Procrastination's A Bitch

If you're reading this, it means I've forgotten to schedule any more posts. Sorry about that... try checking back next week. There might be a real post then... I'll make up the two phony posts whenever I come back.

Day Of Silence

The Day of Silence has always been meaningful to me. I first heard about it in 6th grade when my best friend at the time, Lezah, asked me if I'd be participating in it. I remember looking at her blankly. "Whats the Day of Silence?" She vaguely explained something about gay rights and bullying... to this day I still have no clue what she was taking about. When my mom picked me up from school I asked her if I should not talk like all my friends. Being the Christian-grounded parent she is, she told me it was for encouraging gay people to be gay and why should I support that it's wrong and against our faith. So I showed up the next day, as usual, and just talked like I usually did.
See, I probably wouldn't have even given Day of Silence a second thought if my friend had gotten through the entire day without talking. But by third period, even Lezah, the activist of our smallish group, was talking. It hit home. If they believed so strongly about this, how come they didn't even have the discipline to not chatter all day?
The next year, I had completely forgotten about that day. In fact, I still hardly remember anything from those few months at all... just a few flashes from stupid conversations and 'embarrassing' moments I had to endure. But 8th grade? That was a different story.
In 8th grade, I was accepted into a preforming arts academy that was 7-12th grades on a highschool campus. they separated the jr high from highschool, which made it a million times cooler to be a part of any club- like GSA. I started sneaking into the group at the beginning of the year and just kept attending throughout. By April, I was a regular member. But yet again, I ran into the same type of group as in 6th grade. They never once said anything about supporting the lgbtq community, even made a few gay slurs, throughout the entire school year until the week of the Day of Silence. Then it was "Gay people are amazing" "Oh my god, I love gay people!!" "Dude, gay people are so cool". I had low hopes for their success in "spreading the love" in the proper fashion that year. But, being me, I gave them the benefit of the doubt.
Sure enough, by second period our teacher Mrs. Gibson had broke them all down by calling on them for answers she knew they had memorized. It was half painful, half amusing to watch them struggle until their breaking point not to answer. Surprisingly enough(extreme sarcasm) I was the only one in a class of thirty kids to not speak all day.
I was so disappointed in them, I decided to continue my silence in protest to their lack of discipline and overall hypocrisy. My day of silence turned into two(pissing off all my fellow classmates and teachers), and then was extended through the entire weekend. Four days.
I will admitt, my cause did mutate a little. The first day was obviously for gay rights, the second was for hypocrisy, the third was for bullying, the fourth was for protesting lack of discipline.
Although my disappointment in my fellow activist's commitment is stronger than ever, I refuse to give up hope. I will participate this year regardless of the hypocrisy around me.
For all of you who are attempting not to speak today because you actually care about the cause... Thank you, and good luck.

Another Poem

A flickering light licked their faces
Two men- one powerful, one noble
Held in embrace
Breath against breath
Face lifted by warm hands
"I want my life to mean something"
Overwhelming
Beautiful
Anguish
A most precious gift
A most dire desire
"I'm sorry I failed you"
Silence
He gracefully folds in an earthly descent
He is gently lain onto the plastic
Replacing what was lost
His gift has been given
"This is my apology"

False Statement

Why are people so horrified when I say what's on my mind? It's not like they don't ever think it. I'm not as different as they think. If they even think I'm different...
Most of my behaviors can be written off as "Normal Teenage Hormones" and stupid drama. And I agree. It probably is just that. BECAUSE I'M NO DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE. I'm intelligent, but no genius. I'm attractive, but in the average way. I'm funny, but I could never be a comedian. I'm athletic, but I'll never be a pro. I'm artistic and musically inclined, but I'm no professional. I'm... Average. And I'm okay with that.
Really the only thing slightly unique about me is my ability to change and acquire new identities. Basically, I'm fake. But.. for me it's a lifestyle.
Friends of mine: Don't freak out. If we're close at all, you know the real me. So chill.
With the help of my Dad, such a great guy, I learned from an early age that there's nothing special about me. Nothing. There will always be someone bigger, faster, stronger, smarter, and more interesting than I am. It usually takes kids their full adolescence to figure that out about themselves. So as I'm sure any of you can imagine.. I was extremely bored throughout my junior high and early high school years. While most kids my age were "trying to find themselves" I was busy inventing new identities to mess with and use to confuse people. I was actually pretty good at that. It's not much, but I can admit to being fairly good at that. Actually, I was exceptional. I successfully completed two major school-wide social experiments two years in a row. One of them went horribly wrong... but that's another story. besides, I came out alright. right? *eye twitch*
So anyways, Identities. I liked to call it "adapting" to new groups of people. How? well considering my painfully average abilities in everything I've ever tried, it was extremely easy: I played up certain parts of me and hid others. Simple. Easy. Painfully effective. Now I'm not saying no one ever saw through it. Some people are really good at that. So in those cases I would either befriend that person for real or avoid them at all costs. Thus, my handful of amazing wonderful friends and the large assortment of people who hate my guts. Talk about compatibility issues.
My mom says "Everything is 'live or die' with you!!" whenever we have disputes. How right she is. Every aspect of my life is extreme. So extreme I have to hide what I'm thinking about.
"Whatcha thinkin about?" . It's a casual question, usually just a simple conversation starter. For me it's a nightmare. More often than not my thoughts are toward the "triggers" that spark traumatic memories. I'm busy not exploding in their face as a defense mechanism for abuse. I'm busy not punching them in the jaw or breaking their neck or stabbing them in the throat. Even the people I love wouldn't survive if I wasn't constantly on guard. When they ask that stupid question, my fucking nightmare come to life, I have to scramble to come up with something a relaxed person would say in a split second. "'Pancakes.' *laughs* 'Haven't had any in awhile. What about you?'" . In reality I want to just go home and isolate myself from everyone so they can have a better life. But instead I wear my "I'm a generally happy person. I can handle life because I'm laid back" identity and bottle up any feelings that contradict it. Even my best friends get those fake answers sometimes. I wish I could tell them the truth.. but no one wants to deal with a downer. A complaining son-of-a-bitch who wont appreciate friendship. A kid who's in constant agony with rare release. A weary soul who's not okay in the slightest way possible. I guess... someone who's depressed. Who just wants to die, but cant because they have a responsibility to the people they care about.
I hide my emotions to protect my friends. Sometimes they need me. If I'm emotionally compromised they wont want to tell me whats wrong. Then they'll be bottling it up.. and I know just how much it hurts.
Back to my first statement: why are people so horrified when I say what's on my mind? Is it because I let it out in an atom bomb instead of a bunch of little cherry bombs here and there like most people? Is it because I know how to make my words hurt? Is it because they never see it coming? Is it because I don't vent- I go to the person causing the problem and throw it in their face? It takes weeks to recover from that kind of blow to my friendships, sometimes months of straight being a perfect friend. I just don't understand why. I don't understand why people don't understand me a much as I understand them. It's not like we're so different...