The House

It's Kill or be Killed

Isn’t it true, though, that no matter how hard to try there’s always someone there to bring your efforts to the floor? There are the people in this world who will build you up, and those who would just as soon shoot you. “Life sucks”; it’s a general rule that most people are going to have to get slammed in their face. “You can’t always get what you want.” Another legitimacy; but what do these things have to do with blogging? Everything – to write about an emotion is hard, for me, when I go to a great extent not to express any form of emotion. When you’re fifteen years old, that’s an extremity, and even for an adult it seems to be far beyond the mind’s measure. What causes a child to hide their feelings from the world? Some would say experience, but why give it a good name? It’s the fact that some of us have had the fucked-up world tossed in our faces at an earlier age. Yeah? You think we deserve pity and special treatment, then. Wrong; don’t cushion our fall because we’re going to go fucking up our lives on purpose.

Let’s start with my brother; a very smart and talented little kid, who has the world ahead of him and I don’t think he’s read a whole book. Ten years old and he’s not really read a full book. If he has, it was a children’s book; something you buy for three year olds. It’s a pity to see such a mind go to waste (video games, TV, sleeping in until one). You might ask why he’s like this, and why his teachers haven’t pushed him further; to the greatest extents of his mind. Because the poor boy lost his mom, and he’s got to have special treatment because he’s lost someone close to him. Tough; I lost her too and I never got that load of shit.

If you really think about it; he hardly knew her when she died while I spent a great majority of my life with the woman. When she became very sick and stayed in bed all day, I took care of her, the house, and my brother while my dad was at work. Yeah, that was real cushy and all; I had it really easy. It took about two, maybe three years for her to finally pass away and it was the worst day of my life. Would you like to know what my brother was doing whilst I was calling 911 and attempting CPR on my own mother? He was off in another bedroom playing with his toys. Yes, he was young, but not too young to not understand what was going on; it was terrible. The weeks after that were school and the funeral. That harsh reality was tossed in my face at a very early age, and it made me mean and sarcastic and very cold-hearted.

I guess the point of this is that there are people who need to be pushed, and there are people who need to be cushioned, but there should never be too much of a single thing. It turns people against each other; my brother (a smart child, loving and kind, getting life way easier than he should) and me (someone who has turned their back on mankind and all hopes for trusting one another – a cold-hearted, sarcastic, jerk).

What brought this sudden blog of anger on; the fact that everyone has the balls and the brain to go to Harvard, but would rather get things the easy way.

"Because I Knew You"

It was my last day of the ninth grade. I would like to make a single post for the people who have influenced my life in ways that are undescribable. These teachers have been a part of something much bigger than they ever thought, and that was helping me. No matter how little and insignificant that may seem, they have shaped me into a better person all around. The last day of school for us Ninth-Graders was horrible, and I was trying so hard to choke down the tears that I could feel stinging the back of my eyes. To think that three years ago, I had thought the three years of Jr. High would never end, and there I was, hoping that thought would come true. It was so bad, I couldn’t even get up in time to get to class… in fact, I was tempted not to make an appearance at all. Sarah was over, and she was tossed into this spiral of depression (with no thanks to me) that was hard to sit and watch, though I’m not much for sympathy. She meandered outside for a while, watching the rain fall with her head in her hands and I figured that we weren’t getting anywhere by just sitting there and I had so many people I wanted to say goodbye to.

Putting on my jacket, I slipped on my shoes and tossed a spare jacket at her, telling her that I didn’t expect her walking to school in bare feet. I think the idea cheered her up a little bit, because she hurried downstairs and slipped on her socks and shoes in less than fifty seconds. After that, there was no changing my mind; we were off. We happened to visit some amazing people during our three/four hour trip to the school, and we also did a fine job of slipping past the administrators and cops in the hall. This single post will be to the teachers who have given me a little more to work with in my life:

Mrs. Weyrauch: From the beginning, she always offered an ear - just to listen to what I had to say no matter what it was, and no matter how silly/horrible/stupid it might have sounded. To know that she was there, and to be able to just sit there and talk for however long it happened to take was comforting beyond the human mind. To me, she was more of a mother than my stepmom could ever be. I’m thankful to her for giving me friendship, and comfort in some of the hardest times of that year. I will never forget her.

Ms. Waterhouse: In seventh grade, I thought Jr. High was going to be the worst year of my life. Deciding to take Drama just for the heck of it all, it flourished into something greater than I could have ever imagined. Ms. Waterhouse is so unique, and so wonderfully amazing that it was hard not to find drama such a fun class. I learned to branch out, and wasn’t as shy as I had been in the years previous. I took her class in eighth grade, and jumped into Advanced Drama this year. It had to be the most wonderful experience of my life. Surely something I will never forget. She’s moving to Denver (“Boo Hiss, Boo Hiss”) but left an email address and blog spot. I want to thank her for giving me some of the happiest days in school, and brightening up the entire room with a single smile or sentence.

Mr. Mauerman: He was my history teacher all through eighth grade and when I first entered his class, I had some pretty interesting things to say (though it’s just like me to judge someone before knowing them). He really helped, though, and I’d thank him for just the fact that he was there to talk to after school about nothing and everything.

