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[allie-s-work]

I mean… please?

Repost if you are a girl looking for a girlfriend

It seems so hard to find other single women who like women. So this will make it easier for us to find each other.

[allie-s-work]

Trigger warning I guess: Existential crisis, depression, failure…?

(Is that how those work?)

Topic: Words that sting.

I don’t recall much of my childhood, I’ve since blocked the majority of those memories from my mind. But certain phrases at the wrong times cause me to spiral out of control, down the depression hole. These phrases, or statements, or whatever you’d like to call them; they are not compliments in my eyes.

A few of these phrases include:

You’re so kind!

You’re so smart!

Amongst others. I would just like to focus on these two, however.

As we all know, any word has the potential to sting; if spoken in such a way. These two phrases, they’re quite hurtful to me. Because I’m only kind when I bleed myself dry, I’m only smart when I allow others to copy off my work. I’m only smart when I get an A+ on a test, I’m only kind when I allow people to think that I’m stupid enough to allow them to take advantage of me.

I know that they are taking advantage of me. I know bleeding out isn’t healthy, I know all of this. And yet, I still do it. I’m still “kind” and “smart,” why? Why am I like this?

I am only a good kid when I let the adults in my life make decisions for me. But, am I a good person if I don’t make decisions for myself? No. I am not. But, am I a person to most people? No. I am not. I am a kind, smart, good kid. Nothing more.

I was never taught anything different from what I just told you. So I don’t know how to deal with failure. I was never taught how to feel emotions besides any form of happiness, and I certainly wasn’t taught how to think outside the box.

I like to think I thrive in school, I like to think my teachers see something good in me; but in reality, I don’t. And they see me as average. Which I guess is good, but the adults in my life do not see it as such. They always tell me that I’m too smart to have a C in my Honors level English, I’m too smart to have a B+ in Pre Calculasse, I’m too smart! I’m too smart…? Is that bad? Is that bad? If I am smart, if I am kind; and those are where I need to be, why do I feel like this?

I don’t understand! I cannot comprehend what I’m feeling, how I’m feeling, none of it! I can’t do it! This is beyond my level, and I’m a failure. How can I be such a failure? How can I get better? Will they still love me? Have they ever?

[allie-s-work]

Draft 1: Grow Up.

Wc: ~545

I have gone to many funerals in my life. None of which I wanted to go to, but all of which I was told I had to attend. The funerals were primarily for those that I once knew when I was little, but I don’t truly remember them. Not like this.

Countless times, I’ve been told to “grow up” or “be the bigger person.” I was six years old when this started. I was told from then on that I’m more “mature” than my peers, and that I was capable of “so much more.” I was placed in the gifted and talented classes at a very young age; and always told those same things. I wish I never listened to them.

I remember this funeral like the back of my hand. For I still have the very same hands that caused it. I was no longer a child, I ended that life as soon as my father started noticeably drinking. My mother worked long and hard hours, my brother was barely in the house; and I would spend my time in my room reading. In my eight year old head, I didn’t want to annoy my father; because I was horrified of what could, but never did, happen.

I want you to take a second to reflect on what I just said. I was eight. I no longer considered myself a child. I wasn’t even a “big kid,” as most others call themselves at that age. I willingly would spend so much time in my room, in my head; with my books that I could not socialize. I was placed in an honors English class in the sixth grade. I made the honor roll in the seventh grade. Because my teachers, they had my brother and they loved him. So, instead of giving me the grade I deserved, instead of challenging me; they wrote all good things about me. On my writing, on my report card; you name it; it was a good thing.

I have since then struggled with my grades, I have since then struggled with coming to the conclusion that I am average. I do not have any more redeeming qualities than that of Joe Schmoe down the road. I’m not a literary genius like my mom thinks I am. I am half of a human. I no longer have that inner child to make me happy, I can no longer look at my life through those rose colored glasses. I don’t believe I was ever able to do that.

People who’re older than me are taken aback by my insight into any given situation. I thrive in my English classroom discussions. They are one of the three things that I find enjoyable. Like I said, I’m not a literary scholar; I’m just now coming to terms with the fact that as I’m writing this, I am seventeen years young. I am not old enough to live on my own, and yet; I feel like I am on my own. Getting into college, pursuing a career in English; these are things I’m trying desperately to look forward to.

I have gone to many funerals in my life, and I’m not willing to witness the aftermath of another failed attempt to “grow up.”