Curious Assumptions
This is my venting page. I don't really understand the world, or care to for that matter.
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04th Mar 14 • 0 notes • Reblog

How come this movie Flipped makes me feel so miserable? it was voted as one of the the top feel good romantic movies… and yet, here I am. Miserable. When did me watching this movie start getting consumed by thoughts of my past, of my mom? Usually when I watch depressing romantic movies, it triggers thoughts of ex-boyfriends. Or times when I was bullied/sexually harassed by men. But this time… there was none of that. It was a different kind of consumption. A worse kind. One filled of memories of my mom. I thought about my life, and what a huge train wreck it had been. I began thinking about how interesting it would be to see what my life would look like as a narrated film, just like the movie Flipped. My friends and I would always joke (at my expense) how my life was like one of those horrid, predictably depressing LifeTime movies. But isn’t that what everyone says? So many of my friends could be quoted saying “I swear, I could like, totally make a tv show off of my life! its just, like, so crazy how it can be. So many coincidences. You just wouldn’t believe!” …..yeah, I’m sure. 

I just realized something though. I’ve been miserable for as long as I can remember. My childhood on Whidbey Island wasn’t all so bad actually, now that I think about it. But the second my parents moved my siblings and I to Edmonds…what changed? What happened to me? I stopped living. Something died inside me. Especially when I was in 7th grade. 12 years old and my mom started consuming my life. Stealing it from me. And she kept doing so. Month by month, year by year. Yes, my dad played a huge part in this also. Was Jessica right? Have I never had a healthy relationship with either of my parents? Would it be better to just cut my ties with both of them and move on with my life? With a fresh start?
I feel like the longer I live with my mom, the longer I will waste away. I’ve already allowed myself to waste 12-18, almost 19. 7 years. 7 years of my life spent doing nothing that I wanted to do. Not enjoying it the way I wanted. Not shared with a significant other (a boyfriend) or best friends. It was more of a 7 year long pity party. Depression. Anxiety. All caused from, guess where?! my parents. Or more specifically, my mom.
I know in order to start my young adulthood life and not waste another near decade that I would have to stop visiting or seeing her. I just can’t be around her anymore. She makes me sick. Watching her. Observing her. I can’t pretend that I don’t know that she’s an alcoholic anymore.
Why do my parents keep throwing me in between them? A free-for-all, really. Or use me against one another. Like I’m some sort of pawn. Or the second I mention to one that I’m appreciative of the other, or have grown closer to them recently, they reveal a hideous secret of each other. 
Enough. I can’t take it anymore! I don’t want this to happen, for it to be this way. I don’t want to share with my dad that I love my mom and that she and I are closer than we’ve ever been, only to have him show me essay long texts from my mom. All, in detail, about how she’d given up on me. How she didn’t want me. That my dad could have me full time if he wanted. That she stopped caring about me since she believed I had turned into this hideous human being. She kept going on how disgusted she was with what type of person I grew up to be. 
My feelings as I read these texts: Sick. Stunned. Shocked. Exhausted. Followed by the ever so familiar feeling of numbness. And all of that….that killed me. 
Or when I accidently slip to my mom that I’m glad my dad is who he is. That I believe he is a really good parent. The second I let these words leave my mouth, all hell breaks loose. She starts yelling about how selfish he is. How horrid he can be. How he is too controlling, has anger management issues, can be physically abusive, etc. And then she leaves the best part for last: a few days prior to this conversation, my dad apparently pushed my brother. Out of his wheel chair. When he got frustrated at him, and just walked away as his son laid on the ground, helpless. Did I mention we were in the middle of a restaurant? I just feel bad for the four couples around us. Definitely made all of their dates awkward. But hey, at least it was a night to remember.
Perhaps the biggest, most hideous slip was from my dad. The night my brother was hit by a car, we never received a call. Not from any doctor, police officer, or friend. How did we found out? Twitter. An old acquaintance of mine texted me after seeing a series of tweets about my brother and a car crash. Later we found out that there was only one phone number on my brother’s emergency contact list. Only one number all of his friends had for his relative. My mom’s. She was too busy getting drunk with her boyfriend in 3 cities over that night to answer her phone. I don’t remember if it was later that night, or one of the following nights… but when my dad finally decided to tell me that my mom was an alcoholic, I felt relieved and utter despair at the same time.