Brother Brinley: It only took maybe two months - that short period of time for a single person to influence me so strongly that I have no idea what to feel. Mixed emotions flutter through my gut, and there are so many things that I would like to say to him but I don’t know how. All I wanted to do was search for some answers, and maybe get a religious belief started back up inside of me somewhere. That sure wasn’t what I found, though I think I like what I did find instead. So, instead of finding answers to a difficult subject, I found someone who was so willing to listen to everything I had to say it was astounding. When I had dropped out of the church, I automatically became the “bad kid” and no-one would even think about what kind of person I might be without that being an influence. It wasn’t that way, when I went in and told him that I wasn’t even sure if I believed in God, and stated the reasons why. His simplistic reply: “That’s wonderful!” I was beyond confused, but he elaborated and my mind was opened to something so much broader. That patience, kindness, understanding, and everything else he showed me - all of that and so much more - was the reason that I would return to that building every time we had class.

I don’t even know if I could explain what happened after that, but he literally touched my heart in ways that are un-explainable, no matter how out-of-place I happened to feel with all of the “Mormon kids” that I looked up to. I could just… open up and talk to him like I couldn’t do with any other person I’d ever met. Not long ago, I found out that he was moving… to a completely different school district. People say it didn’t matter because we were leaving anyway. It mattered more than they could ever imagine. To know that whenever we came by to visit our old teachers, he would never be there, was so horribly painful (I don’t even know why) that I still stand on the verge of tears just thinking about it.

I went to say goodbye today. I couldn’t say much, it was too hard to even stand there and realize I’d never talk to him again - I’d never have the chance to speak to the one person I had been able to talk to since my mom’s death. So, as I was about to leave (I had Sarah with me), he reached out to shake her hand. She did so, and then he turned to me… I was literally frozen. He stuck out his hand, and I relaxed, knowing it was just… business. When I clasped his hand, he pulled me in and we actually hugged. I’d gone the entire day hugging the people that I was going to miss most of all, but… I actually started to cry with this one. Of course I wouldn’t allow anyone else to see it… so I pulled away and I had to leave.

He’ll be there for maybe a week more, and there’s so much that I want to tell him. If I could have one wish, it would be to keep him there. But then again… I’m just being selfish like I always am. It would be the only thing in the world that I would wish for… and it’s the only thing I can’t have.

I’ll thank him for: hope, kindness, generocity, patience, understanding, and love. All the things I might curse myself for later.

I think about those people - those four wonderful people - and realize that I have learned so much from them. Sometime either tomorrow or on Friday, I’m going to go to the Seminary building and take Waterhouse’s advice: “Don’t let anything hold you back - in a sense, just dance like there’s nobody there.” I’ll tell him what he’s done to me. How he’s helped me and hurt me in so many ways that I’m crying now…
Crying when I haven’t cried in four years over anything. Crying… when the last time I shed a single tear was when my mom died. And I don’t know why…….

Risk Project

In Advanced Drama, the class is required to come up with a risk. The idea of the project is to do this risk in the five weeks we have left in school. I missed the day that we all picked ours, so I had a while longer to think about it - but what I came up with was way exciting. Normally I’m an extremist, and love to out-go everyone else in things like that. This was something that I really want to take seriously and so I have. Over the past few days, I’ve been thinking about that big risk that I would like to take, and how I could take the steps to accomplish taking that risk. My conclusion surprised most of the people around me, but I was happy to see that it really was something that was risky.

During dinner, my dad asked me what I had been thinking about all night and I proposed the idea to him. So, he agreed. The risk will be; I will get a single backpack and fill it with food, water, insulin, a sleeping-bag, and anything else that I feel I should need to survive; my dad will drive me out to the West Desert and drop me off out there so that I have to live out there from Friday evening to Sunday evening. I’ll have a knife and a gun for safety measure and my dad will be a mile or so off to make sure I don’t go and die - but for the most part, I should be completely alone for a total of two days and nights. The idea just excites me and terrifies me at the same time.

I only imagine what my drama teacher is going to say when I tell her what I’ve decided to do.  Everyone else is going to “ask their crush out,” or “help at an old-folks home,” or even “go to the Wicked roller coaster at Lagoon.” I think mine will really be a risk to see if I can handle myself or if I’ll be able to not die…. but it’s so cool that I could actually talk my dad into letting me do something like this. I only hope my leg won’t be too screwy while I’m out there, so I’m pretty much immobile. 

