Guyssss it’s November eleventh today it’s eleven/eleven!!!
THERE’S WISHBONES AND CLOVERS AND NUMBERS FROM HEAVEN CONAN YOU LYRICAL GENIUS
anyways so recently my school closed down because of this international company that bought the school, stripped the school of all their assists for three years without their knowledge and basically scammed us. NOW I have to go to this horrible school in the middle of nowhere, where the bathrooms STINK and everyone’s horrible to each other and the teachers just DON’T care. Like, I actually wanna pass my GCSEs, but I probably won’t if the majority of the teachers continue to give half assed lessons.
The thing is, I was really happy at my old school. The first two years there kind of sucked. But the third year was easily the best year of my life. I had friends who I actually liked and actually liked me, and I was happy there. But NOW, because of some horrible people across the world who don’t care about anything but money, the one good thing I had going for myself, my friends, is just gone. Which sucks ass. I’m studying for my GCSEs right now, but I’m so scared that I’m gonna fail. I’m a prime example of someone who excelled earlier on, and just stopped caring because they never developed any work ethic. My dad likes to go on and on about how I need to go into academia in order to exploit my mind, which I guess I can take as a compliment, but every time I even express an interest in anything other than academia he gets angry. I wanted to be a ballerina when I was eleven, and I told him that’s what I wanted to do. He got really angry and asked if I was messing around with him to wind him up. When I wanted to go on broadway, he got angry, and etc etc. It’s such a cliché but it also sucks.
My dad is someone who loves me, I’m sure, he’s my dad that’s what he’s supposed to do, but it’s not like it’s unconditional. If I’m quiet, and agree with everything he says, and thin and pretty and neat and fit his perfect little idea of femininity and what a woman should be, than he can find it within him to love me properly. I don’t think he cares about me being “happy” by going into academia (he says that he knows the only way I can be happy is if I go into academia, and it’s just like, I’m pretty sure I’d know that better than you do) as much as he cares about the image of having a daughter in academia. That’s what he cares about more than anything, how people perceive him. He didn’t have a great childhood, so maybe that thing is ingrained within him, but I would just think that the wellbeing of his child would come before that. He’s obsessed with being seen as the victim. When I was eight, up till I was about thirteen, he would routinely tell me about how much he hates his life and hates his job and his horrible childhood. Obviously, I wish he hadn’t gone through that, and I wanted to help him, but isn’t your child supposed to be the person you love above all else? He only stopped because I told my counsellor I was worried he was suicidal, so she called him and my mum, and my mum chewed him out. And I used to keep a list, of things I could never bring up, because I didn’t want him to get upset and start talking about these things, but that’s what the conversation always lead back to. And I can’t get angry at him, because oh he’s just so sweet and precious and traumatised, and I can’t ever wonder about his parenting skills and how much he actually cares about the wellbeing of his child, because he clothes us and feeds us and we should be grateful for that. And I can’t have a bad day because he’s such a wonderful parent. And it’s okay when he blows up over little things and scares me and my sister and makes us dread for when our mum leaves for work and he becomes a ticking time bomb, because he loves us really. And it’s okay when he controls every little thing in our lives, wants to know every little detail of my day and criticises things he doesn’t think fits the box he’s made for me or when I can’t remember everything I said, when he buys me things that I specifically said I don’t want or need and uses them as leverage for when I’m not loving enough as a daughter, because he just wants what’s best for us.
Considering all of that was very depressing for a first blog entry, something good I have going for me is that one day I’m going to be a writer, living in London or Paris or New York or Washington or Vermont or Oregon or Oxford, and this will all seem a million years behind me. Sometimes I worry that I only want to be a writer because girls who read always want to be writers, but I think that’s just my intrusive thoughts. I know I want to be a writer because books are the one thing I’ve consistently felt real, unwavering passion for. I really hope that one day I write something beautiful and grand and sad, and somebody puts on good reads that it was their favourite book. I recently got a poem I wrote published, but it didn’t feel as liberating as I thought it would. That feeds into my worry that i only want to be a writer because that’s what girls who read do, but I’m holding out for when I publish a real book. That poem only took me 20 minutes, so it didn’t mean that much to me. If I feel nothing then, I guess I’ll have more insight for what I really want from life.
Mainly what I want from life is to have friends and a community, and maybe a boyfriend, and maybe even a daughter, that make me excited for each day. People I can turn to and like and like me, and stick around through difficult times. High school sucks in more ways than one, but one of the ways is that you’re thrown into groups of hormonal teenagers who are verrryyy loud and would probably throw sandwiches at me if given the chance.
Sometimes I don’t even want that. I don’t think I know myself very well because I’m always going back and forth on what I really truly want and who I actually am. The one thing I’m sure I want is to stay in bed, sleep, and not worry about wasting away the already dwindling time I have. I want time to freeze, so I can just sleep. I sometimes worry if that means I want to die, but I think every teenager feels like that. The nice thing about blogging is that whatever I say is taken at face value, and people don’t take what they know about me already into consideration when I tell them things. It’s also much easier to say these things when I’m behind a screen, and people find it much easier to sympathise when they’re behind their own. What else is nice about it is that blogging does the same thing literature does; you know that you’re not alone because someone across time and space would completely get you if you had the chance to have a conversation. What I want most of all though, is to one day realise that my worry that I’m a completely apathetic, cruel, sad, doomed shell of a girl is just a symptom of the horrible disease that is being a teenager.
That became very depressing again, and it wasn’t great for a first blog post, but I promise that in future blogs I won’t just whine and complain :))
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