If You Really Knew Me part 1

In honor of the new MTV show "If You Really Knew Me" I'd like to peel back the surface of myself and get a little real. Considering no one reads this blog, as of yet, I feel this probably won't get out to many people. That's just fine, I find it easier to speak to strangers, so speaking to no one should be even easier.

Let us begin this shindig...


-IF YOU REALLY KNEW ME-

If you really knew me you'd know that I'm sixteen, I have depression, I have anxiety, and I have panic attacks. Also I'm bisexual. If you knew me you wouldn't know these certain aspects of my life, well the last one maybe. I don't share my emotions, I've never talked to my parents about how I feel and when I have I've lied. I don't tell them about the times when I can't get out of bed, because I couldn't bear to get up and live that day. I don't tell them of how I may not have cut myself with a razor or knife, but that doesn't mean I never inflicted pain on myself. I've rammed my arms into walls and doors, hell I've purposely pissed off my cat just so it would scratch me. I'd put my hand over fires and stoves longer than necessary just to get a bit of pain from the burn. I bite my nails till there's nothing left and it hurts just to touch things, I chew the skin on my fingers till they bleed and I've gone through layers of skin.

I don't tell my parents that the reason I plan so far ahead, why I go to the guidance counselor months in advance to plan out every step of my highschool career, is because I need that stability. Because without it, I don't even see myself making it past highschool. I don't see myself living that long. When my parents say "when you grow old..." I'm thinking "I probably won't." That's not just the depression, it's the fear of growing up. I get physically sick when I think about the future, when I think about living like my parents, paying bills, going to work every day. In my mind that doesn't make sense. Routines don't make sense to me, how can you keep going if you know you're going to do the same thing every day for the rest of your life? I can't imagine living on my own, depending on myself, interacting with people who I haven't known my whole life. It scares me.

I have dreams of going to Europe and traveling the world but sadly I know the slim chance that it will actually become a reality. I'm lower middle class, my father works 2 jobs, has been unemployed for over a year and my mother doesn't make enough for us to survive if he did lose his jobs. I've been chosen for kids abroad programs and being so dissapointed that I wasn't able to go, camps that I wasn't able to attend, school trips I couldn't go on because we didn't have the money. I feel like I've missed out on so much, my potential is great but unfortunately in the real world, money counts.

During the school year, I have friends, there are people I say hi to and hold conversations with. Yet I can't bring myself to hang with them out of school. I'm afraid of rejection, the people I've chosen as my friends so far, haven't been the best choices, I've been in an abusive friendship, where I was bullied, hit, spit on, made to feel worthless. It lasted for 6 years. I haven't told my parents, they know the person I hung out with did some mean things to other people, but not to me. They don't know, that when we moved to a new town, I had no friends, I felt connected to no one. My parents were concerned about my sibling who was having a difficult time with moving as well, only theirs was visible. I always kept silent about what I was feeling. That may have been because of my family, my father never talked about his feelings, he projected his feelings with yelling, he wasn't always around. My mother though to most seems kind and understanding is difficult to deal with. I never go out, and since I never go out, I'm not invited anymore, my friends have stopped calling, I've lost contact and connections I've made. I know nothing about my bestfriend anymore. And it saddens me. It makes me feel like shit and when I tell my parents they reply that it's my fault, that I should stop whining and make an effort. They don't understand, but then again I don't even understand.

Being bisexual is difficult with my family as well. It's not who I am, I don't introduce myself as bi, that's not the first thing I think of when I think of me. Coming out was a difficult process for me. For years my mother had questioned me "are you gay?". I was in 7th grade and I remember her asking me these questions. For years she would ask me, and I would say no. Her pushing and prodding, it felt like she didn't give me enough time to come to terms with my own sexuality, my own self. When I finally did come out to her, she didn't believe me. I don't think parents understand how cruel they can be. I was exhausted, I was fed up. So I went to my best friend and came out to her, she accepted me and understood. When I told my mother that I had came out to my best friend she was upset because I didn't tell her first. I stood shocked and anger was just boiling up in me. The house was tense for the next couple months, hold that, the next year. No one talked about it and when we did it ended in yelling and tears. My father was less than helpful (he told me to my face, he didn't believe in it (as did mom) and that we thinks it's against god...so that was encouraging). Then came the big day, I myself had a less than perfect day ending in a detention. I had decided to go walk my friend home (a friend my mother had expressly told me she didn't want me to see or talk to) when my mother's angry face was glaring out the window of her car. So I got in and I didn't remember doing anything wrong that day so I asked her if she was upset. *Explosion* . She called me bitch and disrespectful and a brat among others, that I was rude last night and disrespectful (I had told her I was nominated to be the president of my G.S.A). She said I was getting to deep into this "homosexual thing". I was uncomfortable to be in the car with her because she was quite angry, not to mention my younger sibling was also in the car and "we" (my mother) had decided they didn't need to know. I told her calmly that I didn't want to talk about this right now with them in the car. That didn't go over so well. Well we finally got home, and I recieved in on both ends. Us three in the kitchen, me sitting them yelling. My father stood stock still just furious. The only words I can remember him saying was "You can't suck d*** and eat p****" My mother yelling at me what was wrong with me lately, my attitude, holed up in my room. I sat there, with my head down, crying and ripping pieces of paper not saying a word. My thoughts were scrambled I wasn't expecting this attack, I wasn't ready, so I thought hard about what I wanted to say. I told them, I hung out with those friends of mine because I don't feel like shit when I'm with them unlike at home, I spend my time holed up in my room, because it's so tense to be in the same room with you that I can't handle it. My attitude is because, I don't know...all I know is that I can't, get out of bed in the morning. This is the part where my father yelled "wtf does that mean!". My mother who also deals with depression took pity on me I guess and found my words. "You mean you can't find a reason to wake up in the morning".

I'm sorry, this is getting a bit difficult so I'm going to stop here for now. I be back to finish.