How could this be? How could I feel polar opposite emotions at the same time after being told my mom was an alcoholic, and always has been one? How could I feel anything. How in the world could a parent even do that to her children? Does she even understand how that effects us? At all? She’s been a heavy drinker since the age of 14. I knew that of her. She was a free spirit with European immigrants as parents. It was understandable. But even after she had her kids? My siblings? And still continued drinking at the rate that she does? That she would do it so often, often enough for us to think that her drunkeness was just her being normal? Or her regular, emotional self? We grew up with her drunk. We don’t know the sober her. So we weren’t able to recognize all of the times she was drinking, driving and drinking, or was drunk. I don’t know which of my childhood memories are real or not. If those were her intoxicated, influenced compliments, or sober ones…intoxicated insults, or sober ones….what part of her relationship & mine was real? What parts was she sober in? And what parts are the drunk, distorted ones? How am I supposed to know? To trust my past with her? To trust my present or future? 
It feels lie it was all just one big fucking lie. Like she stole my childhood away from me. I know I’m overreacting by saying this. But first she robbed my pre-teen and teenage years. Now she’s risen up and decided to go even further than that, and snatch my “innocent” child years as well? What the fuck am I left with then. Who the fuck am I. Who the fuck is my mom. What the fuck is my family. My life. Do I even have a life? I used to think my life was similar to silly puddy or molding clay. Sure, it was hard to work with at first. But once you warmed it up, it became fun to experiment and try new things with it. See what you could make with it. Form it into. Build with it. 
But now, my life just seemed like that silly puddy that was messed with too much. Overheated, as if someone left it in the desert dry sun. Now it was all drippy. None of the particles were sticking together, holding any shape or form. It was just a liquidy mess. No matter how hard I tried to get control of myself, to reclaim my life, it just kept slipping through my fingers.
Now, the more time I’m around her and see her, each time I see her even the slightest bit tipsy I get consumed with rage. Its like in that moment that she’s intoxicated, she’s taunting me. Purposely throwing it in my face. Lying to me. Trying to deceive and trick me into thinking thats her. That’s the normal her we’ve all grown up with. What we were raised with. You fucking liar.
I can’t even feel sorry for her. No sympathy. No….anything. Just resentment. I think the reason why I felt relief and despair when I first was told she was an alcoholic was because on some level, I had always known she was one. I just hoped to the God that I don’t believe in that I was wrong. That means that the only couple of good memories I have with her, and I do mean a couple (three total motherly memories), could be fake. This means that no matter what I do in the future, no matter who I become or what I accomplish, she will always treat me the way that she does. It doesn’t matter who I am. What I do. What I can achieve. She will always verbally abuse me. Maybe I feel relief knowing that it isn’t really me she’s saying all of these things to. Or that it isn’t really her saying it; its the alcohol. Maybe I feel relief knowing I’m not crazy nor have I ever been when I used to feel like I had done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve or explain her behavior towards me. It wasn’t my fault. And I think thats the despair feeling that follows this. Me realizing its not my fault she acts this way. Which means I won’t be able to help her. To put an end to her suffering or her behavior. Since I’m not the reason she is like this, me stopping or not living with her any longer won’t make her become a better parent to my siblings. A better person in general. She’ll be the same. Completely unaffected by me not being in her life anymore, or by my change and success. This saddens me to such a great extent. Why the fuck do I feel sorry for her now? Just moments before I didn’t feel anything for her. Or….wait. I don’t feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for myself. Hahaha, the pity party continues. Great…just great. I think I feel despair because in this life, I will never know what it feels like to have a mom. Yeah. That’s it. 
I had always hoped that one day my mom’s behavior would change towards me. That she would become a different person once I had become a different person myself. Once I had made the necessary changes, I thought she would as well. But she won’t. And she never will. I will never have a mother. A strong bond with someone I can call “mom”. I don’t want to think about this anymore or I might start crying. Stupid. Why does this make me feel so weak. I won’t have someone to go to when I need help. Advice with boys. With friends. Go shopping with. Get ready with. Go out to eat with. Get advice on school with. Have someone to support me and encourage me even in my most darkest moments. I won’t ever have this. I never have, but its different from going from believing that one day you will, into realizing you never will. I’ll live this long life without any of that. I feel as if I’ll be missing a piece of this puzzle in life, one that everyone around me seems to have. And I’ll always just be an outsider because I was born without that missing piece.
30th Dec 12 • 2 notes • Reblog

