All About G

I really wish I knew what runs through my sister’s head.

So, earlier today, I blocked Kimmie on Skype and I unfriended her on Facebook, because she told me, literally, “don’t fucking talk to me,” and I, out of spite and anger, decided to do just that.

Why had she gotten quite mad at me, you might be wondering. Well, it started with her complaining about her apathy for life and whatnot, to which I kept replying “if you don’t like what’s going on, do something about it.”

Eventually, she posted a blog (the first one on her homepage), which I had read. I left a comment, and, for good measure, I told her over Skype: if you “probably won’t” talk to me about solving your problems, don’t figuratively ask for help in the first place.”

“Are you TRYING to start a fight or something?” she asked in response.

And I replied, (this is all word for word, by the way), “I’m not TRYING to start a fight. I’m making a statement. Don’t call for help if you aren’t going to use it. No one needs your crap.”

To which she got really pissed and shortly afterward, I blocked her.

This thing with Kimmie is rather old history; most of you who read my blog know that my little sister has a mood disorder. Occasionally, she’ll fall into a funk in which she won’t care to do anything except lay in bed all day, regardless of the consequences. And yes, for a while, she used to cut herself (though I don’t know if she truly stopped doing that; I merely assume she has).

What she does a lot when she falls into these funks is she’ll complain about how she doesn’t care about failing school and how she hates everything. Usually, when I’m not trying to cheer her up by joking around, I try to more seriously encourage her. I give her advice on things she can legitimately do to make her situation better. But every time I do, she comes back with some reason or excuse as to why she can’t.

So when I just start agreeing with her and tell her that there’s nothing that can be done, she gets angry and accuses me of not caring, and then goes on about how she hates everyone and how they don’t help her. But when I do try to help, like I said, she doesn’t let me. When I just stop trying to help, she gets hurt, and when I tell her I don’t like her attitude about things and the fact that she needs to get her life in order so as not to screw up her future, she gets pissed. So what am I supposed to do? I can’t win no matter what approach I take.

Still, I was really harsh with her when I had said what I said, though I was being straightforward; if she doesn’t want help, she shouldn’t ask for it, and I don’t need to deal with her crap if she’s going to be inflexible about it. But, I was being harsh. And I do worry.

Sometimes, she’ll say something during these funks like “You know, I literally want to kill myself right now,” or, for a specific example, “I deserve so-and-so because I didn’t kill myself today,” and it scares me. Because I don’t know if that’s just her way of trying to be manipulative or if she’s literally thinking about committing suicide. And I sometimes wonder, if one of these days, my temper and words might actually be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

No matter what’s done, it’s not what my sister wants. I don’t know how to help her and it hurts when I try to and fail, because she’s my sister. Hell, I can safely say she’s my closest friend. She’s my best friend, and I can’t even give her what she wants? What kind of sister does that make me?

I don’t know what to do anymore.

Comments (2) Jan 25 2011

I’m having an issue with my current living situation. No, it’s not my room mates or any kind of drama of that sort. I simply can’t afford to live in a Garden apartment, without a meal plan, and having to pay weekly grocery bills.

Here’s an example; I owe one of my room mates, Sam, $15, I owe another room mate, Leah, $32 (though I swear I already paid her back but wtf ever, I don’t even care anymore. And technically I only “owe her” $27 because of the $5 she owes me for the cleaning shit I bought). I have a phone bill to pay, $85, and once that’s all said and done, I will have gone from having $150 to having less than $50 in my checking account. I once had $500 to spare, and with it I’ve bought only things I needed, i.e. food, and some personal items for myself like a couple of pairs of much needed jeans and khakis, books, and rain-boots. I only used not even $75 of what I had for what I wanted, basically the piercings I got last week, a set of ear phones so I could listen to my Ipod, the mid-size $15 purse, and an eyebrow waxing. Everything else, and I mean everything else, has gone to food and paying back my room mates for the weekly groceries. I can’t get the other ear piercings I want, I can’t go out to the movies and really enjoy myself, I can’t buy the green dress I found and wanted to wear for my birthday this year (my 21st nonetheless). As it is, that road trip to DC I promised my sister isn’t happening, and this trip to Rochester with sister and Nat in tow I may be able to pull off via the skin on my teeth.

I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t afford these grocery bills and pay-backs, and it’s funny because I actually try to avoid eating the groceries for fear of eating more than my fair share. Mind you, I haven’t actually sat down with my room-mates and talked to them about this, and I probably won’t until I know it’s for certain, but I think I’m going to move out and back into a single room in a dorm, with a meal plan, so my income won’t disappear like it’s been. If I was living in the single I was in last year, I’d still have something like $300-400 left in my bank account. And NO I wouldn’t lose my mind over it. I had a plan for the things I absolutely want; that I’d spread out the spending over months instead of weeks. But I can’t exactly spread out paying my room mates back, now can I?

