Rant.

I don't have the enthusiasm or the clear-headedness to write this entry with any stab at eloquency. So be forewarned.

I'm so tired.

Especially of this constant one step forward, two steps back. My mom is back in the hospital (on Mother's Day, no less). It's just for an infection, the doctors assured us she'll be out by Wednesday or Thursday.

But pardon my candor, but WHAT THE FUCK?

I can't believe she's back in there, again. She goes in and out several times a week for chemotherapy and blood work. We still have an oxygen machine in my house. She still has an angry graft vs. host rash all around her skin. And let's not forget, that the morning after her birthday she had to be rushed back in to the hospital!

I'm so tired of this. It's getting so fuckinkg ridiculous. Why is she not getting better? Why are we STILL dealing with this?

And of course, I still get to deal with Shelby being an angry cunt. I have all these festering resentments with people.

Julie is dating an addict, while she's fresh out of rehab. Smart, Julie. And I tried so hard to be supportive of her, but it's not a good idea. They specifically warn against that kind of shit! And I'm still so proud of the moves she's taken, but it all means nothing if she just throws it away again. Her boyfriend relapsed, was kicked out of his house, and Julie asked Dad if he could stay. As calmly as possible, he told her that was a terrible idea, then came in and told me he was convinced she was "high as a fucking kite."

And now I'm sitting here, working half-heartedly on some Creative Writing homework (after wrapping up a five page English paper). And needless to say, I'm fed up. I have my phone next to me, because I keep wanting to text Connor. But I know that's a terrible idea. I know I'm too needy and way too dependent, but somehow I really need to hear him talk.

I'm a fucking mess, and I'm so sick of it.

Things.

April has been an awful month.

I haven't been blogging much because I haven't really felt like writing about it.
I've just been trying to deal, day to day.
And so far, I'm doing okay.

I have a Creative Writing assignment where we have to write chapters of our autobiography. So far, I like how it's going. I may post a few chapters up here. That way I can get feedback and not have to write about things that are just a little too personal right now.

Dear Summer,

You can't come fast enough.
As the year gets closer and closer to ending, and AP exams start so spread their shadow, I just feel myself burning out. (Granted, the dreadful weather isn't really helping). It's a unique feeling. Similar and yet very different than the onslaught of winter depressions. It's seems that when you hit April, and the flowers still aren't blooming and it's still raining and you're still in school, your life feels just like that: still. And more than anything you just want to hit fast forward and feel excited again, reawaken your senses. You want to feel excited about things again, to be able to run outside without checking the weather, to hook up in a car without the heat on, to smoke cigarettes just to feel the warm burn in your throat, without feeling guilty or worrying about cancer. You want your heart to feel light again, in love without burden or remorse.

I found something I wrote last summer that describes it pretty well...

I guess the only way to convey how I've been feeling lately is content. It's nice to not feel anything hanging over your head, any problems in the distance, any fights or drugs or accidents or fear.

Just driving and music, Camp Crestwood and Blockbuster, work and houses. Friends and movies, coloring books, soda and sleep, heat and air conditioning. I could live like this for a while...

I just want that to come back. I want the heat and the sun and the grass, and I want this awful stillness to end. I'm going for optimism, though. So in the spirit of that: eight weeks left. I know I can do it.

Baby.

My boyfriend calls me baby. Just about everyday. It's funny, because I
fall for it. I listen for it, wait for it to fall off his lips, open a text from
him hoping it'll have that one perfect word. It's very unlike me.

The word itself is so unlike me. It's so condescending, so sugary sweet.
So demeaning, and yet I love it so much.

I makes me feel so safe. Like he's taking care of me.
And sometimes I forget how I need to be taken care of, just like everyone else.

So I'm in love. I guess there's no real way to beat around the bush.

It defines every emotion, underlies everything I say. And not always in a good way. In a corny way, sometimes. In the way that every lyric in a love song, I feel like it's about me. In an angry way, sometimes. I get angrier with him than I do anyone else, because he means so much to me. In a sexual way sometimes, how I can't keep my hands off him when he's around. In an anxious way, how I'm scared to lose something I know I'll eventually have to. In a comforting way, like the way I lay with my head on his chest, feeling the warm glow of his neck. In a dizzy way, like I can't even believe when I really look and see how pretty he is.

And I know we're moving fast. But it feels good. I've never moved fast in my life. To pursue it with such abandon, it's new to me. And I'm enjoying the ride.

I know it has to end eventually and I know it will hurt to read this when it does.

But let me say now that I'm lucky. So very lucky. I'm lucky to have my pretty, pretty boy. It doesn't fix everything, it doesn't make life perfect. But loving him adds a sugary base to it. Makes it a little sweeter, a little more bearable. It's a great cushion to lay on.

Like he said one day, it's like being asleep. And more than anything, you just don't want to wake up.

Spring.

There's something about spring that's really exhilirating to me.

When the weather starts to get warmer, and the sun stays up longer, it's like my mind suddenly explodes. And I go insane from love and hormones. But in a good way.

There's just something so fantastic about the feeling of it. Even though we haven't completely reached spring yet, there are more and more flashes of it. The snow from a week ago finally melted. Wednesday it reached 70 degrees, the sun didn't set until around six-thirty or seven. It just makes me so happy.

It makes me feel like I survived, you know?
Winter can be so dreary. It can make people feel so lost, like life is just a cycle of clouds and crying and chapped lips.
But suddenly it's like you come out on the other side, with the sun on your face and flowers blooming. The snow melting and everything is starting over.

Just really breathtakingly alive.

Happy Birthday to Me.

As of Friday, I'm seventeen years old.

After a day of nonstop rain and crying, Connor told me this:

"My poor baby. I wish I could fix everything. Look we only have a little left, so smile and hold your head up, no matter how heavy it gets. It's harder than it sounds I know, but you have to deal with it somehow because I couldn't stand to see someone with the potential to do so much collapse due to a struggle he has no control over."

I'm lucky.