I have noticed there are many personal tumblr accounts that ask “why” questions in life. These why questions are fine, interesting, intriguing  But what about the “how” questions? Are they essentially the same thing? Or is there a difference between them? 

What do “why” questions ask? They ask the reasoning behind something. The intentions of an action, for an example. They demand an answer.

What do “how” questions ask? They ask for the process behind an action. The steps that were taken that were able to create said result. They demand an explanation.

The huge difference that is often overlooked. Many people ask “why” questions where “how” questions should have been asked. Is this why people receive mixed signals? Don’t interpret something completely? Don’t understand someone or who they are? When trying to find a solution to this “why” question, I find myself asking a “how” question in order to understand a possibility. The “why” transforms into the “how” evolution of media. If we look at the progress media has made in our lives (not the reasoning behind it) but the facts, media focuses solely on tragedy. Has the media focused on the “why” questions for so long because they produce more intriguing answers and stories? Yes, of course they have. Can we put the blame on them? If not, what else do we blame? Society? The answer to the possibility of society being the cause would require the question transformation into “how” as we look at the processes of society’s evolution that could have resulted in this outcome. For now, however, lets revert back to the media possibility  For example, which story would you rather read:

A man discovered how to fly. When he was a little kid, his twin sister died on an airplane. If he had been able to fly, who knows. He could have had the ability to save her. Or perhaps his sister wouldn’t have been on that airplane at all, but flying to her destination herself. Now he dedicates his time to delivering materials to isolated parts of the world, saving children from mountain tops, and reduced airplane crashes by 90%.

OR the process behind his discovery

A man first tested multiple experiments on rats. He bought 20 of them at Petco. They were all brown with black eyes. They had 6 1/2 cm long tails on average. Each one had two ears, four legs, two eyes, and one tail. The man had them undergo many tests that resulted in mutation, death, or disease for the first 15 years. Daily, he would soak them in chemicals that would result in the changing of fur color, size reduction or increase, and weight loss or weight gain  He would soak them for every other two hours. He tried to mix in different ingredients as well. He outlines the steps of procedure by emphasizing the tools utilized: measuring cups, beakers, plastic tubs, weighing machine, thermometer, ……………………….

Which requires less thinking to comprehend? Which is more exciting to read about in a newspaper? The measurements of salt and the amount of furs on a rat, or the tragic death of a twin and the invention to defy gravity. 

Do we, as a human race, only care about people’s feelings and traumatic stories? If this is the case, how come I feel as if we are all selfish…. Is caring only about the interesting personal backgrounds of a person selfish? Is the act of caring selfish as a whole? Have we completely eliminated the “how” questions when going on in life? Is this why we make mistakes, regrets, and bad decisions? Because we were so focused on the “why” aspects and reasons of people? Or are “why” and “how” questions asking for the same thing? Or are they the same thing? Does every question require looking at the intentions of an action AND the process that was taken to achieve the action/create the situation? Is every form of question essentially the same, since in order to comprehend and resolve a question, both an explanation and answer is required?

