6:10 p.m. | 2004-04-12
How Come You Get To Love Them; When I Loved Them First?
I hate doing things to draw attention to myself. And yet this is what I'm doing right now by writing here, and that's what I'm doing by being the person I am.
I thrive on that attention, that love, that feeling of being needed and wanted. This isn't anything new people. This is the same old shit I've known for years. And yet I find myself hating myself when I realize it. I should be getting attention, yes, but for the "outstanding" things I do, not because I pushed for people to give it to me.
So I'm left there. I want to give credit to someone, but it feels so awkward. I got a guestbook entry the other day that made me smile. I had been away from my computer for a while and had gotten an email from the site telling me that I had a new entry. I checked it out, and it was the sweetest thing ever. I hate posting things like that, though, because it feels like I'm boasting. Check it out, though so that you can see what I'm talking about.
I don't know what to do. I hate my design, I'm not talented to create a new one all on my own, I'm never satisfied, finals are going to be the easiest thing ever and yet I'm unhappy. Not like an unhappy upset sort of thing, but unhappy.
I'm leaving here in 12 days (11 if you guy by Kristin's count). The 23rd all of my belongings I've accquired or used for the last year will be in the back of one small white pick up truck. The same truck that will make me blush for seeing people judge me by.
And I will miss things from here. I don't think I can get it out in words. You people weren't with me for graduation (the IB one, not the regular one) but before the ceremony, during the ceremony, and after the ceremony all I could do was cry. The only time I managed not to was on stage. I sit here today teary eyed and just thinking about it.
I called Maryam in Canada that evening, and she was almost crying as we all spoke to her on speakerphone. As people looked at me, sand signed my yearbook, and hugged me I couldn't help but realize I'd be leaving these people--and that I hadn't made appropriate ties to hold on to all of them.
Now, as much as I know I've changed, they will have too. They'll be older, and more grown up, and cultured. And I still feel like I'm 16. I'll go home to see the looks in their eyes, when they said they missed me, did they mean it? Did they really miss the bubbly fat girl that was always smiling?
Did I really leave a mark?
I want to go back and see them. But I'm comfortable here. What will it be like living with my father for the first time in 6 years? What will it be like taking a step back and acting like a big kid? Will I be able to refuse offers and step up to the plate?
I assume so of course but at the same time...do I really want to be in that position?
I want to make it, and to be happy, and to suceed. And I know I'd never get there without a little strife.
Strife--here I come.
Signing Off--Lauren
