The Pursuit of Loneliness

-No Song-

In fifth grade, I recall getting bullied viciously from everything to my skin to my shoe game. Homie that bullied me the most, though? This ugly little boy who was always shorter than me until high school. I remember finally biting back one day along with some of my peers to which a female teacher responded, "Be nice to him. You never know. He might grow up to be a rapper or something making a lot of money." That, dear friends, was the first time I mentally called out an adult on their bullshit as if to say, "Wow. Even they don't have the right answers." And she didn't. The way I always saw things, it wouldn't matter how any of my peers turned out. I certainly wouldn't need anything from them. As I write this, though, I'm terribly uncertain. I know peace of mind (because that's what I'm on a witch hunt for) will shelter me whatever route I take, however I'm afraid my feet are glued to the path I carved into stone when I was a little girl. College, job, book publications, then whatever was next. For all the planning it took, I feel unprepared to walk into the line of fire. No amount of kindness or mercy shown to my peers could have prevented this for me. In the adult world, I am alone. A number among other numbers. I have a bank account number, a number of hours on my paystub, an alphanumeric combination at the DMV, a number for the pump my gas is on, and even a number for the computer I'm using right now. Just a number that begins with my birth: 09/04/1998 and ends with my inevitable death date. Currently, I'm supposed to be doing one of my online college classes. (Number of those: 4, soon to be 5) As fate would have it, my login isn't working, so I decided to make time for my suffering blog. I have approximately fourteen minutes before this library computer shuts down, so this will be quick. My love life doesn't exist anymore. It probably never did, but it definitely isn't there now. I find myself smiling for nothing and everything. There's a guard: I trust no one. I love everybody. I just don't fret anymore. I'm not sure if that's good or not. I find solace in the idea that one day I'm going to pack up and not say a word to anybody, just leave. It's not like I'd be running away from something, just more like toward something else. Something new. Something different. I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to plan. I'm tired of checking my account balance. I'm tired of not knowing when something or someone is going to come into my life, show me something amazing, and stay. I'm tired of the people I know will stay blaming me for not always noticing their presence. Subconsciously, I'm recreating myself into everyone that had an impact on me and vanished. I can't leave myself, right? Somehow I find peace with that. It's like I'm more me than I've ever been because I'm alone, yet I still have all these attributes of people I've loved. I have Your cynicism, yOur painted hands, yoUr vapor, youR jokes, yOur lingo, Your lack of concern, youR fear of trust. I am all of you as I hope in some small way, you're me too.

Drea

A Letter to My Former Roommate

"Before I turn the lights out, tell me who the fuck you wanna be..."-Can I, Drake feat Beyonce

The first time you ever saw me cry was junior year over relationship problems. It was around September. The first time I ever saw you cry was senior year over a failed movement in one of your dance performances. I think that speaks volumes about who we were as people. I moved out of the room because our personalities clashed, and you liked it cold enough to freeze hell over. Still, even from a distance, I learned things from you. I prided myself on merits, that my GPA and class rank constituted my intellect and that it surpassed that of others beneath me. Never did I have your street smarts though, your inability to hold weight to others' opinions. Seeing you in love was a strange and sometimes amusing development because even then, it was evident your love for him never replaced the love for yourself. You were strong. You never knew you were someone I admired because I felt like you shouldn't have been. Did I have this flaming jealousy? Perhaps somewhere, but I love you and know you'll never see these words, and that's okay.

MTV Cribs: Andrea's Mindful Madness

"You know you that bitch when you cause all this conversation. Always stay gracious. Best revenge is your paper..."-Formation, Beyonce

Welcome to my head, and I'm not referring to the kind you learned about in earlier posts. Today I will be exploring a rather sensitive subject: my hypersensitivity. I am on a roll. Most associates and close friends would not hesitate to describe me as goofy. While that is definitely a major character trait for me, it isn't so much that I aspire to be a stand-up comedian or reality television star. Rather, me being goofy is more or less a way to avoid deeper social interaction. Prior to reading my blog, many of you probably underestimated my intelligence, which was good for me. I've never had the confidence to be conflictual, so by serving as comedic relief in the midst of debates, I never had to choose a stance. Ever.

The other truth to it though? I don't really fuck with people like that. In groups it's better to be funny than intimate. That reverts back to caring what people think. To feel safe, it was easier for me to develop close relationships, open up to people afterwards, and then deal with whatever came next. (Typically disappointment or estrangement from said people) Despite it all though, I went through the motions constantly feeling betrayed or victimized before deciding I have a voice. It just needs to develop to the point of becoming unwavering. Assertive people came off as cocky or rude to me. It's like I resented them for choosing power over how people treated them. Meanwhile, I'd lay around docile, terrified to rock the boat. In a small, sad way I've been manipulative from day one.
It's sad it took me months to tell my best friend I always want him to take the long way to my house or that when people raise their voice in the slightest bit, I'm on edge. No longer.

And while I understand the importance of sometimes biting your tongue, I don't condone completely swallowing it. The only person that will choke is...well you.