I know this is like my fourth fucking post of the day but no ones even reading this so i guess it doesn't matter. I'm just so fucking pissed and I'm crying and I can barely even see the keyboard. I don't even know what to do anymore. I del like everything has been ripped away from me, like my hopes were torn from my white knuckled hands and I don't know what to hold on to now. I know how stupid and ridiculous it is to feel this way about someone I was never even with but I can't fucking help how bad it hurts. I'm sick to my stomach and it feels like my gut is being ripped from my body. I was so fucking stupid, it's all my goddamn fault! I let myself believe! I let myself be fooled by his charm and his fucking smile and I let him play with me like I was play thing he could drop when a better option came along. And I fucking let him do it!!!!! I let myself be worth nothing just so he could take me with no consequences and I'm just such a fucking idiot!! Why do I keep letting myself be so disappointed whenever I believe in anything, for even a moment. I can feel myself reverting to the person I was with my ex-best friend and I hate that me but this just hurts so much. I can't let myself hurt, I can't let him affect me if he never even thinks about me. Now I know how Neal feels about Kate. It's impossible to let go when you still have that last shred of useless, irrelevant, misplaced hope.
~Margo
2 Comments
Yesterday I wrote my incredibly long post about James. I've done a great job ignoring him, however I broke down and looked at his twitter, assuming there wouldn't be anything new because he never gets on. I was wrong. Another retweet, from that same girl, in which she referred to him as her boyfriend.
Immediately after seeing it I promised myself I was gonna listen to Forget You (the Glee version) for the rest of the night and get pissed about it over text with my best friend. Of course, though, I subsequently put on Let Me Down Easy by Sheppard and burst into tears and that remains my current state. I'm such a fucking idiot. To James Who Will Never See This, I'm sorry I could never give you what you want. I was never gonna be that girl who could impress you with her skills in sports, or perfect grades on math tests. I was never going to be easy, I wasn't going to change myself or how I dress or what I do because I wanted you to like me. I honestly wanted to show you the real me, the girl behind the curtain. I might not have been the girl who always looked great in candid photos, or who everyone commended you on being with. But I was willing to give you the real me, to trust you with the person I've spent all my life feeling insecure about. It's not much, but I wanted to share it with you. I should've remember that you wouldn't want it. ~Margo "Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!” - Jocelyn Soriano You say
You want to be like me. To feel like me. I know it's a lie. When you fall, When your beauty is ripped from your flesh When your body is crippled by scars, It is your weakness. I am not as lucky. I have no choice. I must see my scars as My strength. Not beauty. Not alluring. Not romantic. They cannot be fixed by anyone, Especially not you. If you wanted to be like me, If you stayed awake at night And hoped And dreamed And found yourself in my place during those moments You would take notice of the black Pouring from my wounds No red in sight. You would see that my scars make Me a warrior. Not a failure. And maybe, Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Care enough about me To not be like me. ~Margo (Written in 2013, revised 2015) I've spent all morning with a stuffed llama shoved under a heating pad to fit against my ear in an effort to keep the stabbing pain away. How fun. I've also started re-watching all of White Collar, which had been the highlight of my day other than the biscuits and gravy I had for breakfast. I have a shit load of homework to do since I've now missed two days, but I'm just exhausted. My english teacher (sometimes on here its sounds like I'm not fond of her but she's my favorite teacher like srsly she's the bomb) just emailed me back and I have like four assignments and a test monday. How fun.
I wanna write something. Like, a story. But I really have no inspiration. I'm trying to give up on James, more than I already have at least, and envisioning a world where we were something that mattered was always hiding under the surface of my work. I need to separate myself from his influence, which means trying to write without it being laced with hopes and dreams for what we might have been. That pretty much only leaves me with dismal topics to talk about. I always daydream too much. I imagine myself as someone different, or rather myself with qualities that I wish I had, qualities that would make people actually like me. Qualities that would make me like myself more. I feel like I need to try to escape that, to start living in reality and liking myself and my life for what it is. I'm kind of afraid that I can't do that and still be a writer. I almost feel like writing is like dating, how you're supposed to be okay with yourself before you let anyone else in. Although, maybe this is the time to try change. Maybe I should be trying new things, imagining different versions, to find the one that fits me best and make it my new dream. Some dreams don't work out, but that just means you get to find a new one. -Margo "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." -Eleanor Roosevelt So I left school after first hour today with an earache that felt like I was being stabbed in the head. Turns out I have an ear infection, which was great to find out the day before an improv acting exam and while reading the part of Juliet for my English class' Romeo and Juliet unit. I must admit, although I have my doubts about some instances, I'm surprised by how much I'm enjoying the literation. Shakespeare really did write a masterpiece (even though personally I find the master technique in the writing style rather than the storyline.)
