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About this blog

People often ask me why I'm so pessimistic. They ask me why I'm so depressed and anxious all the time. They ask me why I'm such an anti-social asshole. 

The answer, to me, is simple. Life is garbage and often times it seems that the people in it are even worse. 

This is full of so much teen angst I'm surprised it's not on some t-shirt. But unlike most edge lords I actually believe what I say. 

Entries in this blog

AlyssaLane

Tipton

Ms. Tipton is my old APUSH teacher. And has somehow managed to become one of my best friends. Now, I know that sounds bizarre and probably kind of silly, but it's true. From the start, she always knew when something was wrong with me. In February of 2017, my ex girlfriend of a year and half, had cheated on me and broken up with me. And this woman, who barely knew me at the time, was the only one who helped me.

Naturally, I wasn't being myself. No one else noticed or if they did, they didn't say anything. But when she saw me after school that day, she was the only one who asked me what was wrong. And when I explained it all to her, nearly crying in the process, she gave me the best advice and encouragement I had honestly ever received. Later that year, when I had other issues, she provided the same level of support, every time. 

Anyone who has met her can genuinely say she is also the kindest and sweetest person on Earth and her constant optimistic attitude has been, at times, the only thing that keeps me smiling. Throughout my senior year, I began to help her with whatever she wanted. She took on A LOT of projects at the school, and always seemed so stressed about all of them. I wanted to help the best I could, and I still do, because I don't want to see her unhappy. I send her a meme everyday now, just in case she's had a rough day. Because everyone, especially her, deserves to smile at least once everyday. 

She once told me I had a "kind nature" and she felt like she was taking advantage of me by asking me to help her out so much. But I never felt extorted or anything like that. I was just being myself. I like making other people happy. I do a lot of silly things to make other people smile. (Mr. Varela, my PreCal teacher, always seemed upset, too, so I left him math puns on sticky notes. I just like making other people smile. He saved all of them, and apparently showed them to other teachers. That actually brings tears to my eyes.)

On Halloween this past year, my family found out about what happened to me. Tipton didn't exactly know what had happened (yet) but was incredibly supportive. At the time, I felt like my entire world was unraveling in front of me, which sounds dramatic, but them knowing was, and still kind of is, one of my biggest fears. That night, I was more determined than ever to just end it. I didn't want to face them. But she forced me to promise her I would be at school the next day, and I could never break a promise to her. I don't know if she knows, but she's really the person that kept me alive that night. 

She always respected my boundaries more than anyone else. She's always been there for me more than anyone else, even when I have the stupidest of issues. She often tells me I just "wormed my way into her heart" and I'm happy to have done so. I don't understand how it happened, fully. But I'm glad it did. 

It was her birthday a few days ago and with me, it's always go big or go home with gifts. I'm broke as fuck, so I can't get extravagant gifts or anything like that. But I can give gifts that are thoughtful that will make a person cry. She told me a story once, that I won't repeat because it's personal, but I gave her gift related to it. And it made her cry. Which was my goal, honestly. Sounds mean, I know, but it wasn't necessarily malicious. 

My mother was an awful mother. She abandoned our family for drugs and never looked back. She goes to jail every few months and is just a constant heart breaking let down. When I was younger, I clung to my mother like we were attached at the damn hip. My father was loud and always at work, he scared me. I just wanted to be with my mother. But she left me, and I didn't understand. As a child, I created a version of my mother in my head of what she would be if she were normal and still an actual mother. I've never told Tipton this, but she's exactly that person. She's the exact person I wish my mother had been. She's kind, loving, funny, supportive, understanding...just everything I wish I had in a mother. 

 I've always believed that we form our own families throughout our lives, through the people we meet and keep in our lives. And I consider her family-- which might insult my actual family but I don't give a fuck. 

I've always had a very hard time properly expressing my emotions, but I just hope she understand how much I care about her. 

