clairora

[clairora]

[clairora]

I love Culinary Competitions.

The first annual one of all time.

The 1st place prize was a block of cheese.

A 42 pound...

Block of cheese

[clairora]

In 2016 I had no idea what the game was. When I first watched this video I was so confused. But now, now is different. I know what the game is and I am cursed to say:

“I lost the game”

[clairora]

Send this to anyone who complains about not getting to read anything you write. Do it.

[clairora]

I NEED HELP!!!

I need someone to draw my OCs.

Why?

Because I suck at drawing.

I have the descriptions and everything, just message me.

It is for an original story that will be posting on Wattpad, quotev, and Archive of our Own when I finish it.

I will show off your work if you submit it.

I will follow you on everything if you submit work.

Thanks for helping a struggling writer that can’t draw for shit! 😁

[clairora]

February 9th, 2019

I hate myself.

I know you're not supposed to say that.

An automatic response of the person sitting across from me is

“No, you don’t”

Or

“You’re beautiful, you can’t hate yourself.”

They’re right,

I am beautiful.

That is such a stupid assumption.

That people that hate themselves, hate the way they look.

I think I’m fucking gorgeous.

Half of you probably don’t think that,

But that’s not my problem.

The reason I hate myself is this;

Right now, I want to kill all of you.

I have the mind of a psychopath.

And a sociopath.

And every other “-path” there is.

Do one of you want to guess why I don’t do as such?

“Because I’ll get arrested”?

Oh, no.

I couldn’t give a rats ass if I got arrested.

The reason I don’t do it.

IS because of sadness, and guilt.

Not mine, of course.

But your family’s

Your friend’s

Your lover’s

Your mother’s sadness, and tears

When she picks up the phone, only to hear that her baby is dead.

Or a best friend’s guilt when the read about it. Realizing the last thing they said to you was only a mere ‘goodbye’

Or maybe a lover’s heartbreak when they don’t see you walk through the door.

That is what is stopping me.

That is the only reason I’m alive.

Because I can not bear to think of what my sister will do to herself when she finds out that her big sister was dead.

I hate myself because of it,

But I have come to terms with the fact I will never be okay.

I will never be able to do anything great.

Because of how I am.

I once went to a motivational speaker with my band.

I didn’t know what to expect.

But it wasn’t what I heard.

I met kids that had so many greater things that i had.

The speaker went around the room and called out people

Talking about eye contact

And - and emotions

Trying to play with our hearts.

It was that moment I realized I was so cold-hearted

That I didn’t give a damn about his speech.

I believe to this day, that I was the only one without tears by the end of that speech.

Even my director, this tough guy with a goatee

Was balling his eyes out.

From what?

This guy that guilt trips us?

That makes us feel like we can do anything?

What the hell guys?

There is no possible way I can do anything, even remotely denting.

Because I’m a cold hearted bitch.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 when I was 18.

Only after I had been going to therapy for 6 months.

And only after I had walked down a busy highway in the snow.

Because I told my mother that “if [she] didn’t believe anxiety and depression were more than an emotion, then pull over”

And she did.

My mom would say she remembers this conversation differently.

But she isn’t here to tell her side of the story,

Not because she’s dead!

Jesus, you guys.

She’s still in Minnesota. As far as I know, very much alive.

But I'm telling what happened from my point of view.

I know I give her more stress than what I'm worth.

I wish I could just float away.

Maybe not even exist in the first place.

I don’t want to die, because that means sadness and guilt.

So the perfect scenario would be to not even exist at all, right from the get-go.

But I can’t.

No one can.

That’s why I hate myself.

Because I've learned that I am too much of a burden to anyone and everyone in my life, way too early. I've learned that people care and worry about me too much, so if I were to uproot myself, and throw myself out, I would also disrupt everyone else around me. And that just won’t do.

[clairora]

I’m 18, so..

Technically not allowed. But this snippet of conversation happened with my dad last night.

I was sitting on the futon in front of the tell when my dad walked in front of me to put a case of beer in the mini fridge.

“Ooo, can I have one?”

“No, I’m afraid not, these are special.”

I paused the tele very dramatically and said, “And I’m not?”

...

He turned his head to look at me, I turned the tele back on.

“She’s gotcha there.” My mum said, barely able to control her laughing.

[clairora]

February 5th, 2019

Someday, you will learn to resent everything.

You will learn to resent the monster in your closet, or under your bed. Because they made you into the monster you are.

You will resent your clothes. Because you are forced to wear the same things every day.