I saw a JennaMarbles video today that reminded me how much I miss writing, and how positively it influenced my life, whether or not what I was writing was cheerful or dismal. Writing always brings me clarity, and I could really use some of that right now. I've shared all of these stories, memories, and recollections with different and scattered friends, but I need to have them all in one place to look at, reflect upon. Hopefully find meaning. Probably find heartbreak. Either way, I'm hoping this will be a literary juice cleanse of sorts. We'll see. So this James. There's too much to go through the whole story, it would take days, weeks, to remember it all and write everything out. Of course every little detail matters (matters to me, anyway, I'm sure a lot of people would find many of these things irrelevant) but this is what I remember. The important pieces from over the years, plus the important stuff from the last few months. As I was saying, James. Obviously that's not his real name, but let's go with it. I met James in second grade, before I even met my best friend to this day. I've known him for over seven years, and he's one of the first few people I remember meeting when I moved to my current school district after going to kindergarten in the city I live in. I met him when I going E.L., short for Extended Learning. It's our school's advanced education program for students needing to be challenged. Y'know, excel on standardized testing, take an IQ test, your rejected or accepted, and I was accepted right after James. At first it was surprisingly fun. We were the only two in it that early on, and every day we'd spend an hour or so in there doing mind puzzles, learning ahead of the rest of the students so we didn't get bored of school. We had a lot of fun together, if I remember correctly. Then something changed. I'm not entirely sure what, and I guess I never really realized things were different until they were too far along. Three more students in our grade joined EL in third grade, only one of which is still in it with James and I. They started to gang up on, always leave me out. I tried to join in whenever they were doing something, but they always just made fun of me. Anything I do, they would put me down. I'd follow the rules, they'd say I'm no fun. Go outside the rules, they'd say I was too lame for them, in more or less words. James usually led in making fun of me. It got to the point that my mom contacted the principal and guidance counselor, but the counselor was awful and acted like it was all my fault, and there wasn't much the principal could do to stop it. Things didn't really change after that. The hatred grew between James and I, even though the other three layer off a little and I never really saw them anymore as the years went on. To be entirely honest, James and I didn't speak all that much in fourth and fifth grade, only in EL and when our EL teacher (who was super awesome) wasn't around to tell him to stop bullying me. However, I couldn't stop holding onto the grudge that developed in third grade. I'd never really had friends when I was little due to my already flourishing social anxiety and zero interest in sports. All the other kids would spend recess playing basketball and kickball, while I sat alone on a bench, reading my Nancy Drew books. I wanted to be like Nancy, and everyday superhero. Someone who people respected, someone who people liked because they were different. I was different… but nobody ever liked me. I could never hold on to friends for more than a few months before they got whatever they wanted from me and I was too lame for them to be around anymore. It kinda felt like being around me was social suicide, or whatever amounted to that in a third grader's mind. Before James, I never realized that I should be ashamed of who I was. Things changed between me and James in sixth grade. I finally got a best friend I could trust (at least, I thought so at the time. Haven't talked to her in three years) but sixth grade was pretty rough. This thing happened in our required music class, where we had to come up with a nickname using alliteration so the teacher could remember us. You know, "Fancy Fred," "Princess Peyton," stuff like that. I couldn't think of anything that went with mine, so when it came to my turn, my OTHER best friend (you'll be hearing about her a lot. We hate each other now.) told me to say Grahamcracker. Yes, I'll admit, my name starts with a "G." Anyway, I say, "Graham Cracker G_______," and everyone laughs for a second, and I don't think twice about it. Well, maybe I thought a little, but I figure nobody would remember it even the next day. Then, people started calling me graham cracker, specifically James. At first I thought it was nice, and I was happy that they even remember my name. However, of course they were just making fun of me. They used graham cracker in place of calling me stupid, goody-two-shoes, unwelcome, that sort of thing. And since you can't really link graham crackers to something negative, no teacher of principal could ever get them in trouble for making fun of me that way. Things escalated, one of James' friend tripped me while running laps on our gym's cement mezzanine and then laughed at my tears of pain with their other friends. It got even worse with James in seventh grade, because he really started noticing