So I emailed Housing, and hopefully they’ll get back to me soon. Once I get a definite, I’ll talk to the roomies. In the meantime, I’m just going to try and avoid letting this stress kill me going into midterms. I’ve already come to the conclusion that I’m probably not gonna do a really good job on my tests this week. Awesome. This fucking sucks.

Comments (1) Oct 10 2010

I can safely say that I’ve officially survived what could have been imminent death. I can also say that the accident I was involved in last night was probably, and will probably always be, one of the scariest experiences in my entire life.

It started out as what was supposed to be a fun joyride around the southern tier of NY. My little sister and I were in the back seat; she was passenger’s side, I was driver’s. My two friends Brian and Joey were in front, and Brian was driving.

We had taken the backroads to Oneonta; the whole way there I would warn him about dangerous curves and times when he’d want to slow down. We were going pretty fast, between 60 and 70 most of the time. Luckily, I know those roads like the back of my hand. But I don’t blame Bhoff, I mean, I love driving fast too. It’s fun. We were just unlucky that night.

We decided that it would be fun to drive to Delhi from Oneonta, and then take the backroads to Sidney from there via a route that Derek and Mom had taught me. I had driven it a couple of times, and while I didn’t know those roads as well as I knew others, I knew it’d be a fun drive.

We drove up over the hill on route 28 just outside of the city. Brian had just passed a car and was still going pretty fast. I think he was coasting down to speed (I do that ALL the time, seriously. Easier on the brakes). I don’t remember saying it, but Kimmie told me later that I had said “You should probably slow down.” The music, Guns N’ Roses, was blaring though. We were enjoying ourselves, even if we had to scream at the top of our lungs just to hear each other. A car was coming up the other way, and didn’t turn down their high beams as they drove by. It blinded me and I assume Brian too, at the very least, because I didn’t see the sign that warned us of the curve up ahead. When my vision cleared, the first thing I saw were the yellow arrow signs usually associated with sharp turns, and it was about that point that I knew that something awful was going to happen.

On the way down the hill, 28 has a relatively sharp left turn as route 357 splits off and bears right. If I had to guess the speed at which that sign probably says, I’d have to say it probably recommended to take the speed at anywhere between 35 and 45 mph. I can usually get my dad’s car around any curve at approximately 15 mph over the speed listed on the sign. We could’ve gotten around that curve at 50, 55mph maybe even 60 if the recommended speed was 45. I think we hit that curve at speeds closer to 70.

The rear end spun out and around as we entered the turn. I think it actually took Brian by surprise, the way his hands jerked on the steering wheel. I don’t blame him; I saw that turn at the last minute as well. The instant we were off the road, I started to scream. I couldn’t stop screaming. I grabbed hold of Brian’s seat in front of me and braced myself for what I expected to be a very painful end. And the whole time I was just screaming Brian’s name, over and over. Perhaps a small part of me inwardly thought I could somehow channel my energy through to him and give him the power to stop the car. A bit naive of me, if I do say so myself.

We plowed through a road sign, flew off the ground over the slight incline, careered across the road that merged with 28, and slammed into a tree. I’m sure we hit it at speeds anywhere between 50 and 65. Initially, the car was moving sideways. I’m sure that we probably would have started rolling if Brian hadn’t kept his cool as well as he did. And I don’t know how he managed to more or less straighten us out, but he did, and while it resulted in us hitting the tree on the driver’s side, I’m positive that he saved our lives.

I screamed as the car buckled around me. I watched as the tree came through Brian’s door, shattering the glass and smashing the metal. I screamed as debris hit my face and shoulders. The entire side of the car we were on gave way inward. Brian’s seat came back and rammed against me, wedging my foot underneath. I couldn’t budge it. I thought in that instant, that I was going to crushed by hot, twisted metal, that I was going to die right then and there. My sister immediately came to mind; I knew she was right there next to me, and I could only think of the fact that I had invited her to come along and she could be dying right here with me.

We all jerked as the car came to an abrupt stop. I remember half-shrieking “Brian?!” I was instantly concerned about Brian, as I had watched him slam into the steering wheel. His head lolled about slightly for a few seconds before he managed to slur “Is everyone okay?” I went to move, but my foot was stuck. The smell was terrifying, and smoke was coming up from the engine. And I couldn’t move. I had to get out of the car and I couldn’t move. Brian made to move his seat back but I screamed “Don’t move the seat Brian, I can’t move my foot! I can’t move my foot! Oh my God, I can’t move!”