 

AlyssaLane

Happiness

I've only been moved out for a few days now, but I feel like I'm actually kind of happy for the first time in a while. Ever since I moved in, I haven't woken up feeling like shit or being unhappy. I really hope this is a feeling that sticks, because I really like it. I have motivation for things now, and although I have my shit moments throughout the day, each day is actually kind of a good day. That is not something I ever could have said before. 

I think being in that house was a big cause of my depression. I hated it there. I never felt loved or wanted. But now that I've moved out so far my family has been supportive and helpful. I asked my dad to just buy me some pizza rolls, and he bought me a whole bunch of groceries. 

One thing that still gets me down, though, is my lack of friends. I have a very hard time initiating and maintaining friendships. I genuinely hate myself, so I guess I have a hard time imagining that anyone would actually like me. But these are all things I'm working on. 

A very good friend of mine, (who is actually my old teacher, she somehow became the most supportive, loving person in my life. It's a long story, one that I'll probably tell another time), has been helping me have a more positive mental attitude. And it's actually working.

I'm still upset I didn't get to the college I wanted, even though I got accepted, but on the bright side, I'm not alone here. I have a support system that actually works for me. I got a job, even though I have to work a block from THAT location, and I could always get in contact with old friends, if I really tried. 

For the first time in my life, I feel like things are going to be okay for me. And I can always transfer to my dream school next semester. It gives me motivation to keep my shit together.

Most of my life, I haven't really wanted to be alive. I've always had suicidal thoughts and tendencies. I always felt like a walking corpse. I didn't have the courage to actually kill myself, except the 3 times I tried and failed, so it was like I was being forced to be alive. I was living each day depressed because I didn't want to be living it at all. But, today I actually want to be alive. And that's something I haven't been able to say in years. 

Maybe I'm jumping the shark and I'll actually be really depressed within a week, but it feels good to be happy for now.  

AlyssaLane

Progress

I finally moved out of the house I've called home for the past 12 years of my life. 

For some reason, I feel like this is going to be the start of something great. I have spent so many years in that house just being depressed and alone. But I'm finally out and in my own living space. I feel like I'm finally free, though I do really miss my dog. 

I have a lot of roommates. We all have our own rooms, except me and one other girl. I guess I just have shitty luck. I've come to learn that almost everything that happens in my life has some kind of downside to it. But that's okay. I can get through it. I've experienced FAR worse. 

I'm a little disappointed I can't put up my cool tie dye curtains and a lot of my other little decorations....but I feel like in no time at all this will begin to feel more like home and less like a hotel room.

Maybe since I'll have roommates I'll finally have friends. That's not something I've ever really had before. 

AlyssaLane

I finally got a job. I had been applying pretty much everywhere, everyday, since June. Applying for jobs basically became my job, only it only lead to constant disappointment and I didn't get paid. 

I even got a job at one my favorite fast food places. So now I get half priced food of pretty much my favorite food. This all sounds great, in theory, but there's a huge problem with my job that I'm not sure I'm going to be able to handle. 

I applied to every location, except one, for a very specific reason. I interviewed at the location closest to my house and actually a few others that were a bit farther away. At the end of last week, my boss tells me he hires for 2 locations. The one I work at, and one about 10 minutes away. He wanted me to transfer locations. He promised me more hours and 8 dollars an hour instead of 7.75. At first, it all sounded like a pretty sweet deal. 

However, I apparently have the world's shittiest luck. Because every good thing that happens to me has to also be coated in it's own layer of shit. 

My new work location is a block away from where I was raped. It's literally right there. And the guy who did it, still lives in that house, with his mother and my half sister. The one location I specifically don't apply to work at, is the one location I have to work at. 

I start there today. My boss texted me to go there 2 hours ago and I've pretty much been pretending I didn't see it. I don't want to go. I just know that working there is going to destroy my mental health. I'm going to be a wreck. I'm terrified. 

I was actually feeling better recently. I've been working on being a more positive person and all that shit. I've been talking about my issues more. I finally got the chance to go to therapy (haven't gone yet...but I'm going to). I got all my paperwork cleared up for college. Life should have been looking up for me, for once. 