me again since the school had created an EL class so we'd have a full period every day rather than going to EL during the last half of the lunch period every day. Whenever I would try to speak up in EL or share an idea or purpose an option to whatever we were working on, James would say, "Shut up, ________," before I even had a chance to finish my sentence. He started ganging up with the other three members again, and I spent most day in that class alone in a corner working on an individual project because they didn't want me in their group. Not to mention, seventh grade was the culmination of all of mental health issues (we'll talk about that later) which didn't help much. Looking back, it wouldn't seem that James' action counted as bullying when you looked at them on paper. I was never physically harmed, never really threatened me (except for that time in third grade that he told me he was going to drop a cinderblock on my head), and he wouldn't say anything that expressly sounded like bullying. But you don't know how hard it is to look into someones eyes and see genuine hate, but have no clue what you ever did wrong. And if I couldn't remember doing something wrong, then it must have just been me who he hated. He must have seen the real me beneath my fleeting friends, mystery novels, and all the barriers I set up in hope I could distant myself from how out of place I felt. And apparently, that me was worth his hatred. One my birthday in November of eight grade, my first pet, a guinea pig named Trixie, died. I was really hard for me to accept, considering I'd never lost anyone or anything I truly cared about. I posted something about in on Instagram, my way of screaming to world and I asking why I deserved that pain, because other than social media I had nowhere to go. My best friend (still my best friend to this day) along with my other friends all definitely saw it, and so did James. However, none of them said a word. James texted me that night, saying he was really sorry that Trixie had died, and apologized for everything he'd put through since we were young. I was blown away, and could barely believe it. But, we exchanged a few texts, and he seemed very genuine. After that we didn't take much notice of each other until I became the manager for my school's basketball team of which he was the best player. Right before I began managing I lost my best friend of two years, someone who I was dangerously invested in, and all of my friends sided with her. So I spent two months with no friends except my ex-bullies on the team, and James. We became what you could consider casual friends, and I was so incredibly glad that all of that mutual dislike could end in something good, something kind, something worth the hate. I thought too soon. This year we got closer. We sit next to each other in our EL seminar every day, and he moved halfway through the semester to sit next to me in our english class. We make jokes all the time laugh together, always partner up for critiques. He'd say hi to me in basketball practice and at games, and never forget to thank me when I gave him water during games. We became increasingly friendly, and my feelings got confusing. I think you know what I mean. I'd look at him in practice, just happen to glance, and suddenly be unable to breath for a second. One time, while he was sitting down on the bench during the basketball game and I was handing him water, he winked at me. It wasn't a silly wink, at least from what I saw, it was more… seductive, for lack of a better word. the kind the star basketball player gives his cheerleader girlfriend after scoring a three-pointer. One of my best friends saw it as well cause he was sitting a few seats away, and she thought the same as me. That was the beginning of noticeable hints. It was always just little things. He'd see me sitting alone during a varsity game after he finished playing his, and this bright smile would grow on his face and he'd wave at me, and I'd feel like my heart was exploding. That certain thing happened multiple times. Or something funny or questionable would happen in english and I was the first person he'd look to. He'd go out of his way to say good morning to me when I walked into school. Those little instances repeated themselves with some other small things, and I was ecstatic. My feelings toward a guy had never been reciprocated, and I finally felt like someone might want me like I wanted them. Plus, a guy who'd only ever dating cheerleaders and sports stars wanted me? The geek on the scholar's bowl team who couldn't even do a good push-up in gym class? I was an idiot. Still am, to be honest. One day in seminar a friend of mine, resulting from some joke, thought it would be hilarious to ask everyone in the room if they would date me. It was silly, and everyone responded in a funny way, not serious at all. I could feel my heart thumping as she went around the table and landed on James, asking him the same question. Of course I didn't except him to confess that he liked me right in that moment, even though I desperately hoped so, but I thought he'd be the same with a silly answer or a blushing face. But, when he was asked, he looked straight at my friend with a totally serious face and monotone voice, and said, "I'd rather not." I stayed quiet, because my friend knew that I liked him and I hoped she wouldn't