for lunch, ttyl.

-Nat

Hummingbirds in The Freezer

I just erased another blog. I hate my life. I suppose I will retype it, though doubtless it will mean nothing that it did the first time I wrote it.

I cannot stop crying. God has taken my last one. I feel as though I am one of my own fish, staring at the world through plexiglass. Everyone says they are there for me, and they are, just on the outside of my tank. But there is no contact, and they are taken a step further away with each moment.

I am 6, and Dominic is born, bringing a whirl-wind of change to the family. I love him dearly, willing from the day I see his big eyes staring up at me from his round face wrapped in a blanket to lay down my life if it is asked for. His birth also marks my independence, placing me on the first floor of the house while the rest of my family lives upstairs, two to a room. From then on they are pairs, and I am an outsider, always wishing to be part of a duo, but always alone.

I am 8, standing before my Grandmother's coffin, she is gone only a month after she promised she would always be there, and we would spend some "girl time" together. I am angry at her for lying.

Third grade, Nathan moves to Texas, I cry. My first love, my first crush, my first heartbreak, and I am but 9.

I am 13, and my great-grandmother, my idol, my symbol of perfection, passes away. Her sharpened wit is dulled by the cancer that infects her mind. I harbor my pain alone.

Louie leaves for college, and I feel even more alone as my family begins to dissipate.

High school, I must abandon all those that I trust and obtain new friends. I am terrified, but Graham helps me through. We are there for each other every few months, but never on a really consistent basis. We are in different grades, and our schedules and personal lives make it impossible to hang out, even while he lives only a mile away.

I see Matt, symbol of perfection on the first day of school, within days I am in love, or so I think. He disappears from my mind because I find that he likes Jenny Gibson, a girl I can never compare to. I am a lowly insecure slightly overweight freshman, what would he ever see in me?

Kellen finds me at this, making his entrance sound and heard.

Great-Grandpa Dunbar dies, and I can hardly take my losses. Somehow I suck it up. I wish that I could explain how beautiful old man was to me, and still is, in memory.

Matt sees something in me, and asks me out. (Take that Jenny Gibson!). I get the guy, and I want to run immediately, but Graham convinces me to stay. It is the best advice I ever listened to.

My Mom gets worse. I try and hold the family together, but I am too young still to know what to do. She pulls me out of Speech and Debate, away from the only friends I had gotten close to.

I get tumors, and I am terrified of dying. I start to give up hope because I know that what I had is the best my life will ever be. Surgery saves my life.

Mommy dies. At the funeral, Dominic and Louie pair off, a new duo, Alex and Ben stand together. Maria comes through and is there for my Dad. I am the odd one out, again.

Before I can even pull my life together, there I am in Twisters, having to sit down because I will never again see Nathan H. Perhaps I will, but it is best not to hope for it. The seminary. I knew it was coming, but my love is leaving me again. I loved him as my best-friend and not romantically, but my heart is torn out again.

Matt decides on West Point. I try and be happy, and enjoy the time we have left, but I cannot. Unlike the first time I saw him, I love him, I really love him. I just wanted him. Nothing more, nothing less, and I cannot imagine life without him. I do everything to try and convince him not to go, but he does.

I spend the summer driving Ben and Dominic around. I am empty, completely devoid of everything. I want to die. There is nothing I would love more. But Mr. Pibb stares up at me with his big brown eyes, and I cannot leave.

The Jemez. Jacob and Ian save my life in one weekend by taking me out of town. I am more happy than I have been in over a year. They change my world and give me two more reasons to keep going.

Dominic joins the list too. My cute younger brother.

I desert Matt for Ian. I want someone there, and Ian is. At the same time, Ian is so much more than that. He is my Pookie, my friend, my other half in all of our devious doings.

Kellen joins the crew and I really feel like part of something. My own crazy family.

Homecoming wrecks the mess I have made. Somewhere inside of me, I know I am supposed to be with Matt, that it was destined, but we did something to upset that. I will never be able to say if it was even our fault at all, but Matt and I will not work out. Another death in my life. Another love gone.

I manage to keep Kellen out of what I am going through. I lose him as well.

Jacob and I have a falling out, and have not been the same since.

So then there are three. Ian, Dominic, and myself.

Stormy dies. The only best-friend, my horse, that has stayed with me since third grade. I am crushed.

Dominic grows further away, and I would never dream of relying on him, but I would do whatever he needed of me anytime.

Tonight I lost Ian. The last ray of hope I had.

Sure, there is Matt, Graham, Kellen, Justin, Jolene, Crystal, Dominic, or anyone else I could beg for help if I needed it, but there is no longer a safety net below me. There is not someone waiting to grab my hand and pull me back up if I start to fall. I am my own keeper. No even comments here anymore, except Crystal who only knows me through this site, who knows if you are even still reading?

Damn plexiglass. At least this way I get to see that they are all happy. I collapse into a corner and try to cry myself to sleep.