Miserable at Best

I’m starting to feel like some sort of emo kid. I’m not, though! I’ve not once cut myself, or wanted to kill myself, but… it’s hard. I’ve been told countless times that life’s going to be hard, and I have to suck it up and deal with it on my own or don’t deal with it and let me rip me up. So far, I think I’ve gone with the second option - why? because I’m different. Not just a normal different, but a big different; one that knocks me so far from normal that I can hardly stand myself. I don’t even know if that’s normal, and I’m not going to ask because even the subject annoys me. Maybe I’m just intollerable; maybe not. The reason I haven’t posted in a while, would be the simple fact that I don’t have the patience to talk about me.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been having to write an autobiography for my English class, and it’s taken all the conceited ideas out of me. Why would I be wanting to write about all my monthly happenings? I didn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t have, but am doing so now. Only because I need something to vent through and writing has a way of summing that up for me.
So, school has been different - I was sexually harassed by a teacher, and we went through a huge ordeal in which he was spreading rumors about me and ruining my credibility. It stung deep, so I reported him again and he’s now being fired. He gets to end out the school year, but isn’t allowed back next year. That was something of a horrible experience in life, but it all comes with the good, bad, and the ugly. Really, my friend forced me to talk to him because she was there too - I wasn’t guilty at all with what I’d done to him. He deserved everything that was happening to him and much more. However cruel that may seem, I don’t care one way or the other - students are angry at me for getting rid of one of their favorite teachers, fellow teachers are angry, and he’s angry; really, I’ve got a lot of angry people on my back. It’s difficult to deal with.
On top of all that, my uncle Rob is visiting for my grandma. If anyone reads this, they have no idea what he’s meant to me in the whole two days we got to spend with each other. Then he left, back to Colorado, and I haven’t seen him for a year - now suddenly, he’s coming back for a visit. It’s driving me absolutely nuts. My blood family has never been as cool as the people from my step-mom’s side. So, when I meet someone that I can really trust and they leave two days later, it screws me up. I don’t know what to do and I feel like everything is going downhill. Maybe it’s just an over reaction.
But, I feel depressed, angry, and overall miserable. The need to write it all down has died, so I think I’ll stop because it’s only giving me a headache. 

All You Do is Change Your Clothes and Call that Versatile

Christmas has always been a time when I could sit around family and drink egg-nog (the only time I’ll ever drink the stuff). Ever since my stepmom moved in, it’s been a living nightmare around Christmas time. Truthfully, I thought things had calmed down exceptionally well and I started to wonder if she was warming up to my little brother and I. How wrong I was. I really start to wonder if she gets some sort of spiritual lift by tormenting us, and driving my dad even further into depression, just like she had right after my mother had died (four years or so ago). Even though I’ve tried countless times to offer my company and care to her, it’s like she finds me a useless toy: something she can pick up anytime and then just drop back on the self to gather dust. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t allow anyone to get close to me; it’s just another thing that she could possibly take away from me. To the point of Christmas: it was going just like all of the other years that I used to love, and when I was done unwrapping the gifts, I couldn’t have asked for anything else from my dad. The surprising thing was that he had bought my brother a Playstation 3, which I really disagreed with, but there was nothing I could do to stop him at that point. Initially it was my job to set the thing up (no problem) but when I got the controllers charging and my brother was being impatient, he ran upstairs and the first thing out of his mouth was “Hey, Dad! Guess what I want for next Christmas?!” You can only expect the extreme explosion after that. I don’t necessarily blame my dad for getting angry; I would have yelled as well. The thing is that when my dad gets angry and starts to yell, it goes around to everyone in the family and since he’s not willing to yell at my stepmom, I’m the only person left. He yelled at me for everything that’s happened to him in the last month and then promptly tore my room apart. It now looks as if a tornado has taken its toll on everything in there.

Well, at that point, I had thought it would have been the worst part of my day and so I decided that I would just go take a shower and get ready for the Christmas dinner that we have every year (at my stepmom’s family’s house). Don’t get me wrong; just because she’s the biggest bitch this side of Utah doesn’t mean that her family is. They are the only reason that I’ve ever put up with her, and when my parents got married in May I met my Step-Uncle for the first time. We hit it off and got to know each other really well, finding out that we had almost everything in common. The sad thing is that he lives in Colorado and rarely visits Utah, only on those special occasions. I saw him for two days and then he went home and I was (surprisingly) very depressed, and heart-broken. He was the only person I had really connected with… and probably one of the only people I have loved since my mother’s death (not counting my father - even then, sometimes I wonder). To know that I wouldn’t see him for about five years more was hard for me and still is. Back to the Christmas dinner- When we got there, he called and everyone took turns talking to him. When it came down to my stepmom talking to him, she walked out of the room but came back towards the end of the conversation and sat down next to me on the couch. I could hear him, only because she was right there, and I could hear him say: “Could I speak to Mary? I really would like to talk to her.” My stepmom had a very short reply: “No.” And then she hung up. Her words after that were that the call had dropped and everyone let that pass. I walked out on the dinner for an hour, until my Aunt came to find me and give me something to eat.

I don’t know if I have a lot to complain about, but I know that she blatantly wouldn’t allow me to talk to him because she knew he was the only person that I could possibly relate to. I haven’t really told my dad about her, or what she calls us behind his back because he thinks she’s the greatest thing since my mom and I know that I couldn’t take that away from him. So if you’re wondering why he doesn’t notice these things, it’s because she’s one of the best actors that I’ve ever seen and she knows what to say and how to say it. I guess it’s just hard not to be able to tell someone, though there are the occasional people who come along that I can talk to, and they’ll listen. I don’t always need someone to lean on, I guess I just need a shoulder there in case I should fall; something that might soften the blow or catch me before I hit the ground.