Hopefully I'll be okay. I think maybe once I work there for a bit and realize I'm not really in danger, I'll be okay. But just being near that place is enough to drive me insane. I can't pass the place on the highway without feeling like I'm going to be sick. I just feel stupid. It's just a location. Just another house. 

Why does it bother me so much?

AlyssaLane

A few months ago, I was awarded an alumni scholarship from my high school. Every year they post the winners with their picture and biography. 

In my biography, I wrote about what happened to me. I left in how I was assaulted when I was 11 and it's going to be posted on a public website where a lot of people I know are likely going to see it. 

Normally, the idea of this would bring me to pain and tears and I would be having an anxiety attack at the very idea of doing such a thing. But for the first time in my life I'm actually okay with something like this. I think that it's important for my story to be told. 

People need to know the good and the bad. I guess I have hopes someone will see that I'm actually doing okay and take some kind of inspiration from it. Or maybe I just hope that more people will understand me just a little bit more. Regardless, I'm happy I did it. 

I need people to understand that I'm so much more than just some other nerdy kid that won a scholarship through nothing more than hard work. There was a lot standing in my way. A lot that I had to overcome. 

Although I'm sure that I'm soon going to regret this decision. I'm sure this time tomorrow I'll be beating myself up for even thinking about it and wishing I could take it all back. 

But I guess there's no going back now. 

AlyssaLane

Sleep

I can't sleep. I can never sleep. All summer I haven't been able to sleep. This could be either due to a certain "anniversary" or because my sister is always around while I'm trying to sleep. I can't sleep with someone awake around me. I don't know why.

I also can't sleep without backround noise. And I have to be hugging something. A blanket, a pillow. Doesn't matter. I always need a fan. Even in the winter I turn it on so it's really cold. 

On nights where I'm hot I have nightmares again. Sometimes they happen even when I'm comfortable. I always get anxious at night. It usually takes weed or sleeping pills to knock me out. 

The other day I stayed up till 8 AM and slept through the whole day till 3 PM. I feel like I miss out on so much but without school I don't have much to keep my sleeping patterns in check. 

I don't know what I'm writing about this. Probably because I'm tired and high. I don't know. 

This is really stupid. 

AlyssaLane

Bicycle

I'm at the top of a hill, taking a break. Breathless. Exhausted. I've only been riding a few days. And it has become both the best and worst part of my life. 

The hill is long and steep and, and the intersecting road that lies at the end is incredibly busy. Cars whirling by, horns blaring at one another, drivers shouting harsh words, and children sitting clueless in the back seats. All of these things slowly become a complete blur. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I push the bike forward and lift my feet from the peddles. 

I'm on auto pilot. 

The bike starts plowing forward. The chain clicks as I shift gears, lowering the resistance. I lift my hands off the handle bars; but they still hover just above. I can feel the wind flowing through my hair and cooling my burning face. I'm smiling the most genuine smile to grace my face in years as if joy itself were a demon and for the first time decided to possess my pathetic body. 

I can hear the traffic getting closer. I can feel the hill coming to an end. I'm don't want to slow down. I want to slam into traffic. I want cars to smother me. I want the damage to be so bad my funeral has to be a closed casket. And I want my bike to only be recognize by a few small, hardly distinguishable pieces-- noticed only by a few remaining pieces of the purple glimmer from the frame and black, glossy metal that captures the handle bars.

For the first time in almost 7 years, nothing is troubling me. I don't feel stressed or exhausted. I don't feel anxious and alone. I feel free. I feel at peace.

It made me realize just how badly I want this all to end-- even if it is in the "worst" way possible. Even if I have to leave everyone in the dust.

I want it. I want it more than anything else. 

I've always known that I wanted this to end. I've always known I didn't want to have to live with this for 70 years. I didn't want to live a "full" life. Because that entailed living with this for an entire lifetime.