We enter blindly in life. We seek the “why” from society. But is blindness a birth right which we are all born into, or do we choose its path? 

19th Dec 12 • 1 note • Reblog

If I am being honest, I am scared to have a cell phone again. The thought terrifies me. I don’t know if I am strong enough to turn away from my temptations and cravings. I still crave some of the experiences I had from last year. 

I dream of taking ecstasy. Of rolling. Of feeling each pump of adrenaline. Of eating Shrooms. Of my vision changing. Of my perception transforming. Or of drinking so much that you don’t feel a single thing in the world. Drinking so much that you feel invincible at the fact that you still are alive. I loved smoking to the point that all I could do was laugh. To the point where every inch of movement was hilarious. To the point where even the most scary piece of news made me smile.

This scares me. I miss dreaming of the future, of the world, or of discovering new possibilities. I haven’t had a dream like this for two years. Not one. Instead my dreams have become tainted. They are ugly and filled with temptations. My skin itches and burns at the thought of rolling again or snorting another line or xanax. I want to scream at everyone I interacted with last year, at my best friend of 14 years who forced me to smoke my first blunt, spliff, cigarette, at one of my ex-boyfriend’s who forced me to take my first shot. I want to scream at everyone who thought that was okay. I was fine with who I was until last year. I liked who I was. And now I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror on some days. I can’t make eye contact with certain people in the hallways. 

Everything in the world is different now. It will never be the same. I guess I wasn’t strong enough last year. I have always been gullible, but I never knew how stupid I was. How ignorant I was. Yes, there is always a choice. But why did I feel like I had none?

19th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

I haven’t had a phone for four months. You read this right. At first I absolutely hated it. I needed twitter, instagram, and facebook at my fingertips. I craved to tweet funny and witty things. But after the first two months went by, as I slowly became distant from social networking, I realized how completely fucked up my school is. 

Our school is addicted to twitter. No other school in Washington state is as obsessed with social networking as we are. I have discussed this with people from two schools over to people who are near the Canadian border. How did my school develop this unhealthy addiction?

We, or I should now say they, have no identity. No privacy. They tweet every single thought. The average amount of time I would spend on twitter was three hours. At least. Each day. I would tweet from 10-25 tweets daily. The second I lost my phone and stopped tweeting as much, I lost 20 followers. Granted, I still have the majority of my followers (for some weird reason) but the fact that just because I stopped tweeting as much, since I now maybe tweet once or twice every couple of days, is still shocking to me.

Why does my school like being so connected to everyone on this level? At least 200 people in each grade (from freshman to seniors) have a twitter account. Is this supposed to be considered a good thing? Are we supposed to be proud of this fact? Why did I used to enjoy it so much?

Now looking back on my past tweets, I feel so embarressed. I put literally everything out in the open. The drugs I was going to do that night. Drunken party photos. I would announce to my entire school when I was horny…! Or went through a breakup. Why!? Not having a cell phone woke me up to this horrid realization. And this was the norm to do so. As I read through the twitter timeline now, I have read 6 tweets from different people about how attractive someone is. Why feel the need to announce that to the entire school? Why feel the need to instagram and tweet a picture of your lunch? Why feel the need to tweet where and what party you are going to tonight? Or that it was snowing earlier? Or that you hope the weather changes?

….why are we supposed to care so much?

09th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

It almost pains me how much girls crave guys attention. I myself included. And then in those moments where we are able to step back from being boy-crazy, all we do is judge the girls who are still in infatuation. We as an entire gender have developed this vindictive cycle of judging. It is ridiculous. You don’t like someone for their actions? Understandable. You don’t like someone for their opinions? Alright. You don’t like someone for their words? Sweet. But you choosing to hate someone based on their taste in men? NO. That is NOT okay. That does not define who a person is. You cannot help who you like. I myself have done this in the past, and looking back on it now I realize how revolting and wrong I was.