You will learn to resent your mother. Because she brought you into this world.

Finally, you will learn to resent yourself. Because it is the last thing that you do not resent.

With the circle of anxiety, stress, depression, and anything that comes with them, it surrounds you before you finally let them in.

Whether you want them there, or not.

[clairora]

Both of my childhood crushes became serial killers, my life is complete.

[clairora]

December 4th, 2018

watch this video 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7Bc3pLyij0

And see what made my mother, a hard-ass grown woman, cry.

[clairora]

December 1st, 2018

Today I completely lost it.

Not as much as a couple weeks ago though.

Two Sundays ago, I had a matinee of West Side Story, I was a background character, made up, named DeeDee. I was very excited when I auditioned, I mean, I got a callback, I sang ‘Somewhere’ again, I hit the high notes even though I’m an alto 2. Still cast as a made up character. Spirits crushed, still didn’t quit because what else was I supposed to do? I’m not athletic enough to suddenly rejoin soccer my senior year, besides, tryouts were a month ago.

But, anyway, I was riding with mom to church, separate from dad and Marcie because I had to leave early to get back in time for the matinee. We were almost to Mankato when I told mom that I was really nervous for this performance, because it’s the last one. She said that God would make sure that-

I interrupted and told her to leave God out of it. She didn’t like that. We fought until eventually, we started talking about my anxiety and how I’m down on myself all the time. She kept saying that it was just an emotion. So I said: “If you really believe that anxiety and depression is just an emotion, pull over so I can walk.”

She swerved, parked, and I got out. My notebook clutched in front of me, my Bible bag stayed on the passengers' floor. I walked for maybe five minutes, then an elderly colored couple pulled over and asked if I needed a ride,  I said I was fine. And as soon as they pulled away, mom pulled into the spot. I get in the car and she’s on the phone. We head to the emergency room. Sitting there.

We were there for two hours.

And you know that you made the dinner table conversation when the Social Worker starts crying.

Don’t worry, I still made the matinee in time. I made sure of that.

But now I am diagnosed with medical anxiety, officially, there is something wrong with my brain.

You can suck it, mom.

I suppose I started freaking out today because I told my mom that I got the main character in the One Act play. We are performing The Girl in the Mirror - the One Act version, obviously. I was in there for maybe five minutes with three other girls all of which were expecting to get a part. I expected them to as well, honestly. But, I think what I did last year helped me a lot.

I got Susan.

I was so fucking happy when I came down the stairs and walked down the arts hallway.

I started from the bottom of the list, like I always do, and when I got to the cast, I started to break down on the inside, because there was no fucking way I was actually cast in this play.

But I was cast as the main fucking character, the very first on at the very top of the list, main character.

Over the past few days, I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I think of Sub-Sections. It’s the same pain and pressure that someone would get before a big speech, or, a performance.

I told my mom that I play someone that tries to commit suicide and is in a coma. She freaks and says “Do you remember what happened two weeks ago??”

Yes, I do remember. I remember that I bested you in a matter that I’ve been dealing with my entire life.

She doesn’t understand. She never will.

[clairora]

June 17th, 2018

Marching season has truly begun, we always have one big weekend when we stay overnight at a hotel. This year was no different, but over this past year I have become less and less, ‘innocent’ you may say. I started truly discovering my limits in the real world. Compared to last years overnight, where my group of friends made a cult without me, because I didn’t want to get in trouble if I left the room.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake this year, it might be my last year doing this so I wanted to spend some quality time with my friends.

Our room, me and three others, was going to be the mellow party room, a mario kart tournament. Then I suggested we play paranoia instead, we played one round and then we split off into two groups; one to play paranoia and one to play mario kart.

The paranoia group was being to loud so they went to David’s hotel room, everyone else was out of there doing whatever they wanted to anyway, so it was empty. I stayed to play a few rounds of mario kart (which I failed at) until I got tired of losing and went to the paranoia room.

When I found it and walked in they were rolling around on the ground laughing. They told me the story of how Kylie got pranked and she freaked out but never knew it was us.

As the night went on, we had to go to our original rooms for the room checking process, which took forever, but when everyone’s room was checked eventually, we went to Claire’s room, there were eight people in there, three trying to sleep and five playing the game, which deteriorated into normal questions after a while. Well, not ‘normal’ questions.

Questions like “Who would you least likely or most likely fuck in this room?”

I wasn’t the answer to anybody’s answer for least likely, which was a surprise for me. But I was the answer for the other one, the only boy in the room.

