10:49 a.m. | 2004-01-09
Lost Words Are Rarely Found
Word of the Day for Friday January 9, 2004
asperity as-PAIR-uh-tee, noun:
1. Roughness of surface; unevenness.
2. Roughness or harshness of sound; a quality that grates upon the ear.
3. Roughness of manner; severity; harshness.
Sorry that last entry came so late in my...um...dissapearance. But I'm gonna be honest here. A lot happened, and truly I'm still in the midst of it all. Between things I'm willing talk about, like school choices, my family, and some of my thoughts, and things I'd never tell anyone I find myself in an awkward spot. I've put myself here, I'm not going to pretend that it's anything else--but I can't help but be unsatisfied where I am.
I'm 18, and experiencing the greatest moments of my life, and yes they will continue, and yes things will be great later on, and no these are not going to be the best days of my life. But I'm not happy. And for once I can admit that and be satisfied with it, because I realize that it is my fault, that I'm the one who has put myself here.
I hate pretending I'm someone else than I am. I hate pleasing people all the time. I hate having to pretend my music taste isn't what it is because people will react to it. I'm sick of saying things I don't mean. I want to stand up, weak and febile, and say, 'I honestly--am me now.' I know it can't happen, and I know I can't be that honest with myself, but I want to say what's going on in my mind. I want people to KNOW me when they meet me, I don't want to have to lie to them. I don't want them to think I'm someone I'm not--but I do. It's couth that way.
I want to cry when I feel like it. I want chords from songs--even though they're just chords--to move me. And I want to admit to that. I'd like to scream from the rooftops that 'YES I do like Ricky Martin when he sings those sweet songs in Spanish! And if you listened to them, and gave them a chance, and KNEW what he was saying, you'd like it too! You might not admit it, but I do.' I can't though, I find myself bending to other people, and I find myself staying in that position.
I could never see myself being anything but that. I could never ever see me being the person I am inside, the one with spite and edge. The one that says no, the one that grits her teeth, the one that makes faces that show how she feels. All I can imagine is a girl with a smile, gritting her teeth--but not for the reason I'd hope. Gritting them because I can't believe that I'm lying this much, and that I'm really not the person I pretend to be or hope I am. I see a girl who will do anything for someone and as she's doing it, get pushed into the mud. When she stands up there's tears brimming on her eyes, but they rarely come out. She simply finishes whatever task she was at, calms herself, and goes on with everything.
Admittance may be step one, but in changing...there has to be another step. That step may be quiet, that step may be huge--I don't know--but I can't see myself making it.
I said once that I'd marry a musician. I figured out what it is about the musician that I want. It's that passion. True musicians are devoted--they LOVE what they do, and they can't do anything but propogate that feeling. They have to play, it's a necessity to them. I want to be that dynamic, and I love watching people that dynamic. Because I can't be that dynamic, and I can't let myself go that much, though, I have to feed off of them. I have to live vicariously through someone who can do what I want to do because I'm afraid to do it myself.
Fear drives me, just as it drives everyone else, but it's more than that. I'll find a balance, sure, but I will never be that person--the one who shows it all. Who wears her emotions on her sleeve and tells people what she thinks. I can't be that person, not just because I'm afraid of doing that, but because I know that I'll lose a ton in doing that. I'm more willing to bite my lip, complain to myself about not being me, and continue on supporting people in what they do. The perfect reinforcement.
I want. I want to be pretty. I want to be smart. I want to be able to sing. I want to be punky. I want to smile for real. I want to feel love again. I want to be shown that I'm worth it for once. I want to be moved to tears. I want to laugh so hard that I can't breathe nand there's tears coming out of my eyes. I want to read a book for pleasure. I want to prove things to myself. I want to never stop learning. I want to tell everyone that I care about EXACTLY how I feel about them. I want to impact someone's life. I want to be strong enough not to lie. I want.
Sad thing comes when you accept this shit, when you finally admit to yourself that there's no way to change. That you can come to a balance, that I've already started to reach, but that you'll never be that person you want to be. Because we are who we are, and we're always pretending, and there's no way around that. Leave me no sympathy--I don't need it. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me you love me, I can't hear it, I can't listen to you, I can't feel it down that deep. Too jaded. Too lost. It doesn't come out right, even in my words, I'm not the girl I used to be, I don't put my words together in the same way. I don't speak to you like I used to anymore. I can't put things together, I have an editor breathing down my neck and asking for more examples, but I refuse to give her what I've written because it's horrible. I haven't cried in months, I haven't opened up a bottle of pain and downed it on any regular basis. I've got a whole collection going now.
So instead I fill up another bottle, swallow it, and assume I'll deal with it some day. Chances are it'll fade away, like most things have, but even after it fades I feel like something's left...and every once and a while I think I can still dig up one of those bottles from way back when that doesn't even matter, but I still have. The collection's huge. It's pointless and it's huge.
I'm not lost, for I know I'll always go on, and I still have that optimism that makes me grit those teeth and not break down. But for now I've put on another layer. I've coated myself once again in an effort to hide myself from me. Typical 18 year old finding out what she is, I guess. But without details I'd be hurt if that's what you assume. I've been places. I'm not that nieve. I've done my fair share of learning, and while it's not done--if you label me that quickly I sadly loose a lot or respect for you. Your next thought is, 'well, I went through this, how cute, she's trying to deny it.' Fine. I won't argue. I know me. I know parts of the world and I'm smart enough to know I don't know a lot--but I know some. And your assumptions hurt. Keep on making them, though, they make me happy and they make me realize who's worth it to me at all.
Things will turn back to normal not because I'll let them, but because I'll force them to, there will be updates almost daily, your daily word and all of that fun stuff. Gritting my teeth is how I've done it so far. And I'm alive--and so it goes. By and by.
Signing Off--Lauren