Kimmie was there, asking me about my foot. I pushed her away, not wanting her to stay in the wreckage any longer than necessary. I half-snapped in reply, “It’s stuck!” In a rush of adrenaline, I wrenched my foot out, abandoning my sandals in the process. I didn’t realize it until later, but that sandal probably saved my foot from seriously being crushed.

We climbed out of the car; Brian sat on the trunk (more or less intact, considering the condition of the rest of the vehicle) with blood covering his arm. There was already a couple (married, I assume) at the side of the road, making sure we were okay and calling 9-1-1 (which is good, because I had no service). I went back periodically to check on Brian, who was apologizing over and over and saying how he screwed up and that he was so sorry. I told him to just not think about it; that we’re all alive. EMS arrived and took over, sending me off to get checked. In retrospect, I should’ve provided neck stabilization until they arrived, but I wasn’t thinking about anything other than calming him down. We were questioned about the situation. I think I retold the story like, 50 times in the span of 5 minutes. The state trooper took my license. I haven’t seen it since (that bastard).

The EMS people took Joey, Kimmie and I by ambulance over to Fox. Brian had been back-boarded and transported ahead of us. The EMS crew were very lighthearted and nice and it helped to brighten the mood a little. I’m only amazed at how they can maintain such a cheerful demeanor considering the kinds of things they have to deal with on a day-by-day basis.

At the hospital, my hand, clavicle and shoulder were x-rayed. Nothing was broken, to my surprise (well, not the thumb because I already knew it was sprained). They gave me a sling and a splint for my thumb and sent me off. No offense, but the ER doctor was kind of an ass. Mike, the receptionist that Kimmie had told me about when her throat was bleeding after her surgery, was around, and he was pretty awesome in the few seconds that we interacted. Yes, he looks like he should be in Green Day’s band.

I plan on following up with Dr. Wiesner (an orthopedic) and Dr. Aaronson (a dentist… one of my teeth was knocked out of place and it HURTS). I sprained my right thumb, and SOMETHING happened to my left clavicle, I’m sure. One of my teeth, like I said, is out of place. Scrapes and bruises here and there, and a very sore neck are the only injuries besides those three.

The ride home was terrifying. Mom drove slower than she usually does, and I was pressed as far back against my seat as I could get. My shoulders were so tense, I could feel the knots forming.

Since then, I keep replaying the crash over and over in my head. Sucks that I couldn’t just close my eyes so I didn’t have to watch it happen. My mind prevented me from doing so, as if I could somehow see what was coming and dodge whatever came my way. If I don’t actively stop myself from thinking about it, the images come back as strong as ever.

I don’t think we’ve ever been as lucky as we were last night. I feel like if we had hit that any different, I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this blog post. All I know is, I’m just extremely thankful that we’re all alive and okay.

Comments (1) May 31 2010

Honestly, I can’t tell which feeling is worse: being called all sorts of names, or being called all sorts of names by someone who was supposed to be your closest friend.

I’m not going to bother talking about exactly what the fight was over; that doesn’t matter. It usually doesn’t.

Her final words to me were “U are all full of urself. U only care about u and only u. You have to demand everything from everyone. Im sorry that the world dont revolve around u and im sorry that you think ur shit dont stink and im sorry that your a self centered cunt this is the worst you have ever gotten grow up and look at urself for a change ur not all that hot and not everyone wants your nasty ass sorry.”

I think more than anything, I’m furious with her. I don’t know why it took me so long to see everything. Looking back, I realized that my friendship with her wasn’t really a friendship so much as it was me bending to her every whim and letting her walk all over me. Every time she’d ask for a favor, I’d help her without hesitation. When I had first received my driver’s license, I shuttled her to and fro; so much, that my dad had to draw the line, forbidding me to be “the cab driver” for my friends. Whenever I confronted her about one thing or another, she’d turn it around on me and make it my fault for whatever it was. If I got mad at her, it was my fault.

I kind of wonder if she ever noticed when I stopped being open with my life, when I stopped telling her things. I knew that it was fruitless to try and get any kind of support from her; whenever I’d come to her seeking a comforting shoulder, her sympathy would last about five seconds before she would launch into her own world of misery and drama. I never told her how I felt that she didn’t care about me at all. Instead, I played the role of obedient friend and listened to her woes, gave her advice when I could, and backed her up with most anything.