The faster the bike gets the better I feel.

More excited. More free. 

I felt like I was taking my first breaths after being suffocated for years. Or like I was walking free for the first time after years of being anchored by heavy chains. It felt incredible.  

Suddenly, my hands slam down onto the handle bars and desperately grab at the brakes. The tires squeal against the pavement and the back tire jumps up a bit. 

I open my eyes-- only inches away from the fast moving traffic. Now, all of the horns and angry voices are directed towards me and clueless, confused child's eyes land directly on me. 

I looks down, trying to avoid the harsh gazes of those I've inconvenienced. I'm ashamed. I slowly put my feet back to the peddles, and grudgingly make my way home. 

I should have done it. I should have completely let go and let the beautiful moment of liberty be my last. 

I don't  exactly know what came over me. 

But I do know that I will ride again tomorrow. 

AlyssaLane

Island

Why am I so fucking alone? 

I exist like I'm on an island. In the middle of nowhere. An island that is uncharted and unexplored. Full of disgusting, deadly, and dangerous animals are creatures that the human mind can barely comprehend. Parasites that could kill you in an instant. Beasts that could swallow you whole. And I'm tasked with the sole task of survival. 

Everyday, I see planes soar by overhead. I hear boats slowly cost by. And none of the people aboard even bother to give me a second glance. 

When I was a child, I used to imagine myself being entirely alone. I would imagine I was on a stage in a completely empty, dark room. I could do anything I wanted. I could take a nap without the fear of anyone touching me or scream out all of my pain without fear of being heard. I wanted, so badly, for that to be my reality. That's all I wanted. I didn't have very many friends, so I could spend hours, alone, living in the fantasy. 

Throughout my whole life, I got very good at pretending to be somewhere else. I could sit around in my room, and despite the fact my parents were screaming at one another so loudly I thought their heads would explode, or despite my body being thrashed around like some kind of sex toy, I could go somewhere else. I practiced it every time my parents argued. Or every time a bully at school decided today was my day to shine. I would go there. To that room. 

But I don't want to be there anymore. I don't want to be alone anymore. I need people. I need someone. 

Just one person is all it would take. One friend. That would survive on the island with me. Be my teammate in fighting any battle or dangerous, disgusting creature that came our way. And we would be happy to help one another. If they were starving, I would spare my food. And if I were dying they would step in to save me in battle. 

It feels like no matter how close I get I'll never make it. No matter how far I extend outward I'll never touch it. I'll never get to feel what it's like to have someone there for me. I'll never understand what it's like to have someone there with me. 

I exist alone. On an island or in a dark room. Alone, no matter where I go. 

I could be in a huge crowd of people and I would still be completely and utterly fucking alone. 

Why am I so alone? 

-Lane. 

 

AlyssaLane

Everything I do is pointless. 

I can hear sirens screaming from the streets outside. Whirling past my house-back and forth. All night. Every night. Most nights I can't help but wish they were for me. Not because anything awful was done to me-- God knows I don't want that again. But because I finally did something awful to myself. That for once I did something that wasn't. 

I could do a million things. And I would never change. I could be the polar opposite of what I am now and I would still hate myself. I just can't help it. And to work to fix it just feels irrelevant. Inconsequential. My existence, my life, and everything I do within it is nothing more than some sick joke. 

My father found out this past year that I was raped. And I was afraid of having to talk about it but relieved because I thought that I would finally get help or justice or something out of this. Nothing happened. He didn't do anything. Didn't even talk to me about it. 

I told teachers. I reached out. They didn't do anything. They were there for me, unlike my family, which was nice. But still didn't get me any more help. They tried but got distracted with other, more important, tasks and stopped. 

My friend found out. My best friend. He doesn't even talk to me anymore. He hates me. He avoids me because I'm such a fucking burden on his life. All he did was give me a hug and try to convert me to his religion. Imagine that-- you find out your friend was used as a fleshlight at age 11 and all you do is push your religion on them. 