Insomnia is back. Great, now I have more hours by myself to contemplate my useless existence.

"Honesty, tell me that it's over"

My throat burns. I am sick again.

Was deserted last night, for the last time. I hate life. There is only one person I truly trust, and he does not trust anyone else in my life, nor do they trust him. I hate the incredible turns I have to take just because others insist on leaving me, or giving up and refusing to be there for me.

I have a question for you today. How should I react when someone looks me in the eyes and lies? I want you to tell me the answer to that. I am tired of you knowing everything and not sharing any of your knowledge. While you are at it, perhaps you could answer my list of other questions.

How should I feel when I have been stabbed in the back again?
How should I feel when I completely trusted another and got in over my head with more beings to take care of?
How should I feel when my love is kept away by the evil twists of life?
How should I feel as I am ridiculed for being unreliable even while I take care of 17 different animals that rely on me for survival?
How should I feel as I clean my horse's sore while I hold back the vomit?
How should I feel bearing the face of a woman I killed?
How should I feel as I tear my life apart piece by piece?
How should I feel, going to school but never learning?
How should I feel, dealing with others' mental and emotional states long before my own?
How should I feel, always a friend but completely friendless myself?
How should I feel, damned by GOD and his entire WORLD?
How should I feel, painfully drawing breath in a body I cannot stand?
How should I feel, breathing with a mortal wound eating into me?
How should I feel?

Tell me! You already say how I should act, think, and look. Now I give you charge of everything. So I ask you one last time,
What should I feel?

Words are not actions!

Words are meaningless! Words are shit! I could say whatever the fuck I want, but if I do not ACT on them, I am a liar and worse than scum.

A deep hope inside of me is that someday a man will catch me before I run, but I know deep down it will never be so. I want him to stop me before I get away, catch me a moment before it becomes too late, kiss me, and ACT on it. I do not want some sweet speech, I do not crave his eloquence, but I NEED his kiss. I need him to reach me because otherwise it is nothing. You might as well have been reciting Poe for all the difference it would make.

Think of it like this, SAYING you will kiss someone means NOTHING. It is the kiss that matters! It is the action! As someone in Speech and Debate, I can honestly say, WORDS, SPEECHES, ARE ALL FOR NOT. We would be better serving our nation by not competing with words and using our logic for actions within our communities.

Alas, today I gave in again, (uggghh, how I hate myself for doing so), and acted for another. I had specified ACTING on the words they had spoken to me last night on the phone, but when they saw me, they simply repeated the words.

God I hate words! How I want to take my own life for only being gifted with words! They are all I have and they are nothing! Which makes me nothing!

I cried again over it. Their words.

I suppose it is because I can no longer be reached through them. I am beyond them.

So despite having me in words, they lose me in action. My words are NOTHING and thus, when you request them, that is what you will get, NOTHING!

I want to scream NOTHING. I want to make words a reality and tear them, chew them, kill them!

If someone is angry at me, they cannot hurt me, cannot touch me with words. I do not allow it.

Fuck literacy. Fuck words. Fuck Webster and his make believe world of words. Fuck anyone who gives into words anymore, so therefore, fuck me!

Fuck all of you.

Do you know why I say that? Are you hurt? You shouldn't be! Because it doesn't mean shit! It does not make one God-damn bit of difference what I say to you, or what you say to me!

"Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me."

Either act on it, or I will destroy you in my conquest. It is a simple rule. Which is ironic, because rules are simply words!

I am lost in this world you try to rationalize with your words! I will be DOING something, you can just enjoy your words yourself.

Good-day.

Tears

Damn it all, I just typed a huge blog and erased it via the damn spell check and my idiocy.

I hate pop-up blockers.

Last night, I was destroyed. Utterly dessimated by another's actions.

Imagine, trying so hard to please another person that you are willing to spill your blood upon the ground if they request it. Now imagine that they have no idea what they want out of you, and request opposite actions on your part at basically the same time or only moments apart. Imagine losing sleep because you worry about their well being so much that it pains you twice what it pains them.

After another AcaDec study session, I stood outside in a tanktop and sweatpants. I was freezing, but I watched as another's tail lights faded as they turned a corner, and listened to their accelerator take them away from me as fast as humanly possible. I was crushed.

Later, I gathered enough of myself to climb into my car and I began driving. By the time I reached the first stop sign, I was crying so hard I could barely breath. I wanted an apology for all I had suffered for this person, but there was no way that they could honestly give one or I could accept one. They were the victim, "They," anyone other than me, will always be the victim.

I feel as though I am a dog, crawling back despite the fact that my master no longer feeds me or gives me any love. My hope is there still, that they will no kick me in the stomach this time and will pet me instead.

Now I know that I was not meant for love. I was not meant to recieve it freely. I can only hope for love if I give some sort of service to the other party, so I do. I ache with exasperation at the fact that I cannot make a single person happy. No one has ever been satisfied with who I am, not my family, especially not my parents, my 'friends', my peers, not even my teachers know the anguish I go through to try and appease them.