At first, when I had received that text, it hurt. Slowly, over time, however, I’ve grown completely outraged. Not because of the text itself, because of the fact we we have known each other for nearly ten years. We were supposed to be best friends, and yet it’s like she didn’t know me at all. And maybe that’s my fault for never telling her anything. I thought she was more observant though! I can’t believe she didn’t realize that whenever I compare myself to another person, it wasn’t “I’m so much better than them.” No, it’s more like “I wish I was as good a singer as she is,” or “I’ll never be on his level at soccer,” or “Kimmie’s boobs are bigger than mine,” or “I can’t get myself to look more adult like Kasedy can” or, “I’m not as good as this person” or “I wish I was more like this person”. Hell, I didn’t even need to compare myself! “I hate the way my legs look,” “My hair’s too frizzy,” “I suck at this and that”, “I can’t do anything right!”

I wish I was prettier. I wish I was smarter. I wish I could compete on their level.

How? How is that egoistical? How am I being full of myself?!

It was the “you’re selfish and no one wants you” thing that really got to me. I’m selfish, yet I put aside my own happiness and quietly suffer, just so I could focus more attention on you? I got into trouble with my dad numerous times over the car, because I would lie and use it for taking you places instead of wherever I said I was going. I stopped bothering going to you for consoling; instead I bottled up my pain so I could try and heal yours. I would give you all kinds of advice, I listened to every one of your problems. I comforted you when you needed a shoulder to cry on. I kept every last one of your secrets (though I can’t say the same for you and my secrets, thanks for nothing), and I will keep them till the day I die. For God’s sake, Kasedy, I stood by and said nothing, NOTHING, when you and Steve were dating behind your mom’s back, and hung out at my house! In front of me, where all I could do was just watch you and the guy I liked hang all over each other and kiss each other and tell each other how much you cared. And I hated you for it, but I still didn’t say anything, because you were supposed to be my best friend. I cared about you and wanted you to be happy because you were someone important to me, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness. And all that, all of my unwavering loyalty, to the point of allowing you to treat me like shit, makes me selfish? So what is it, I wonder, that I’m supposed to do to make you take that back. Shall I kill myself? Take a bullet meant for you? Am I supposed to just shut up and be your slave? Treat you like the queen of the world?!

And you know, the thing that was drilled into my skull the most during that high school drama? Yea, it was “Nobody’s going to side with you, because nobody cares about you.”

So thanks, Kas. Thanks for telling me how you’ve felt over all these years. I should’ve realized it sooner, since it’s what you say every time we fight. I can’t believe I was so stupid and naive and thought you, of all people, could be considered a friend, you know, someone I could rely on and trust. I can’t believe I wasted so much of my life being your bitch, babying you and taking care of you and making sure that the world paid attention to you, because you’re SO worth it, right? I can’t believe I LET myself give you chance after chance after chance, ever when it was obvious that it wasn’t worth it.

I’m even more angry with myself, for being afraid to ditch you, because I didn’t talk to or hang out with my other friends all that much. I was afraid of rejection, and sometimes, I still am. I even let your words get to me! “Do they really care about me?” I’ve always pondered this, ever since I ditched my so-called “friends,” and made real friends. Logical me knows that they (meaning my present friends) do, but the rest of me, the loser, insecure me stoops so low as to question it. Because of what happened in high school. And now, because of you.

So here, I’ll be so kind as to do you a favor. Since I’m such a narcissistic bitch, how about I just cut you out of my life for good? Besides that, you’re a waste of my time. I’m better than that. Good luck with that baby, I’m sure you can find one of your friends to help take care of it (or take care of it for you, since I can’t fathom you being a RESPONSIBLE HUMAN BEING). And I’d wish you luck with the rest of your life, but I’m pretty sure that even my blessing wouldn’t be enough. Was that self-centered enough for you, or should I try harder? You’ll have to let me know, KASEDY, since I don’t know if I’M MEETING YOUR FUCKING EXPECTATIONS!!!

Comments (3) Feb 11 2010

I would actually go into a full fledged post about how life is going, but since my brain melted out of my skull around Tuesday, I’ll be unable to do such a thing.

I’ve pretty much lost the ability to think. I’m almost looking forward to going home. And I’d actually be looking for it if it weren’t for the fact that I’ll be working. Lame! Who ever heard of me having a REAL break? I know I sure as hell didn’t!

There’s a knot in my neck the width of my thumb. It starts at the base of my skull and it goes down to my scapula. I think I need to see a massage therapist.

Everything is riding on my Advanced P and C final on Tuesday. Else I’m pretty much fucked. I hate life.

Some relatively good news: All my personal essay papers came back with A’s, and this final paper of mine is coming along nicely. I’ll post up download links to them so if you want to read them you can, and if you don’t want to read them, you can stfu and not bitch that I posted them anyway.

… I actually had a lot more to talk about. Unfortunately, I completely forgot all of it. So, I suppose I’ll try to keep you posted.

Comments (4) Dec 10 2009