What do I want?

To be completely fair I am nothing spectacular, but I certainly not plain. I work very hard to have an identity, but it has been drawn to my attention as of late that I don't know what it is. After great consideration and a lot of inward bashing of the commenter, I realized that I honestly don't understand any of that. I was under the misconception that you doing things that you enjoyed because they are something the you love and take pride in is who you are. I thought that, whoever you are is who you are that people can't decide that you are anything different. If you are confused by that welcome to club, I will not lie and say that I am not very angry about the accusation that I don't know who I am, because I do. I know exactly who I am and what I am. I am a teenage girl from Tennessee that is still pinned a yankee even though I have never lived in the north, but carry on the mentality that I am a full blooded yankee since I don't sport a southern drawl, but instead a random germanic mid-northwesterner accent that comes from my Wisconsin/ South Dakotan born family. I love my accent. I love a lot of thing, but I sport a resting bitch face on the regular. I love working with my hands and creating. I like knitting, crocheting, needlework, and sewing. I love to watch Netflix it gives me a way to calm down and let all my daily problem melt back into my subconscious until triggered again. I like the taste of food,but I hate eating, I don't like eating in front of people because they will think I like to eat a lot and that is why I am fat, but I hate eating and instead drink 2 Slim Fast Shakes a day and water. I like knowing skills to teach people. I love when people notice my hair or makeup and compliment it, that's why I do it. I always want to show them how to do it, but they are never interested. I know so much I could show or teach people if they just asked, and I would love to show them. I love my friends and morn the weekends that I am not having fun with them, which is almost all of them... The thing is, that I want to be approachable. I realize I am not the nicest of people, but I so want too be. No one really gets that but my close friends, and I get hurt when they don't appreciate it. I suppose that makes me needy or narcissistic, but I guess that's just who I am. I wish I was someone who people called a "sweetheart" or "the nicest person they have ever met", but I'm not. Instead I am a hard-shelled narcissist who spends more time on my hair than with human interaction with strangers during the day, but what is the point of being friendly if you mean nothing to anyone anyway? That's the truth. I am meaningless. I know people see me. I am someone to be noticed. I always have my hair and makeup done up in a different way and it would be hard not to notice me I am one of those people who roam the hallways during class. It's not because I am one of those delinquent kids who just don't go back to class. I used to be in yearbook, and because of that I was constantly out of class getting stuff for that so you eventually begin to recognize the same people that are always out. However, no one wants to be around me or talk to me which I can understand why they wouldn't. I have been told I am intimidated, but you know they say, "It's the feared the are remembered." Actually only I say that,but it's totally true, right? All I want is more relationships with those around me. I want friends to have fun with and to love and buy Christmas gifts. I want friends who will want to continue our friendships for longer than a few months. I know it's my fault but not how to fix it. In short I want to be better with people. I know who I am and what I want in life. I am a Type A personality, I like order and plans. When I am stressed or upset, though everything around me gets messy, my desktop, my makeup counter, my room, and my backpack all become a mess, and I hate it but I can't seem to find the will to fix it. I am extremely anxious and hate it. I cycle through with the fact that I am going to fail in life, and so I should just kill myself now. I a not extremely smart, i am not specifically good at anything. I know how to do a lot,but I am not spectacular at anything. I want to find my talent. I want to love people. I want to love everyone I see. I want to be so loving that people don't trust me. I want to care so deeply for people that they don't ever want to leave, even though they will. I know what I want in life, but not how to get it. That is what this journey is about. It's about fixing the broken. It's about shaping the clay of my life. I need this. I need to learn who I am before I am out on my own in the world. I need to know before I become more bitter than I was, than I am. I don't know what I will become, but I swear to you, this isn't it. I will accomplish so much in this world, and this is only the beginning of it all, and this is the documentation of it all. This is the Road to Myself.

Moldy Cups and Skipped Stiches

As I look at my life, I see that throughout my teen years it has been a recycling of the exact same words and actions over and over again. That being said, I have changed, but not in the ways I'd have liked to. I have only learned further that disappointment in people isn't enough. Those people won't make it up to you. They are still terrible and mean. They don't actually care. That is my revelation of the day. Narcissism, the deadly sin, as the say. Is not actually avoidable. We don't choose to have it. It is in all of us. It's in our id. We are born with it. It is in our blood. We grow up with it without realizing it, and it;s not until someone points it out, do we realize that we have it. It's when they insist that our, "putting ourself first" is worse then their "putting ourself first". However, I think that we all "love" ourself the same. It just depends on how open you are about that relationship. Not, excluding those who hate life or are insecure, they love themselves too, otherwise they would not care how they felt. That is important, because caring signifies love. You don't care how someone feels if you don't care for that person, right? So, caring about your feelings is the first part of the love between you and yourself. Loving ourselves is important, according to many, it's the first step in loving someone else. I always thought that was a load of garbage. It's easier to tell someone they are pretty than to look into the mirror, past your flaws and say the same to yourself. You know all of your flaws. You know your secrets. They don't. So is it really all that hard to love yourself, or do you already love yourself more than you realize? I definitely think, you love yourself from the get go. As children you don't get jealous of how other girls or boys look. You may get jealous of toys, but that's just because you don't have that. It's all based around you eating. You getting ready for school. You are brought into the world knowing it's all about you and then expected to understand that they world isn't about you. That is garbage. The point of this all is that, I clearly hate life and myself right? So what keeps me from killing myself and ending it all? Well, I always thought it was my love for my family and the hurt they would feel if I did it. I don't want them to be in pain, and am willing to take it away, but it only seems to grow. Next, I think that it is my believing that it will all get better. I keep telling myself the worst is behind me. I have hit rick bottom, it will only get better, but it doesn't it just sinks me down lower slowly. I have of course turned to God and even gotten counseling, only to hear that it's not my fault, but what if it is? I mean why wouldn't it be. I should know by now what to do to keep my mom happy, why am I not doing that and questioning why she is so mean. It's just me being stupid. So if I am keeping myself around, I can only assume that it is because deep down I know hurting myself is a no no. I have it in my heart that cutting into this cake that is my body will only further blemish it and make me more unappealing. I also know that if I were to fail it would only make things worse. I want it to be clean and fast so that in my casket I don't look as ugly as I do when everything floats to the surface and I cry. I want those last moments to be one that make people cherish me. I love myself to much to hurt myself or cut. I want the best for me because I have to love myself till the moment I die whether it be tomorrow or at the age of 87. I have to love myself. I understand myself. I may not know what I want out of life, but I do know what I don't. Maybe the others don't love me because they are busy putting themselves first, but it just means that I need to do the same. I love making people happy and loving others, but sometimes it's better to just take sometime and pep talk myself. It's better to trust in yourself rather than others anyhow.

