Lonelily

June 25th 2008. 

Loneliness comes and goes like the tides of the ocean. It washes over me, suddenly. I'm always surprised when it hits me. I always consider it a possibility, but I brush it off and store it away. Eventually, it escapes from its hiding place and finds me. Loneliness is not a scary thing, nor is it a sad thing. Loneliness is its own unique emotion. It's calm and quiet and misty. It's unsettling too. It makes me a bit anxious. I feel like I'm waiting for something. Waiting to emerge from the damp mist, into the warm and dry sun. 

There must be a pattern to my emotions. Loneliness can be combined with feelings of imprisonment as well as frustration.

I'll go seek some company in The Drifters or some week night prime time television program. Boy, am I an American or what.

____________________

 College is the greatest invention of all mankind. At first they were places of higher education for young men. Today they are the ultimate breeding ground. College today includes some magical ingredients: sex, drugs, music, girls, boys, intellectual stimulation, and fun. What more could young, beautiful, eager, and intelligent people ask for?

____________________

This is when you realize you're not going to leave this planet anytime soon. You've got a long, long, long journey ahead of you. Rest easy now, while you can. The road ahead looks rough and exciting.

____________________

BOREDOM ENHANCES THE MIND.

Saturday night in prison

June 22nd 2008.

Holding cell. Handcuffs. Mug shot. Court Date. 

There's my Saturday night in a nutshell. Mom hates me, I destroyed her life. But isn't she the one who is responsible for my life? Everyone is right, she is nuts. I can't believe I let her manipulate and scare me so much. 

I called 911 on myself. Two police cars came to the house around 11:30 pm. They asked me if there was "any pushing or shoving going on." "Yes." I said hesitantly. "Alright, you're under arrest and your mom is under arrest." Old, rusty, cold handcuffs. Pat down. No shoes. Stuffed in the cop car. Silence. An eternity of silence. "This is my revolution", I whisper. I am sacrificing in order to get away from my mom and get myself a better life. I can not go on living here.

Watching my mom get arrested. Pretty crazy. Right on the brightly lit front porch, for all the neighbors, who probably think we're all crazy, to witness. Where was Robbie? Just chilling out in the bedroom, watching some blue collar television episode. No doubt he was more than happy for her to be taken away, finally some peace. But I do remember him saying, "Worst phone call she ever made, this is going to change her life, she'll end up in juvy so fast." Uhh...not quite. This will actually change my life for the better!

Cop car seats are just plastic benches. The holding cell: blah blue, bare plastic mattress, super itchy wool tarp, stainless steel toilet/sink combo, 1/4 roll of quilted toilet paper, security camera staring me in the face. The only other indication of life is the determined buzzing of the cheap fluorescent light above me and the shrieks and screams of my mother outside the cell. I'm very cold. I can't sit still. I braid my entire head, sing, drum, stretch, talk, make some toilet paper origami... finally sleep starts to come. I press my forehead against the cold metal wall, pick at the peeling paint. Then I remember, "this room is monitored by audio/video..." and I stop picking.

As I lay huddled under my makeshift wool/acrylic blend of a tent, an animalistic feeling of imprisonment floods through my body. It is a specific emotion. It must be the kind of feeling a cat or dog feels when they are locked in the bedroom when company is over. Confined, with no way out. No freedom to come and go as one wishes. This was the defintion of captivity. I had no freedoms. 

Finally, good old Officer Adams frees me from the cell. ...Only to be directly locked into a cage in the middle of his office. Across from my cage bench was a bizarre, turtle-like, cloister chair, with straps and buckles. Very strange. I'm sick of telling this story and answering his questions. This is all so very corrupt. These are power hungry scum, with no souls. 

I miss my writing pad at home, I long to grasp my pen and let my thoughts flow. I miss my things. But, I know this is all worth it, I know everything is going to be okay. I'm safe now, with Dad. This is my life, no longer will I let that woman destroy me before I have a change to grow. All will be well. The storm will pass. 

The fight to end all fights

June 21st 2008.

I'm not a mean spirited person. I don't enjoy yelling at people or hurting them. It truly hurts me when I hurt others. But, with Mom, well, she is just so easy to hurt. It's just way too easy. Bombs drop out of my mouth, a mile a minute. I can't keep the insults inside. They are sharp fucking insults too. I mean, my words cut deep into her. Imagine your own daughter slicing away at your strength and confidence. It's wrong in so many ways. It's pure evil, to hurt my mother the way I do. But she hurts me so much. Growing up in the shadows, never knowing my mom. All because she never had the time or engery to get to know me. 

But...then I go downstairs and watch her. She shuffles around the kitchen in a drunken haze, trying her hardest to salvage the dinner she slaved over all night in order to keep Robbie happy. She looks so determined with her blank stare. All she can focus on is the goddamn lobster. 

What really hit me was the burnt french fries. They looked pathetic; sprawled out and blackened to inedibility by the oven. Food gone to waste. Granted, they burned because I locked Mom outside for too long. Anyway, I had the urge to run upstairs and grab my camera and take a picture of the french fries, abandoned in the kitchen sink.

I wish I didn't have to fight her. I wish she would just take a deep breath and envision her life if she stopped all her fussing. I mean...if she simply vaporized all the grudges she has clung on to for so many years...

June 2008 entries

My first entries in my hardcopy journal are very strange. They date from April 2008. I was going through a very difficult time. Anyway, the things I said in them are interesting, but they don't really apply to my philosophy of life anymore.

With that, I will start with a writing exercise I practiced on June 16th 2008. 

Writing is...always relaxed, always flows, recording of my thoughts, preaching.

Dad is... a simple man. enjoys specific, random, irrelevant events in history, potato chips, europe, baseball, and me. He is my world, I am his. I didn't talk to him today. Out of all the people in the world, over 6 billion, I know him the best.

People are... confusing. But they aren't. I just overanalyze and think they are. I can't go back to normal. I don't know how to just "see what's in front of me" anymore. 

I'm weird. I can't do high school anymore. I'm too weird for my friends. Where are all the weird kids in this town? I wish I could find them. Everyone is the same. If they aren't, then they pretend to be. They have the standards of how the boys should be, and how the girls should be. I'm expected to be like them, but I just can't do it anymore. So I end up being incredibly awkward, annoying, confusing and confused, random, and just plain uncomfortable. I want college. I want to shed this plastic skin for good. I hate it. I'm a me, not a them. I'm an individual. And if we were all individuals, then there would not be any outcasts.

Anyway, I used to be like them, now I'm in the transition and dying to break free. I need to forget their mindless, fruitless, and obsessive ways. I'm alone, very alone. Oh well, I have my mind to keep me company. My mind, writing, music, art. That's all I need to live in a beautiful world.

So I'll stay here for a while, in a solitary haze of beauty and peace. This is my dependable paradise. 

Please read during first visit!!

Hi, I'm so glad you've stopped by. This is going to be a very special blog. Over the summer I have kept a journal. Recently, I decided to post my thoughts on the internet, as I ask lots of questions and don't know many people in this small town of mine who are interested in what I wonder about. As you can imagine, this leaves a lot of questions unanswered, opinions unheard of, and a frustrated little girl. 

I live in a small town in New England. I'm half Polish and half American pioneer. I titled this website, The Young Anthropologist, because I consider myself an anthropologist and I am not legally considered an adult yet. 

Okay, enough boring introductory junk. I'm sure you'll get to know me better through my entries because writing is the best way I express myself.