Familiar Resolve.

So here I sit again at roughly midnight, writing a blog post that I'm pretty sure no one will read. I need some kind of release, though, because the show is over and the applause is done.

I mean that in a more literal sense than you might think.

The play that I've been practicing for and helping produce closed today. We struck the set and put everything away and the stage was completely empty. It was kind of sad. I'm going to miss every one of the eight people in the cast.

Life's been pretty hectic lately... not just because of the play. My friends, my family, and everything close to me slips away from me like the tide. I fear that it's all going to come back at me like a tsunami. The tide slowly pulls away until it surges back in full force.

I'm pretty sure that it might happen.

And it's not like I'm depressed or anything, but I was talking to a long time friend just a few minutes ago, and she told me that she felt like I was pushing away. Honestly, the words from her didn't hurt at all. Just the impact after I said it over in my head was enough to make me want to cry. Lately, I've been feeling like the whole no one's on my side spiel. My parents have been starting random fights with me, and everyone I try to explain it to, even my sister, maybe, brushes it off and spits it back at me like some kind of teenage shit no one really cares about in the long run.

But I care. And apparently, I'm the only one who does anymore.

I've been wanting to write lately. I've opened several Word documents and typed a few sentences, got excited, planned ahead in my head, thought up some random dialogue, and then my muse fizzled out. I hate it when that happens.

I hate it when that happens.

I really hate whining on the internet, where no one is going to comment back and be my savior or anything. I realize that it's not going to happen. But what am I supposed to do? Print it out and mail it to the newspaper? It's just not going to happen.

I think what my problem is is that I've been waiting for some kind of recognition that I'm not going to get. I want my parents to see me as something more important than just their daughter who is still growing up. I want other people to recognize me for what talent I have and say something about it.

I'm tired of the pats on the back. I'm tired of the satire and the sideways looks.

I realize that I'm still young. I realize that my age limits things that I can and cannot do. But still, I want the recognition. This wallflower is blossoming, but everyone's watching the morning glories.

I hate sounding like the whiny teenager too, but I guess if that's what I am, that's what I am. No one's going to change that until I can change it myself. Obviously, anyone who has already tried to stop me has been ridiculed or at least mentioned.

But I feel like there's nothing I can do about it. I skipped the frilly laces of childhood innocence and now I'm in the adult world. A lot of things are bearing down a lot harder than I think they should for someone of my age.


I'm sitting here in the reddest of the playground swings. I'm watching children run around, giggling and screaming. I remain safe in the swings. If I want to, I can just kick towards the sky. Maybe jump, maybe not. Children continue squealing. I possess the inability to condense my thoughts into a concise yet vague statement. I threw away my poetry assignment in the classroom before recess. It wasn't very good anyways. The running, screaming, squealing, giggling children don't know how I feel. I don't tell them. I wouldn't. If I told them, they won't believe me. If I keep it inside, they wouldn't, either.


Alfred Tennyson wants to know if it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. He feels it, when he sorrows most.

I don't know, though.

Lately, I've been feeling less trusted. Less trusted by them. Less trusted by myself.

The decisions they make put weight on me, and they tell me that the decisions I make effect them in the same way. That adds more weight. The stress of the weight pushes me to do things and to act irrationally, and to make decisions that effect me in the way that they warned me. It's almost a vicious cycle. They tell me how little they trust me to make me act out to get the trust, but when I fuck up, it only proves them right.

So maybe it is a vicious cycle.

I'm getting tired. Tired of cycles and decisions and effects. Tired of them. Tired of myself.

I'm getting lonely. Lonely without freedom and boredom and the time I had before. Lonely without them. Lonely without myself.

I'm getting belittled. Belittled of talents and slip-ups and formality. Belittled by them. Belittled by myself.

I'm getting to boiling point. Pushed to the surface, trying to keep up. Pushed by them. Pushed by myself.


I am waiting for something to go wrong.
I am waiting for familiar resolve.