My grandmother is dying. She's been dying for a while. And, while my immediate family has accepted and adjusted to this fact, not every one else has. And they're hurting and confused and sometimes the confusion hurts others more than they realize.
One of my best friends is shutting me out and I don't understand why. Maybe if I did, I would, but since I don't, it scares me. What did I do wrong? Did I hurt their feelings somehow? Is it simply because they're too busy? I wish I could explain to them that our little talks and our oddball friendship have saved me in more ways than one but those words are too personal and too hard to put into my mouth or onto paper. I wish I could know why--if it really is me or if it isn't, and that way I could have something to put into words when I pray for them. And the fact that this is constantly on my mind makes me worry that I'm being too clingy and overreacting over something simple. Seeing things that aren't there.
Sometimes, my head is too full of frustrating thoughts for me to walk in a straight line.
I'm almost 18, without a plan for my future, can't drive, I'm not going to college like all my friends, and people don't understand this. And they don't understand that their confused looks and "...interesting." responses hurt a lot. I'm only 18. I'm allowed to be confused. Not everybody is perfect.
I've had multiple meaningful conversations with people these past weeks and yet I still feel oh-so-alone. But it's a Tuesday. And Tuesdays tend to be days like that.
I'm reading a book about a boy with depression and realizing "I do that. I think like that. I struggle with that." And it frustrates me because I don't want to deal with that.
I'm writing and words are coming out, but there are too many words to catch at once--it's like my net is overflowing, and the words keep flailing around and falling back into the sea of my imagination for me to catch on another day.
I'm behind in so many things--in school, in quizzing, in text messages and emails, in sleep, in life. All I want is to go outside and play basketball until everything fades away to a dull ache and I can just focus on me, the sky, and the ball, but I'm sick and going outside is a no-no.
I feel like I don't talk to God enough, but I can't figure out why I feel like that because I do talk to him, and I know he's right beside me, always, because he's shown me that too many times to count.
nothing is really crumbling into pieces, but it feels like it is.
I guess, if I could sum this up in a neat concise way, I'd use The Perks of Being a Wallflower as a guide: this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both alright and not okay at the same time, and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.