I watch as others are invited to things before my very eyes, only inches from where I stand, and lie that I have not over-heard. They do not want me there, and I do not want to impose, so I stand away.

Solitude

I keep waiting for someone to stop me, someone to catch me before I get away, but no one ever does. They all "give me what I want" which means that I end up alone. I try and escape it all, try and destroy myself in order to understand this curse.

He's drinking now, and I do not like the fact that he is becoming an alcoholic to eliminate his problems and I am so quick to condone it.

Another kid is probably moving in with me to escape his problems.

I am the redeemer, solid, strong, and required to be alone.

Why don't people just take what they want??? All I want is to serve, but they tell me to do what I want and refuse to let me help, thus, in fact, keeping me from what I truly want.

Alone Again

Sitting outside Father Falbo's office today, I wondered why it was there that my mind had brought me. Desperately seeking salvation of some kind I had gotten up from the group and walked to the library, where my friends soon joined me. The antsy feeling that now permeated throughout my stomach and forced me to the bathroom to cleanse my hands. Soon I was sitting outside Father Falbo's office, content physically, and wondering what I was supposed to be learning in that moment.

Desperately I wished someone who was looking for me, someone who wanted me, someone who needed me to be all right. At the same time, I knew that no one would come close to even thinking about me until near the end of the period, so I resolved to lose myself in meditation. A part of me wanted everyone to just fuck off, and a part of me just wanted to lie down and die. The biggest part of me wanted to be a part of something, which is why I just kept sitting there, tormenting myself with my thoughts, and enjoying the brief moment of peace that I was getting in the empty hallway.

Patience. I have no idea where it comes from sometimes. I would personally say that I am a very impatient person, but many others might disagree. Sometimes it becomes difficult for me to breathe as I hold my tongue.

Now I have nothing to complain about. I am safe from my mother's wrath, I have friends, and my family would do something if I asked them to, but I still feel alone.

After explaining to my counselor what was going on in my life, she posed the question, "But where does it all go? Where do you put it Natalie? What happens to all the stress?"

What scared me was that I did not have an answer. I have no idea where it goes, all of my fears and concerns. Fears like the one I get late at night in the dark thinking that my Mother will come in and yell at me. It is the fear that as soon as I close my eyes, Dominic, Ian, Jacob, or my Dad will need something. The stress of watching someone I love destroy themselves.

Yet, despite my complaint today, I would never give up the chance to help others, to know what they are going through. I just wish that I had someone like me, to listen to me, want to give me a hug even as they are being shoved away. I always had that with Graham. I never felt guilty for telling him, and he listened intently no matter what I was saying, giving me everything and requiring nothing in return. I think I am only capable of one way relationships. I am meant to be the mentor, the tutor, the parent, the support, the counselor, the friend, but I should not expect the same back. I used Graham, and I took him for granted, an unforgivable sin.

The pain for my Mother is worse this month than any previous, but I basically was handed a year's deadline to get over it, so I have began suffering in solitude. I am an adult now and as such I am expected to be mature, and to not need any babying. I feel as though I am in Hamlet, having to move on when I still have not accepted her death.

I finally figured out why I was sitting outside Falbo's office.

It was because of one of my friends. It was the fact that I had seen him, smiling and laughing, happy with those around him. Just last night I had convinced him to stay till morning, and there he was, acting as if there was nothing wrong! I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but more than anything I wanted to celebrate his happiness. Yet, even though I could have sworn it was real, deep down, I know that he is only putting on a face for the rest of them.

It was the fact that I desperately tried to help him, but he did not talk to me. It was the jealousy that overcame me, when I saw him happy with Kena only moments earlier, and was cold and distant to me. The pain is in knowing that he is only hugging me so that I will not say anything.

I had left a bag in the theatre today, and despite the fact that five different people had told me that they wished I had their lunch, not a single one volunteered to walk with me. Oh, how I wanted to ask, beg someone to come with me! But, at the same time, I knew I never could. Also, if I had asked, it would have ruined it. I knew that no one wanted to walk with me, it was clear. As I trudged across the grass, I walked past group after group of people, fitting in, laughing, and finding something in common. No matter how "popular" I get at this school, I will never have what I did junior year, and that is friends who know what I am feeling without me having to say a word.

After coming back from Stage 2, I entered the school building, and saw two girls huddled near a locker, talking in hushed and excited voices about something. Exhausted mentally, I nearly wept for the site of the empty hall after they had gone. Something in that moment got me. It is the site I see everyday, the empty hall. Voices I pass and greet, people I know but really don't, classes I find myself in, all come back to the empty hall. This school is hollow, providing only pain for me, and a constant reminder of my solitude.

The lone wolf of Saint Pius, it is a wonder I do not bite the hand that feeds me. I am tired, but perhaps if I sit here for just a moment, I will regain my strength . . .