None of it helped. It was all just pointless. 

I don't want to do this anymore. I can't keep pushing for things to get better only to get pushed back even farther again. Only for things to get worse. 

What's wrong with me? 

Why can't things get better? People tell you all the time that time heals all wounds. They tell you things will get better. But this summer it will be 7 years and nothing has changed. 

So what's the fucking point?

-Lane. 

AlyssaLane

I've always imagined what my life would be like if I were never raped. I made a list, once. I wrote down every single thing I wish I was, that I knew be if that never happened. And then I wrote down everything I was because of it. It was a long list. I felt disgusted with myself and who I have become. 

I thought of the people in my life who are happy and optimistic. I thought about how envious I was of their ability to see the good in people and the good in life. I looked in the mirror and just felt disgusted with myself. I was disgusted with who I had become. I'm so pessimistic and negative. Unhappy and spiteful. 

Sometimes I'm foolish enough to believe that happiness is within my reach. I'm silly enough to think that someday I'll be balanced and normal. That I'll sleep at night and live without anxiety. I'll wake up without being depressed. I'll be normal. 

But anxiety is as much a part of my life as eating. Depression is as natural to me as breathing. 

I wake up everyday wishing I had died in my sleep. I go to bed every night regretting that I had managed to live through the day. Life isn't something enjoyable. It's a chore. I get up everyday and I have to force myself out of bed. Force myself out of the house. Drag myself through school. Pull myself to the end of the day. And then I repeat. 

But if I had never been raped I wouldn't be this way. I just know it. I know that I would be happy to get up. I would be excited to live everyday. I would go through everyday with a sense of bewilderment and excitement. Rather than dreading tomorrow I would be optimistic and look to the future. I would believe in myself instead of living with this sense of shame. 

Instead of feeling disgusted with myself. Instead of hating what I do. Instead of constantly expecting failure. Instead of hiding in a crowd. I would stand out. I would love myself. I would anticipate success. I wouldn't be so un fucking happy. 

But that's just an unachievable fantasy. I'm going to live the rest of my life this way. And that's just the way that it is. 

-Lane. 

AlyssaLane

I feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean. The cold, bitter ocean. Alone. I see ships pass by and planes fly over and I call out. But no one  hears me. No one stops to help me. I'm trying--really hard to stay afloat. I'm viciously kicking in the water. I'm flailing, desperately just trying to survive. 

I'm going under. Sinking below the surface deeper into the waters below. It's dark and it's freezing and I'm alone. 

I'm gasping for air and my lungs are filling with water. I'm exhausted. I can't swim anymore. My legs are weak and my muscles are sore. Every movement feels like my limbs are burning from the inside out. I manage to get a few breaths of air but continue to slowly fail again and again. I sink deeper after every breath. After every moment of air I fall deeper yet again. No matter what I do; this only gets worse. 

The land lies on the horizon. Too far out of reach. Land is for those who managed to seek rescue or for those who never had to drown at all. Even if I swam for the rest of my life-- I know I would never make it there. Land is not what I'm meant for. 

I'm meant to drown. Alone. I am going to go under, out here, alone. The ocean will consume me and I will become just another sunken ship. Just another body that will never be found. A death never solved. Answers will be derived from what I left behind but no one will fully know. 

No one will know that I just couldn't swim anymore. That I was just too tired. My body hurt too much. And the pain only grew as the days when on. Waves constantly knocked me away from the land. Farther and farther out of my reach despite my constant strides towards it. 

Eventually, I just gave up. I couldn't do it anymore. 

I was never too good of a swimmer. 

And I never will be. 

-Lane. 

AlyssaLane

Sometimes, I still feel like that child. That scared shitless kid hiding in a closet, hoping that all of this will end. Waiting for the yelling to stop and for the threat to go away. Hoping that this won't happen again. That I'll be okay and that I can just go about my life normally like I did before all of this began. Deep down, I'm still that 11 year old girl who feels the hope depleting from their spirit. Who feels the light drain from their life. She's still there. 