Stop One on the Road to Finding "Myself"

As I sat in my final class of the semester before Christmas Break, I went over and over in my mind all the decisions that I had made differently that would majorly affect the next eighteen weeks in front of me. All of these decisions were made within in the last two weeks, and although brash, were the toughest decisions that I had ever made. I had left behind what I had put my entire life into for the last 2 years. I dropped it as if it were like pulling your songs socks off after a long day. It was a long day, Yearbook was something that I had tried so hard to be good at. I put so much into it and only want a little bit to come out of it, but she has nothing to bleed. Yearbook is the cold hard bitch of my existence at this point. I had taken so much hatred and malice from her, but only ever put my all into getting her to like me. I was promised things from her that were never received and left a callus toward her that was quickly cover from the world. I decided to quite. It was seemingly out of nowhere, but I had been absolutely hating it for months. I thought the only way out of my harsh deadlines were death. I wanted to die. If I didn't get everything that I had tried to get done, finished I would be accused of being a terrible leader. I tried so hard to be a good leader. I was organized, I had great ideas, and I was good at directing people, everything a leader needs,right? Well, no I was extremely stressed the entire time that I was on staff. I was never good enough for anyone, and treated coldly compared to the other leaders. I was promised second in charge and was given nothing. I was treated as though I was nothing. Why would you continue working for something with no payout. It was obvious that I would never get any reward out the program so I got out. My grades had dropped significantly, I was getting more stress from the editor and sponsor than my core-subject teachers. I was putting more work into my pages than my homework, and it showed. My back was in so much pain from stress that I couldn't sit in a desk without almost being brought to tears. I was missing school because of the stress it brought me,while receiving texts from them about not being there to help. I would cry every night just about. Nothing should have that kind of control over me. This was something I joined for fun my sophomore year and it was bringing me to loath life. That was not how I wanted to live. I had just come back from vein out sick for a day and a half because of my Sciatica. It was a Wednesday, I had spent all morning dreading what was to come in Psychology. I knew the editor Madison, would have something to say about me not being there to help even though the deadline had been that Monday. I hated that I wasn't able to help, but no one believed it. When I sat down I opened up my laptop and clicked on the link to open up the yearbook website, cringing because I knew she was about to lean over and comment about something I was failing on my pages. She did, it was as I was typing in my password. "I put in the cutouts for Trends page yesterday." She said "Thank you," I answered dully. "Also, Miller says she needs to see you." I can still feel the pain behind my eyes when I closed them in that moment. The panic and everything that over took me in that moment. I shook it out of my mind and logged in. I opened up to Trends page. Throughout the spread was 7 yellow bullets indicating comments. I opened them each, revealing Miller's comments of my life's work. My stomach rolled in on itself and my throat shriveled up. I could feel pressure behind my eyes. I had to get away from Madison and that computer. I wanted away from the comments telling me to start over. I begged my teacher to let me get out of the room. I didn't know where I was going, but I walked as swiftly as my feet could take me. I went up to the office and stopped at the front desk only to ask if my guidance counselor was in. She wasn't so I scribbled on the whit board on her door stating "Arianna Swan for schedule change." The words blazed up at me in the red expo. They were real now. It wasn't just something I had thought. I was really about to drop Yearbook. Since she wasn't there I turned around and walked straight to the library. I walked through to Ms. Day's office, the social worker. I had been going there to discuses my stress for about a month at that point.I went in and sat down in front of her desk like normal. "How are you, Arianna?" "I want to drop Yearbook." After hearing my confessions on hows much I hated it she emailed my guidance counselor and copied in Ms. Miller without my knowing, asking for a schedule change. I was mortified when Miller waled in and stated she was glad I quite and that I needed to discover who I was first. She talked endlessly on how Yearbook was going terribly.Eventually it turned to my being a bad leader because of poor communication skills. It was a solid 20 bashing about my fake personality. I had no idea what it meant, or that I needed to find "myself". I was under the illusion that the person I woke up to be everyday was "myself". I became even more restful towards her. She knew nothing about my personality and had no right to say she did. I may have known her for three years but she never bothered to listen to anything I said. I quite because of her when it came down to it. No one will miss me or mourn my absence. I do through short bouts of depression about my quite but I thine distract myself with other things. I am going to Ms.Day at least once a week to discuss my problems and why I act the way I do and how to fix it. I wish I didn't quite and could helped more, but I knew it was time, and it was. I just have to find other ways to fill my time. On to find constructive things to do. My first task to finding "myself".