make a comment, but she moved on while I felt a lump the size of Alaska sink to the bottom of my stomach. When the bell rang I almost ran out of class and down to my locker, fighting tears the whole time. I promised myself I was over with this thing I'd been feeling, that this was the equivalent of me asking him out and him saying no, so there was no reason to keep holding on to him. But, that night, I saw him dressed up as a nerd for the varsity game spirit theme (cute guys with messy hair, glasses, and a buttoned up shirt make me weak at the knees) and all of that went flying out the window. He, like the frustrating guy he is, continued with those little hints. Every night I'd go to bed thinking either, "Tomorrow will be the start of a new me that doesn't care about how he feels towards me, or lack there of," or "Tomorrow I will ask him out once and for all, put myself out on the line, and face whatever happens." Neither of those things ever happened. In fact, one night I went to this little thing in our performing arts center (PAC) that was a male beauty pageant to raise money for one of our clubs. I was sitting alone, since none of my friends had come, and was surrounded on all sides by empty seats. James walked in, and I felt this huge weight lift of my shoulders when I saw him, and waved and smiled for him to sit next to me. I'm sure he saw. But behind him walked a girl I didn't know that he had obviously come with. He walked straight past me, and sat multiple rows away. The weight returned. Very recently my best friend, let's call her Jane for these purposes, laid everything down for me and told me straight up that I should not want to be with someone who brings me more pain than happiness these days, despite how great the good parts feel in those fleeting moments of hope for something to happen between James and I. It felt different from the other times, and I knew she was absolutely right and I started hardcore ignoring James. Not in a rude way, of course. I just wouldn't start or conversations in English, I'd see him playing basketball in his back yard and force myself to keep walk away without saying a word. It was hard as hell, but it felt good to feel like I could survive without needing his laughter ringing in my ears. That is, until we started reading Act II of Romeo and Juliet. I volunteered to be Juliet and every other character was filled until we only needed a Romeo and nobody raised their hand to be him. No shocker, anybody who asked to be my Romeo would most likely be made fun of. So I jokingly said, "So, who's gonna be my Romeo?" and immediately after I said that, James raised his hand and said, "I'll be Romeo." But, in some cruel cosmic joke, our teacher assigned the part to my friend, Santana. Admittedly this wasn't necessarily a bad thing considering Santana and I had tons of fun pretending to be ill-fated lovers, but I couldn't forget what James had said. He offered to be my Romeo, and I wanted him to me. I guess we were meant for mutual destruction. Unlike myself, though, I never questioned whether he would be okay without me. The other day I looked at his twitter, like I do whenever I wish I could just nonchalantly text him and ask what's up, and saw his latest post was a retweet from a senior girl at our school. It said something along the lines of, "tonight was so amazing omg," followed by multiple cutesy emojis. It was the same girl he'd ignored me for that one night in the PAC. I knew that considering how infrequently he tweeted and the fact that he's a guy, he wouldn't have retweeted that unless it was about him. I looked back at her twitter and found a tweet that was about her tire popping while she was in a car with a cute guy. It was the same day as the pageant. A couple days ago she tweeted again commenting on how 2/2 tires had popped while James was with her. This morning when I walked into school they were sitting very close to each other on a large bench, and I looked straight at the ground and walked past. I'm simultaneously pissed at him for leading me on, while also hating myself and knowing it was my fault for never speaking up. I just couldn't take the risk of ruining a friendship seven years in the making over my stupid feelings. Sometimes I see him looking at me. I keep looking straight ahead when I see his eyes on me. I know he must have just been using me as a play thing to amuse him while he was single, someone reliable that would always drop everything to help him if he needed. It was foolish of me to believe that he had changed since he had apologized in eight grade, that we were somehow meant to be together. He always ignores me in math class even though we sit a foot from each other and pushes his desk over really close to this sophomore girl I can't stand. But she wasn't there yesterday and near the end of class he brought over his iPad and set it in front of me on the desk to ask me a question about an english assignment. I knew the answer but he was so close and he never took his eyes off my face while leaning right over me that I blanked and took a moment longer than needed to reply. A couple of my friends who sit across the room saw this happening, took a photo, and instagrammed it on their fandom account with a huge heart around us because they think we're a great OTP (don't be alarmed, he doesn't know about their account). The feelings all rushed back and now I'm left confused, disappointed, hurting, and every other adjective along those lines. I wish there was a good way to end this entry. I wish there was a story arc, a plot line, a reason for all of this to either matter or not matter, instead of lying in the gray area between. I'm left here to sit with my pain, desperately wishing this was easier. I've never felt how I feel towards James for any other person. This feels different, special, but I know it isn't. He's never up late a night wondering what I'm thinking about. He never thinks about texting me. He never sees something that reminds him of me. It hurts like hell, and I'm just stuck here. That's about it. Other little stories about James and I are bound to leak out as I remember them, but that's the big stuff, or what feels big to me. It's pretty pathetic, I know. But I can't just stop feeling this way. And I can't imagine who I'd be without him, or what my life would be like if I didn't have his subtle jokes and similar sense of humor to look forward to every day. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I still hated him. Maybe that end of the spectrum would be better than this radical opposite. But to truly feel that, I would have to let go of all of the little smiles he directed towards me, all the times it felt like his eyes were focused on me and only me. It's hard to give up what little you have. There it is. The story of James and I. Through thick and thin, to hell and back, all for this. An unnecessarily long blog post, and a pile of regrets on my behalf. It really sucks that I don't matter to him. That's not how these stories end. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a life without him and how I feel about him. I'm afraid that he'll never see me how I wish he would. I'm afraid we've gone through all of this for it not to matter. But that couldn't happen, because it matters to me, and it will always matter to me. It will never matter to him. ~Margo "The mind has no say in affairs of the heart." -OK GO Fun fact: My hair is so long that I can tie it in a knot behind my head and it'll stay that way until I move around and make it loose. I don't know exactly why, I just always found that pretty cool. Sometimes, well, more than I probably should, I wish I was Rapunzel. Not only would I have enough hair for pretty much any style, there would be some prince out there desperate enough to be with me that he would climb up a rope of hair to be with me. Hell, there are only a few people I would even climb up a rope in gym for. That's what I always really loved about fairy tales. Of course I enjoyed the idea of living in a palace and never having to worry about having money or paying for an education or having a lack of opportunities to live, explore, and enjoy my life. I really loved the love in fairy tales. Not only that everyone supported the relationship, or that both parties were meant for each other. They wanted to be together. There was never a question whether the prince and princess truly wanted to be with each other, as well as their love being written in the stars. They would do anything for each other. Granted, a lot of the time that was too much and personally I don't think you should have to give up everything for the person you love, but they all knew that to be together meant being happy. Even in the tough times they were always together, and therefore there was always a foundation for things to get better. I wish I had that foundation. I used to look for it in other people (specifically guys), and I still do on occasion. But I'm working on making myself that foundation. Hey! And that means, when I do find the right guy, I'll have a double foundation! Score. Anyway, I know it's ridiculous to be looking for that guy in high school. I mean really, what are the chances of him happening to be in a tiny town in the middle of a lame state? Truth is, if I went to a different school in the next town over, I would probably be hung up on some other guy that won't matter in five years. I think I believe that means he (I think I'm referring to him as James on here?) really isn't right for me. I mean, if he really was, how could he not matter if I had gone to school thirty miles away form where I do? I'm always afraid to think about not finding that guy in high school, though. Whenever I follow that train of thought I consider how if I do find a guy I really like and, by some miracle, end up dating him, what then? I'd always doubt if we could possibly be meant for each other and coincidentally go to the same tiny school. I need to learn to just enjoy it when I'm in a relationship (even though I've never been in one so…) without constantly doubting everything. Oh well, I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
~Margo "The best way to predict the future is to create it." -Abraham Lincoln Happy Easter, everybody. (I'm watching White Collar and I just realized how much Mozzi looks like Tim from OK GO and I LOVE IT) I just had an amazing breakfast, despite it being plagued by my brother. Who the hell wears a tee shirt and jeans to an Easter brunch at an extremely fancy and expensive hotel?? I wonder if he'll ever realize that the world isn't built around him and he can't expect everything to come to him while he sits on his lazy ass doing nothing but eat all day.
Omfg I love Neal Caffrey with all my heart. Damn that cute little smile of his. I'm not really laying out exactly what this will turn out to be, but that's kinda the point I suppose. I just need somewhere I can write, something that can give me the pleasure and motivation of hearing my laptop keys clack clack clack. Maybe I'll just post mindless blog entries about what frustrates me and what makes me happy, maybe I'll post some little bits of stories. Nothing good, of course, but maybe it'll turn into something alright. God, I'm thirsty. I just tried a Cookies N' Cream Kit Kat and it was not good. Anyway, I just hope this might help me develop my own writing style. I was preparing an extremely pissed rant about my brother but Neal has calmed me down. Plus, I have to practice ukulele to play for a friend tomorrow and I also have loads of AP English homework. I get that writing sonnets is difficult and all, sometimes I just wonder what exactly pins him as one of the greatest authors of all time. See, that's the thing. Let's use Romeo and Juliet as an example. Sure, he may have been the first person to tell the story of a mistaken double suicide, but he certainly wasn't the first to imagine it, and if he hadn't, someone else would have. So why does that mean he deserves the praise for his genius that isn't really as unique as everyone thinks? I suppose that's just the way the tide turns, though. I love writing with just a notebook and a pen, but it's strangely freeing to type, when you can write fast enough to keep up with your thoughts and not lose anything in translation. Well, I should go try to do something productive. Bye. ~Margo "Don't paint me like the good guy 'cause every time I write I get to choose the angle that you view me in and select the nicest light. You wouldn't respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter tap tap tapping through my mind at night." -George Watsky I've become increasingly filled to the brim with reasons to stay on my sorry butt and refrain from living my life. But, as in my favorite OK GO song, "It ain't real forgiving sitting here picturing someone else living." One of this things I've stopped doing, and regretted no longer doing, is writing. Yeah, I do a lot of writing for my AP English class but it's been months since I wrote something I really cared about. I live for stories, and not writing them has left all of my pent-up emotions to sit bottled inside me where they fester into hatred and jealousy and to be entirely honest, I don't really think I can talk to anyone I know about them. I started to lose sight of my love of writing, and now looking back, what I thought was good at the time I wrote it was actually complete crap. While I'm re-gaining my novelist confidence (let's be real, it'll be a while, and probably because of my lack of effort) I need somewhere to write without feeling like it has to be good. I don't wanna worry about how I'm phrasing my sentences or if I'm using too many commas or if I'm ending my sentences with a preposition (wow thanks for that habit, southern state that I unwillingly live in). Admittedly this is a form of grammatical suicide that I'll most likely regret during aforementioned english class but what the hell! Breaking habits is a hobby of mine, one that I need to partake in more often. I don't even know why I'm explaining this considering I'm never going to share the link with anyone. I considered giving the url to this guy (let's call him James, you'll be hearing a lot about them Mr. Nonexistent-Reader) but this is for myself not for him (I should tell myself that more often as well) and I'm going to be entirely honest with no holding back except for things like names, locations, and incriminating details. Not that I'm a criminal, I don't have the guts or the reason for that. I'll probably end up deleting this site, whatever it becomes, but until then it's my very own personal writing retreat. I like to image it's a cabin on a lake with a complimentary cute dog. Well, I just home from an eight hour car ride going from a place I love to a place I hate so I'm gonna go shower, procrastinate about unpacking, and oh my god I just at a Cranberry-Raspberry Snapple flavor Jelly Belly and it tasted like how hamster bedding smells eW
I'll post more later. ~Margo (my name isn't Margo) P.S. I am soooo not editing this lol sorry for any typos [peace sign emoji] "Love is truly the great manifesto; the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation--in short, to remain a memory." -Cesare Pavese |
MargoMy name isn't Margo. Archives
December 2019
Categories |