When most people look at me, they see a growing woman. Someone who's "going places" in life. And when I tell them I'm more destined to kill myself or end up a failure, they look at me like I'm a joke. Like I'm joking. Like what I'm saying is something to be laughed at. Like that's just "my sense of humor." 

I've spent a lot of time these past few years working to stop hating myself. I haven't done the best job. Some days I feel like I've made and others I want to throw myself off a building.  But I've tried endlessly to reconcile what I feel with who I am now. People will always tell you that you need to learn to love yourself. In order to love the rest of the world, in order to live a positive life...you have to love yourself. Or at least like yourself. What they don't tell you is you have to love every part of yourself. 

What I've done all these years is repress my 11 year old self. I didn't love her. I pushed her back into that closet and let her live in fear. I've let those horrible moments be her entire existence. That's the only life she's known so fear is the only thing I know everyday of my life. Anxiety. Sleepless nights. This endless cycle.

I need to unlock that closet. And let her out. Reconcile what she feels with the rest of myself. I hate her. I hate that scared, weak child. I blame her. For not being stronger or louder or faster. I blame her for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. In my mind, for years, she's been what ruined my life. 

That's not true. And I need to realize and reconcile the truth with who she is now. With who I am now. I'm someone who survived something awful. And I didn't fall into the woodwork. I didn't give up. I didn't become another at risk teen who couldn't make it. I didn't become another rape victim who kills herself-- though I have tried and sometimes consider it. I didn't become just another statistic for some report. I'm so much more than that. Every one of us is so much more than that. 

My life would just be another news story. Another thing that people forget about. Typical. Forgettable. But if I keep fighting I have the potential to change my life. To change the lives of others. To make an  impact. People will see me for who I am rather than what I was. For what happened to me. I'm more than that one moment in life...though it often does define much of my character. 

I'm a survivor. And whoever you are, most likely if you're reading this, so are you. I know things are hard. I know just how fucking painful all of this is-- even years later. It's hard. It's always going to be there. It's never going to be easy. But you have to love every part of yourself. You have to reconcile your emotions. Settle this inner turmoil. No matter what you have to do. 

I'm still trying. Still working. Don't let this give you the impression that I'm okay. That I'm healed. I'm still working on it. Still trying. Everyday. 

And if you need someone to talk to...if you need help...shoot me a message. I'm always here. For anyone who needs it. Even if I can't give the best advice or give any answers. I know that sometimes all you need is for someone to listen. 

-Lane. 

 

AlyssaLane

Support

For many years, I fought my battles alone. I barricaded myself with the idea that I did need anyone else to get what I was going through. In my mind, every other person was just an intruder. Almost as if letting someone else in was like opening my doors wide open to some kind of attack. I felt like I would have been more vulnerable than Poland during WWII. Germany would invade, and I would be left defenseless. 

However, every country needs allies and every person-- a friend. 

Although I technically still had people in my life, it wasn't much of a support system. Mostly because I didn't allow them to support me. I felt that they simply wouldn't understand or that they would have no idea what I was talking about. Or, worst of all, that they wouldn't believe me. That I would be seen as some kind of liar simply trying to garner some kind of undeserved sympathy. What I had to learn, and what I feel many of us have to learn, is that people can't help or understand if you never even give them the chance. 

I understand better than anyone that it can feel like nobody cares or that nobody will listen. But, trust me, they will. Whether you seek help from people in your day-to-day life or you find it online, in a place like this, you just have to find somebody. Keeping it all inside. Bottling it all up. Repressing it. Waiting for it to go away. That will never be the solution. You can't just outrun this. You have to face it and you have to fight it. Because no matter how fast you try to run or how hard you try to ignore--it will always be there. And as you get faster so will it. And as you repress it it will just become harder to ignore. The pain you and I feel-- it will grow like a cancer. And like cancer the only way to beat it, naturally, is to fight it.