After that, I pretended to be drunk on no sleep, because I had not slept in more than 24 hours, told him I wouldn’t remember. But I have, I will never forget it. Throughout the night I heard small comments when I pretended to be asleep. “She looks dead.” “She looks really good in that position.” “Her hair is so majestic.”

Pretending to be asleep gets you a lot of information.

[clairora]

May 15th, 2018

I wish I could play the piano. Exceptionally.

I wish I could be as pretty as her.

Even though we have almost the same face.

I wish I wasn’t as blind as a bat so I wouldn’t have to wear glasses.

But, then again, the glasses kind of hide my ugly-ass face.

I wish I knew all the songs that he played over the radio.

I wish that I could walk by him without choking on my own spit.

I wish I could walk by him without having that feeling in my stomach.

I wish I could be her.

I wish he could be mine again.

He was the only one who truly loved me.

He didn’t cringe away from my face, my bumpy-ish face.

He gave me a fucking rock while we were still together.

It represented how soft my hands were.

I wish I hadn’t broken up with him.

I wish I could have worked with him.

I still love him.

Does he still love me?

A little?

Just a little bit?

That’s all that I need.

Someone to watch over me like he did.

To be protective.

To make me laugh.

I love him.

[clairora]

May 14th, 2018

So, I kind of  want to fake my own death. I don’t want to kill myself (I’m not suicidal again, Mom.) I just want to fake my death to see everyone’s reactions. To see which ones really care.

It’s been a long ass day. But today is not the day that I need to rant about. I waited a few days just to see if my brain would conjure up anything for me to get pissed about and lookie here, it has.

Our last performance of Kokonut High was a blast, lot of laughs and me feeling good about myself because I just got through my first high school show ON STAGE. It was amazing, my lines went flawlessly. It was the best feeling in the world. But later on that night, at the cast party at Kyle’s house, Noah brought his new girlfriend. She was sitting there all nice while he played the banjo and we all sang Wagon Wheel out of tune and made up verses, then he sat down and he persuaded her to take the damn thing and proceeded to teach her some chords.

I texted Rosie that she could no longer ship us because he has a girlfriend now. Rosie was sad and wanted to know her name, I didn’t know so I told her to ask Claire but it was late and Claire was no longer up so we had to wait until the next day to find out the name that (in her words) “Stole” her best friend’s “soul mate”.

That was all on Saturday evening, the following Monday night, after the Choir Pops Concert, where Will sang the Radioactive solo and enunciated too much and sounded like a dying whale (in my opinion, I could have done much better)

Claire had left her phone in the choir room beforehand because Herm threatened to take it away if he saw us on our phones during the concert. She left it on the piano, when I followed her in she grabbed the phone and turned back around to walk out of the room, I followed because I’m an annoying piece of shit to my friends. There the happy couple was, taking a picture. Just as he and I had done after our first concert together (granted, it was a band concert, not a choir concert because I was still and potato back then and didn’t have any control over my voice.) But still, it made me sad.

It made me have sort of that mad sad jealous feeling in the pit of my stomach because I wish I could have just bore through the pervertness ways of Noah back then and I would now have a loving Boyfriend. I wish I could have him back, I wish I was better at judging things, I wish that I could be friends with everybody. I wish I could be the nicest person alive but also have a sense of security.  I wish I could turn invisible to watch people’s reactions to things. Sometimes I wish God didn’t exist so I didn’t have to do things his way. Sometimes I wish I could run away and live a different life. Hell, I wish I was dead half the time.

Then, right after the concert, Claire had to leave because her brother was already there to pick her up so I walked back into the hallway to the performing arts rooms. Just in the doorway, right by the front door, I texted mom ‘Where are you located’ at 9:23. I waited a bit, standing there awkwardly while people took pictures with their loved ones. A minute later I texted Dad ‘Did you come to the concert?’ (9:24)

‘Yes we are waiting’ (9:25)

‘Where’ (9:25)

......................................................

Nothing for I swear a good five minutes. Then I walked out, went up a couple steps to look and spotted them, on the other side of the commons. I went through the crowd. Both of them were on their phones, Dad claims that he was just about to send a text, claims he wanted to describe where he was and got mixed up. Mom just didn’t text me.

Then, Marcie commented on the music that we sang from The Greatest Showman. “I wish I had seen the Greatest Showman.”

Me replying, “You did, with me, mom and Ashley.”

“No, I didn’t.  I went to Thor: Ragnarok with John and Melia that day for the second time.”

