meaniemaemo

Its been a wonder all my life why christians are so sensible about their beliefs. By the mere mention of "not true", "false", "imaginary", by the mere violation of their tabbos wich they call "sacred", they all jump indignant, violent and pompous.
Perhaps its a sign that they know in some corner of their mind that their belief are absurd and pattently wrong, but that corner remains sealed by the indoctrianation, lack of critical thinking and the fear of the void.

So true.

Has become somewhat of a problem..
I never thought I'd regret losing my virginity more than I do now..
Every time I'm even reminded of my boyfriend's only significant ex, it gives me a stomach ache.
An actual stomach ache. It's almost like my stomach does a backflip into my throat.
I hate her so much, I hate that she even exists.
I hate that he loved her at one point, even though she manipulated him, lied to him, abused his emotions, etc.
The list goes on, and I hate her for that. I hate her for hurting my love.

I regret because I wish I had been his first and he had been mine. That's how much I love him, I wish I could have had that connection with him. Not with someone who's better friends with a best friend I don't have anymore than he is with the girl he lost his virginity with and vice versa. I know friendship between people who do that together doesn't last, but I thought maybe it would.. I think everyone wishes it would.

I feel horrible, knowing, even thinking, that Shawn has been with another girl before me. I don't know how he feels about me being with someone before him.

I hate that Meagan is there, that she even exists as the minuscule footnote that she is. She lives in the back of my mind, in a spot that rarely gets stirred up, but when it does, it ruins my entire mood. I think about how she must be, how her personality must be, how she looks, why he was attracted to her at that point in time that they were together; everything.. it disgusts me. SHE disgusts me.. I want her to disappear. I want to not care that she was with him, that they lost their virginity together.. I want all of that to just go away. Please? =[

My mind has been too jumbled for it's own good. I can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, and when I can, it's not good. I'm only able to pay attention to the bad thoughts. Like the ones that tell me to leave my boyfriend because I'm too young to be settled down. Or the ones that say, "Throw money at that angry customer!"
Those are thoughts of a bad day at work.
Good thoughts consist of realizing how much I love my boyfriend, missing my cat, and not being able to wait to get home to cook something yummy for dinner. Although, much to my dismay, I find that the negative always over powers the positive. When I think about my love for my boyfriend, I think about being with him for the rest of my life, which leads to me never being with anyone else; never being free again. In that, I sometimes catch myself wishing that I had met him 2 years from now, instead of 8 months ago.
I think about wanting something new, about craving the feeling of a heart-stopping adrenalin rush that I get when I kiss a new person, or get a new crush..
I can't feel that about anyone, even people I think are really attractive, and by not being able to comprehend that.. feeling, I can't help but.. feel... lost..
Is that wrong of me? To even want that feeling?
God, I'm saying 'feel' a lot.
Does anyone know what I mean? Does anyone out there understand?
Help me feel normal..
Just tell me that these jitters and cold feel are completely normal for a girl hitting her 7 month mark in her first relationship.

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)

Is so imperfectly perfect.
Sure, I moved in with my boyfriend after only a week of dating him, but it was the best decision I've ever made.
I blamed myself for the death of a pet, even though it wasn't my fault, but I've let go and I'm healing.
I've broken away from my family and struggled to regain my balance, but I've leveled with myself and now I'm stable.
After countless anxiety attacks and worried nights, I've realized that I am in control of my own life, and I love it.
I've lost friends, but I've kept friends, made new ones, and re-opened myself to old friends again and I'm glad that they're still there for me, after all this time.
After months of searching, I've found a job and although it's hard, I'm learning a new trade.
I'm only 400 dollars away from my license and hopefully, if I work hard, I'll have it paid off by Christmas and still have money to buy my family and new family presents.
I have the most amazing grandparents, who, even though they live 170 miles away, still manage to take care of me when I need them and check in on a weekly basis.
I never realized how important my sister was to me until she needed me the most, and now I'm here to take care of her when she needs me.
I've grown to let go of the grudge I've held against my mother for her insistent drinking and now I just want to help her.
I'm going to be 19 years old this upcoming March and I'm not afraid of not being a kid anymore. I'm growing up and I'm finally okay with it. I'm ready to learn from the wise ones around me and I want to soak up that information so I don't make the same mistakes in my life to come.
I'm going to read books, I'm going to take classes and I'm going to meditate to make sure that I gain patience enough to be able to raise my future children the right way. I don't them to be afraid of me like I was of my parents.
I'm going to change my life, whether it wants to change or not, and I'm going to mold myself into the best person I can possibly be.
One of positivity, optimism, love and care.
I'm going to learn to love everybody, help anyone who needs it, and give back to the world that I live on.
I love my family, I love my pets, I love my boyfriend and I love his family, who has so graciously welcomed me into their own family.

I am happy.

I've never felt so insecure, so disconnected, so mental.

I question what I'm capable of, what I could do, and it scares me half to death.
It makes me wonder thing about myself.

I need my friends back.
I need that security back.
I need someone to be here, someone that will help me through this.


I just have to keep telling myself that I'm in control.
I'm at the wheel of this speeding car.
And no matter how rough my road gets,
No matter what obstacles block my way,
I have to be strong and make it through.
Because I'm capable of that.
I'm strong, and unwilling to succumb to this evil.

It's called These Broken Mirrors and my boyfriend wrote it for me.

He hasn't recorded it yet, but his other stuff is on his myspace if you wanna listeeennn.

http://www.myspace.com/afteravalanchemusic

What's your name?
Could you turn around say it again
Caught my eye
Like a pretty secret tryin' to hide
keep it deep inside still your eyes are dancing and alive
song played on broken strings
but i can see through these broken things

Can you see through broken mirrors
Could these be broken colors
Could it be, could it be
broken mirrors
make you see, make you see
what is really there

I can't change
anything about you and your mind
It's okay
Far from my desire is to unwind anything
that makes you exactly who you are
Perfectly cracked and weathered
Your Beauty spills through every sever

Can you see through broken mirrors
Could these be broken colors
Could it be, could it be
broken mirrors
make you see, make you see
what is really there.

probably won't be the one to call you baby,
but i will be the one to tell you maybe you will see
that surely you are more
than all these broken things

and darling if love is but a mystery
a mystery is all that we have

Back to Oregon.


I live in Beaverton now C: