It's been about 3 months. Things have continued to change... I'm dating this really sweet guy, finals are coming up, recently took the PreACT, classes next year are changing, friends are coming and going as they please.

Somedays it just seems like I'm standing here and life is happening around me. People come and go, life keeps happing...

As long as we're alive, everything will keep chaning. And even after we die- things will still change.

I haven't written in so long here. I keep writing, but just not here.

A month ago from today it was two years since you asked me out. The day passed without a second thought. We've both grown so much since that day in late June. There are days that I regret it and days I don't.

I'm not much taller, my hair is still short, I still wear glasses, I've expirienced a little bit more life, I'm still hopelessly single, I've stopped wearing Converse (they just hurt so much), I've had a few chances to act, and I'm still biding my time. For what, you may ask? I'm not sure... But I know I'm waiting.

I turned 16 back in November, I don't drive all that often, but I enjoy it when I do. It's calming, being alone in the car, knowing that I have control over pretty much anything that happens.

I'm finally okay, there are occasional relapses but it's really rare. I don't want to die anymore, I want to find out what I'm waiting for. Sometimes I'm sad but it ends. I have really good friends, they love me and I love them, I'm not constantly afraid, more confident in myself.

That's all for now...

Sky.

Cold.

Glimmering.

Grey is many things.

It's... beautifully tragic to me.

At the same it's tragically beautiful.

It's sometimes seen as not really a color

like black or white.

"How've you been?" someone will ask.

I sigh and quickly think of an answer. I decide on "better."

It's true. I have been better. Better than I was a year ago. Better than I was 3 years ago. Better than I've been in a long time. I've been in an uphill battle for more than 3 years and I'm finally healing. So yes- I'm better.

They fake a smile, or maybe it's real, and move on with their lives.

I've found in my battle that part of my depression was a choice. It was easier to hate myself, it was easier to not care, it was easier to _____, you fill in the blank. Once I chose to make a better life for myself, things got better. Not all at once, but slowly. By choosing to love myself, I started to see all of the beauty around me. It is not the easy path, it is the path less traveled but it is the path that we need to travel. The one that eventually takes us out of the forrest and into the grassy area of truly being okay.

There will be relapses on the path, there will be twists and turns but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Trust me.

(I know parenting is hard so please don't give me hate for this piece.)

Something went wrong somewhere. I don't know where. My parents did their best to raise 2 boys and a girl. They turned out fine. I did not. I may seem normal, look normal, talk- somewhat normally... But I'm not normal.

Remember the thing when you were a child where you'd place the shapes into that shape's hole? My brothers are squares and I'm a triangle. I don't fit into the square hole no matter how hard you try. My parents don't realize that and are trying to fit me into that mold. My brothers are built for long, hot days outside doing physical labor. I am built for a desk job in an air conditioned office. 8 hours of paperwork a day? Perfect! Sign me up! 5 hours of mowing, trimming and getting rocks thrown back at my face? No. Nope. Can't do it. I overheat and nearly pass out everytime. My dad doesn't see it. He's a workaholic. He loves to work. And complain about work. He loves to mow. And complain about mowing to everyone. It gets old when you realize what he does.

My parents ground me when I do not mow. They only see my father working 8 hours a day and then going to mow for 4 or 5 more hours. During the school year, I am at school for 8 hours, then we go mow for 5 hours, then I still have homework... I get to bed around 11 or 12 and my mother starts yelling at me at 10 and saying, "why didn't you do this ealier?!" I don't dare say, "because I've been mowing all night." I just keep my head down and keep doing homework. They do not realize the stress and the pressure they're already putting on their daughter and now add this mowing business I did not agree to be part of. Something went wrong when your child is contemplating killing themselves so they don't have to go through a summer of hell. I'm trying to find a job so I don't have to rogue and detassel but no one will hire a 15 year-old.

Mom, dad. I'm sorry that I'm not your perfect child. But this isn't about mowing anymore. This is a silent war about my mental health, which is quickly declining, that you refuse to acknowledge exists. You think I'm just being dramatic, I think I need medication. I'm sorry that I don't fit your perfect mold that your sons do.

I'm sorry that I'm not as smart or as musical as the middle brother. I'm sorry that I'm not good at business like the eldest brother. Dad- stop pushing me towards business- I hate it! Don't ruin my growing up because you screwed up yours. I know what I'm doing so just let me be. Let me write.

I'm sorry that I'm not good enough for you.

“The calm silence of the first snow, wind drifitng through the woods. The sea waves crashing on the sands of time. The silent fields, praries and moores as the breeze convered them. The sound of silence in the city at night. White noise and peace. A calm tranquillity that has never quite been achieved.

White noise.

Calm before the storm

“Her face- hidden. By the shadow of the night she crept. In the light she was mocked and made fun of. In the dark she hid from them. She, a mess in her own eyes and in the eyes of others, was perfect in the eyes of few.”

Hidden.

Mocked by many, seen perfect by few

“She saw the world through 2 clear, thin, glass disks; her vision altered forever, never seeing the same away again.

Sight.

Altered forever, never the same

“Pencils scratching, fans blowing, pages turning, feet shuffling, heaters and AC gently humming, wind howling, rain pattering, people whispering, music playing. THe newfound silence stunned her, it was strange. She needed the white noise to function.”

White noise II.

Background noise that’s always needed

“The ocean stared at her as she wept. The salt of her tears melted into the salt of the ocean.”

Ocean.

Never the same water twice.

(Here are a few of my earliest pieces of poery)

Trigger warning

I have triggers, fear and high pressure situations are my two main triggers. Classical piano music is also a trigger. I found that out in algebra one day. Also, the smell of freshly cut grass- I love it but I also loath it because of the family business of mowing lawns in the summer. This summer we have about 15 and I don't think I've ever loathed something so much...

I hate it when people say "triggered" and they don't realize what it really means.

A trigger isn't something that offends you or makes you midly upset, it's something that causes a reaction in the chemicals in your brain to create anxiety, bouts of depression, intense fear, PTSD memories- it's so much more than "ugh- this test makes me triggered." For some people- yes- it legitatmately can be a trigger. Or when someone jokes about cutting. A girl in my class has said multiple times, "I got the wrong kind of jeans, I'm gonna cut." It's not something to joke about. It's a real world thing and it isn't something you can joke about.

I know this isn't a poetry piece or one of my short stories but it's just something I had to say.

The silence is deafening. Everywhere I go the constant ringing and high pitched sound in my ears never goes away.

The only thing that can get it to go away is real sound- that's why I'm so concious of silence. In the theatre during play rehersals, whenever someone would speak it would be like music and fill the entire theatre and when it was silent- I sometimes flinched a little.

I can't handle tests. I'm a great test taker, don't get me wrong, but I can't take the silence. I always have to have sound and that's why I rush and get done so quickly- so I can turn on music and listen to it and read. So the silence can go away.

Maybe it's because I've spent so much time in the silence that this happens. I'm not sure, maybe one day I'll figure it out.

The word studying is a contraction of the words student and dying.

I’ve read this page 12 times and I still can’t pay attention. Last night was the first time I actually gave something my full attention for the first time in probably 4 months. I can’t focus on anything and when I try to everything falls apart. My brain is constantly moving a million miles and hour and during algebra when I start talking to myself and doing the math in my head people say “wow- that’s really fast” and it’s never accurate but that’s because my brain is too focused on other things to think about algebra and parent functions and vertex forms and parabalas. Schools don’t realize that students have lives outside of school, jobs, emotional distress, home troubles. They don’t realize that students have enough stress coming from other places and don’t need extra work.

Finals week and my schools version of dead week is coming up. I’m not gonna be able to get through it because of everything else going on. Everytime I try to study I put on light piano music because the silence is deafening. I can’t focus and concentrate on anything anymore. It’s driving me and my teachers insane. I try to fake it but I just can’t.