“No, that was a different day.”

“No”

“Marcie, I specifically remember...”

We continued like that for a while, until she hit me. You know what mom said when I turned around and said. “Marcie just hit me.”

“It was a love tap, stop bothering her.”

What the actual fuck mom.

Then she wants to yell at me for not appreciating my sister going to all of my stuff, when I know, and she knows, very well that Marcie doesn’t want to go to any of my stuff, she just goes to get mom to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

[clairora]

February 11th, 2018

So, One Act has been over for a while now (For me at least). I learned a lot this year, about myself, about acting and how much I resent some people and love others.

I got to fill in for over half the cast. One being the older brother of the last part of the play. Then being told that I was better than the original member of the cast.

When I auditioned again, for the understudy of Josiah, I actually became the understudy for Mara. (They were in the same scene, so I couldn’t do both.) David, of all people, DAVID beat me. I believe it was mainly because he was a guy. But after my audition, after Toupence and Pogoshnick told me that I would be the ‘Sherry’ understudy instead of ‘Al’s, they told me that if they could change one thing about the play, they would cast me. ME, of all people. Never been cast in anything but Middle School plays and in Theater class. I started crying right then and there, of course they looked at me funny but I explained to them why. I’ve come to terms with the fact that David beat me out for the part that I wanted, and David came in too late so he didn’t get a crewneck.

We got first place at Subsections, a blue ribbon. We made a judge cry and it was a unanimous win, ones across the paper. We beat Loyola, who beat us last year.

But we did get fourth at Sections, in our own theater too. I think it was because the judges wanted a particular kind of play and ours wasn’t it. I mean, we got a freaking standing ovation from the crowd. I, to this day, do not understand why ours wasn’t their preference, we made the crowd laugh and cry within a span of 34 minutes. I mean, come on judges.

Belle Plaine beat us with a play called Elephant’s Graveyard. It’s about a town that hung an elephant, true story, look it up. They got first and went to state. We supported them by going to St. Kate’s to support them. Then they starred, which was a really good moment for them.

Oh! And Kyle’s second cousin was on Belle Plaine’s team, she was really nice. And also hispanic.

Jordan (who got second place at sections) performed The Importance of Being Earnest.

Springfield (third place @ sections) performed Booby Trap.

We performed Our Place. And like I said, we made people laugh and cry within a matter of 34 minutes, thank you Terry Gabbard for writing this play.

[clairora]

December 4th, 2017

I bought my prom dress two days ago, it is black and blue. And it was $14. My mom says that if I don’t like it then it’s okay, and if I only wear it once, that’s okay as well.

Prom has just been on my mind lately, from that shopping trip. I’ve had a scene that I’ve almost perfected;

On the night of the Prom, my date comes to my house to pick me up, we take pictures and all of that. When we get to the school (Where I assume it will be held.) He opens the car door for me, if possible it should be a pickup truck. Then while inside I find my friends and hang with them for a bit.

After the dance is finished, he drives me home, I thank him for taking me, he stands there awkwardly, I unlock the door and turn back to him.

“Would you, um, like to come and... watch a movie?” He looks at me, then at the ground. Then back.

“Sure,” He smiles

We go into the basement and put in a movie. Both still in our prom attire. We have a good time and have lots of laughs and tears, no sex.

I love that scene. It makes me think of how our imagination is indeed just our imagination. How this might not even happen. I probably won’t even get asked to prom and therefore I won’t have a date to invite in and watch a movie with. It’s sad, but it’s the truth, it’s just how it is. How it will always be.

[clairora]

November 8th, 2017

I wish everyone wasn’t so fucking proud. All I want to do is look at the fucking yearbook. Apparently, I'm too fucking annoying to tell anything to. Apparently, I'm not trustworthy enough for people to tell me what is wrong with my other ‘friends’. Apparently, I can't fucking know anything right now. Nobody does what I want them to do, but when I don't do something, I'm the bad guy. IM SO FUCKING TIRED OF IT. ALL I WANT TO DO IS SCREAM AT THEM AND CRY. But I can't not when society has its judging eyes.

I asked Claire a few weeks ago if I was crazy, and she said no. But later on, when I do something I normally do she says that I am crazy and weird. And by her tone of voice, I could tell it wasn't the good kind.

Fuck my life.

Fuck my “friends”

Fuck what I want.

Fuck what I say.

In this world, nobody cares about what I want, or need for that matter.  

So, in short,

Fuck.

My.

Fucking.

Life.