Fights are not won alone. Wars cannot be won without assistance. Every country still needs and ally and every person still needs a friend. Talk to someone.

Opening up can be hard. Some people, like myself, are like locked doors that even they cannot find the key to. But even where there is not a key there is a locksmith. Where there is not a locksmith there are tools. No matter how hard it or how long it takes...we all have to open up. We all need support. 

-Lane. 

AlyssaLane

The days go by. Slowly. One by one. Life travels sometimes at what feels like a snail's pace. Everyday is just another trial of what I can really get through. Or another test of whether or not I can make it. 

Some days, I wake up and I won't to put a bullet in my head. Getting up feels impossible. Survival feels improbable. I have a hard time seeing any reason to be alive anymore. I feel hopeless. Worthless. Like a shell of a human being. I'm not who I used to be. I'm nothing like who I used to be. I used to be happy and full of life. Now, though, I'm scared and constantly wanting to disappear. 

There are these brief moments, however, when I feel okay. When I feel like the days will go by and I will one day be normal and adjusted. There will be a time where the nights go by without fear or nightmares. A time when I'm healthy and healed and what happened was just a memory rather than a defining part of my entire character. I just know, though, that that simply is not realistic. I will never get there.

Some days, I can only see my future as painful and fearful. A time where the days will continue to go by slowly. Each day feeling like a lifetime. I had a dream once, where I was 40 years old and still the same. I was still scared and jumpy. In my dream, I was just as lonely as I am now. Just as isolated. I lived alone. I was destined, at that point to die alone. 

There are brief moments, though, where I can see potential. Potential for life to be new and different. Where I can be something more. Where I'll fall in love and get married. Have a family and pets. A house with one of those picket fences. I have the teaching job I always wanted. I work everyday and I'm happy. I'm okay. I don't cry at night. I don't get scared in the dark. I don't feel alone in the days. I'm still young-- I technically have time. 

I just know that that reality is too idealistic for myself. I know that can't be me. I know that I'm destined to forever be confined to my own prison of fear. It's torturous. No one understands me. No one understands why I'm so afraid. Why I'm so alone and purposefully isolated. I can't tell if it's better that way or not. 

Once people profess to understand you, they make assumptions and they make judgements. They make suggestions and intrude on your life. They tell you what helped them assuming you're the same. Or they force things on you. They tell you that it's your fault you're like this. That you need to move on and to get over it. They don't realize that you've been trying for trying to do just that for years.

Get over it. Now that's the real dream. To be "over it." But, again, I don't think that's a reality that I'm going to be able to achieve. 

The days will continue to just go by. One by one. Day by day. 

AlyssaLane

Bird

Do any of you ever wish that maybe you could just leave? Not just your surroundings but your body. Just leave your entire self behind. I just always feel so trapped. My weird feelings about wanting to leave myself often make me so uncomfortable I refuse look in mirrors. I don't look at my own body in the shower. I get anxious trying to sleep at night because all I can feel is my own body-- this weird sense of self awareness that I can't get rid of. That's literally the weirdest kind of thing to have to admit and I don't even think I've completely described the feeling. I've such an uneasy, fearful feeling. Honestly, and this is probably too much, but I usually get it when I take off my bra. I don't know why but in those moments I just want to fucking disappear. 

 I've always felt that if I were any animal, I would be a bird. I would be a bird because birds can fly away whenever they want. They can go wherever they want. Do whatever they want. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in spirit. Additionally, birds are never really alone. They come in flocks. They travel in groups. I, however, am always alone. I'm everyone's last resort. I'm always the cancelled plan or the back-up friend. I'm the last person you think to text. And when I text you-- you groan and put the phone away. You ignore me. Everyone ignores me. Everyone hates me. I don't blame them, honestly. I hate me, too. 