What is even worse is when a guy likes a girl, and girls choose to hate on the girl for the guy doing so. Did the girl choose for the guy to like her? No. Did she intentionally force him to like her? No. Was he “tricked” into asking her out? …Are you serious?

09th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

Isn’t it strange how we all seek approval in some form from someone? Whether it be our peers, our parents, our family, or our teachers? Isn’t it strange how this is what drives us, that this is what pushes us to preform in a certain way?

I wonder, is this a good thing or a bad thing? Is it natural, or have we as humans evolved down the wrong path?

For me personally, my Dad is what pushes me. He constantly disapproves of everything I do, of my very existence. I am thankful for this though. I now have so much drive and motivation to achieve things, that I wonder when it will run out. I am thankful for all of this determination and goals that I established through him. I do not think I would have accomplished as much if it weren’t for him.

But when the day comes, if the day comes, where he finally shows approval, will my source of drive run out? Will I be left with nothing? Or will I need to find a new figure of disapproval to focus on?

Without this disapproval, what am I?

09th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

I don’t know why writing this helps me feel better. I don’t know if its the fact that I put them up where the whole world can see and nothing bad happens, or the fact that writing can help sooth any mood. I wonder if I should get a diary and stop writing these posts. I wonder if bad things will start happening if I write these, like someone I know finds them. That would be horrid.

But then I think, do I care?

No.

09th Dec 12 • 1 note • Reblog

I want to give up on the world, but something keeps pushing me. I still get flashbacks to last year often. Why can’t we erase moments of our past, the moments that absolutely do nothing for us other than harm?

I want to forget about getting so drunk that I couldn’t see, hear, or move. I want to forget about drinking on anti-depressants and waking up the next day and knowing nothing. I want to forget about the moments I was taken advantage of. I want to forget about the situations I put myself in. I want to forget each inch of last year and go back to being sheltered.

Being sheltered was the best gift anyone has ever given me. I liked living in a world where everyone was kind. Where everyone had good intentions, where everyone was fair, and where everyone was sane. But once you break that image of the sheltered world, you can never go back.

09th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

I feel so guilty for finally cutting her out of my life. But since I have, I have gone back to being the straight A student destined for a good college. I have reconnected with my old friends. I finally feel sane again.She still tries to contact me often… am I being a bad person? Do I still hold a responsibility to her, to help her recover? If two years of my life that were given to her weren’t enough, what would be? Am I not enough to help her recover? …Do I want to be?

09th Dec 12 • 0 notes • Reblog

I think about how corrupted I became last year and all I want to do is hide. I did so many things, so many drugs, so many experiences I wish I could take back. People that say bad influences aren’t real are kidding themselves. Bad influences are the most real thing on Earth. Mine came in the form of a childhood friend, someone who I had been friends with for 10 years, someone who I met in the 4th grade. This friend helped me through my parents divorce, through my parents fighting, through my brief moments of insanity. When she found out that her dad wasn’t her dad, but was her step dad, and that her mom had put a restraining order on her real dad, what was I supposed to do? Block her out while she went through one of the most traumatic experiences imaginable? But what she did to me was wrong. And I have to acknowledge that. I do not blame her anymore. She developed the bipolar disorder on top of everything else. Here was a girl who got scholarships to private schools because of her intelligence  a girl who was bound for ivy league colleges. Then she discovered too much too quickly about her family. She fell behind school by a year, then two years, and now no one knows when she will graduate high school. I had to be there for her, right? Even if she tried to drag me down with her? I had to stay with her. Even through all of the emotional abuse she put me through… Even through all of the peer pressure she involved me in. Even though she was the one who forced me to smoke my first cigarette, blunt, spliff, to drink my first shot, beer, and wine bottle. Can I blame her for using my parents divorce against me? Is it okay for me to hate her?