If I could pick any bird, it would be a seagull. I know they're just huge assholes (me) but hear me out. They live in warmth and safety their whole lives. I've only been the beach about 3 times; and when I stood on the shore and looked out at the ocean horizon, for the first time in 5 years (at that time), my mind was drawn a blank. I wasn't thinking about all of my problems.I wasn't thinking about what had happened to me. I wasn't thinking about how afraid I was. I was thinking about the impact we could have in the world. Like, my feet were moving the sand and in all technicality, the sand will never be exactly the same again. It will NEVER fall in the same place exactly like it had before I touched it. My footprints may wash away but the sand will never lay like it once had before.

I think people are, sometimes, like sand.

I sometimes still think about this girl, who I didn't even know that told me, after hearing me call myself trash, that I wasn't trash. That I should never call myself trash. That I was beautiful. On my worst days, I still think of that girl. She probably wasn't even thinking when she said that. She probably walked away embarrassed. She probably thought herself to be silly and intrusive. But I still think of her. 

Anyway, if I could capture the peace I felt on that beach forever, I would. I would do it. I would fly around above the ocean everyday. I would look around and be with other seagulls. I would be at peace and I would never really be alone.

I'm always so alone. And I'm always so afraid. 

-Lane. 

AlyssaLane

It was during the summer of this past year. My friend invited me to a party. Parties, naturally, have never been my thing. I hate big groups of people. In my mind, at least one person in a crowd could be evil .They could be a murderer or a rapist. I have trust issues. I trusted my step brother almost 7 years ago now and just look where that got me. 

I don't remember much of the party. I do know now, though, that I really can't handle my liquor. I shouldn't drink it. I knew that going into it but I was stupid and reckless. I was really depressed at the time and I just wanted to relax and forget for just one night. I wanted just one night of peace. One night to say that it wasn't on my mind. To say that I wasn't thinking of my past and what has happened to me. I just wanted one day of that awful week to be happy. That was a huge mistake. Everytime I try to be happy-- something bad always happens. Honestly, I should have fucking known something would happen. 

When I woke up in the morning, I was confused. I honestly didn't remember how I got home. I smelt like vomit and had McDonalds lying next to me in my bed. I remember bits and pieces  throughout the night. I remember sitting on a couch and waiting for my friend. I remember riding in a car and not knowing where it was going. I remember people asking me if I was okay-- I think I was crying. I remember every time I said yes and asked them to leave me alone. And I remember falling. 

I was in a dark room in the house. It was a pretty big house and my drunk self couldn't really navigate it. I was looking for my friend, who I think, had disappeared with her boyfriend at some point during the night. I should have known that they would have been doing scandalous, consensual things. But I'm an idiot and went looking around anyway. Partly because my friend had promised not to leave me alone for too long, because she knows I have anxiety issues, so I just got a little too worried. 

I ran into someone. I was suddenly in a room with someone I didn't know. I remember little bits of trying to fight back or yell. Something like that. Then...i fell. Next thing I remember I'm in a car with my friends and I think we're going to eat. Not remembering makes me feel like an idiot. What if nothing really happened and I'm just being silly. I did wake up the next day with a hickey and bruises but that could have been normal drunken promiscuity and falling around. I don't know. 

It's probably a good thing I don't know everything that happened. But for the past (almost) year since it happened, I've been a reck. More anxious. More depressed. More nightmares. I already had these issues because of what happened to me when I was younger and my biggest fear has always been having it happen again. 

I guess, in a small way, I should be grateful I got lucky and didn't remember all of it. Sometimes, I dream about and I can't tell if they're just stupid dreams or memories of some sort. It's kind of driving me insane. I've kept all of this to myself. Since it's so recent I don't want someone to tell me to go to the police or pressure me into something of that sort. What am I supposed to tell them, anyway? I don't have a name or even a description. I don't know the address of where the party was. I don't know everyone I was with. I don't know who I spoke to throughout the whole night. I don't know what room I was in. The report would just be a mess. Nobody would believe me. Sometimes I don't even believe myself. 

I feel like a fucking moron. 

-Lane. 

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