counting stars wishing I was okay

I would like to apologize & send my sincerest thanks to begin with. I want to thank those I turned to during my time of short-lived crisis, because if it wasn't for my realization that there are people out there with issues worst than mine, I would probably still be in the midst of a depression so severe, Hannah Baker would have trouble challenging me on that.

Anyways, besides that, my apologies for the excessive cursing in the last post.

I'm better now, if you were still wondering.

I smoke to die.

EDIT: Hi, there. If you don't normally read my blog, or are simply browsing, please please please take this into consideration: I don't drop f-bombs on a daily basis. I wrote this when I was feeling so awful about what was going on, so please, don't judge me based on this post. I'm sorry for the vast amount of cursing found in this post, but I'm not going to edit it. That sounds arrogant, but I'm not going to edit it because it's the replica of how I felt, and what I need to do to get better.

Thank you.

-Angie.

I feel like an Eldritch Abomination. I'm sure twenty of you are going to say "Oh please, don't be so dramatic. Every girl deals with shit now and then, so calm the hell down."

You know what? I'm pretty damn sure that not just any average teenager deals with the shit I go through. I know that there are others who probably have it worse than I do, but since this is my blog, I get to whine and reflect and mull over what the hell I'm doing wrong.

I want to be perfect. I'm far from it, I'm an illogical being with so many fallacies, but that's what makes me human.

So, today, I really fucked up. Like, this isn't some of your stupid "oh, I talked back to my parents, but this only happens once a year, so it's like forgivable" shit, it's some hardcore, I really fucked up and my parents hate me kind of shit.

I acknowledge my failure. Whoop-ti-fucking-do. Now what? What am I supposed to do now? Do I go apologize to my father for being such a fucking failure when he's failed too, but refuse to admit it? This is what I fucking hate about the situation. The fact of the matter is that a) We both screwed up, and that b) everyone expects me to the be the only one to fix the damn thing. This is what pisses me off because it's not fair to me when I'm the one that gets blamed for every fucking thing that goes wrong, and I'm not even a part of it.

Sure, I maybe completely anti-social in family occasions, but that's because I immensely dislike the people in my extended family. Excuse me for having a negative opinion on my cousins, aunts, and uncles. Excuse me for being fucking traumatized by the sheer callousness that my extended family has shown towards my family. Excuse me for calling them out on their bullshit.

Sorry, I didn't mean to offend their plastic souls. My apologies.

And it's like, really, dude, really? You want me to get out of my shell, you want me to go and hang out with these people, just so I'm not labeled the fucking black sheep of the family? When have I cared about other's opinions on me? I'm my own person. I am not defined by other's stupidity.

I screwed up, I'm a mess, and I want to get better. But the thing is, I can't get better when I have about twenty million anchors trying to pull me back into the water. I'm trying so fucking hard to please everybody, if you asked me why the hell I'm taking three AP classes, Mock Trial, Debate, History Day, and Science Olympiad next year, I wouldn't answer the typical "because I want to be better", because we all know that's a bunch of bullshit. I'm doing it to give my parents something to be fucking proud of, because apparently, the fact that I'm on this earth isn't enough.

If you asked me how I was born, I would tell you that I was born at twenty-four weeks, about...I don't know, three months premature. This is the guilt card that gets played on me every fucking time I screw up.

"But Angela, you were born premature. If God didn't want you on this earth, then He wouldn't have let you live back then. You're a miracle, and you're messing up in ways A, B, and C, and you need to be better, blah, blah, blah, blah."

And I'm like, "Seikō kono to the ninth degree, and leave me the hell alone."

So, today, I acted like the biggest stuck-up bitch on the planet earth in front of my parents. It was great. We're looking for a place to live, you see? We got unceremoniously kicked out of our old house, and despite popular belief, we didn't leave because we wanted to. Now, we're looking for a new place, a new life, and blah blah blah. We went house hunting, and found this really nice condo. Three rooms, cool design, and overall, a nice place. It needed some work, sure, but besides that, I would give it the Angela seal of approval.

But no. Of course, I have to give a fucking speech about how much I like this house in order to please my father, who really didn't like the condo. And I'm pissed, because he shouldn't be using my sister and me as a mouth piece to voice his concerns over the condo to our mother because that's just plain stupid. I probably murdered about twenty-five 'ands' in that sentence. I could care less.

Then, he decides to make a big deal out of it when all I wanted was a peaceful night and ride back home. He started mocking me, my so called Valley Girl accent (shut up, Rach), and decided it would be nice to aggravate me while I had twenty fries in my mouth. I almost choked and died, people.

I try to keep my calm. This never works. I'm pissed and I'm like, "A) Don't mock me, and b) If you don't like the freaking house, then say something."

Then he gets pissed and retaliates with his own witty ABC list and I tune the world out because I really don't want to get into a drama fest. Bad choice, now my dad's even more mad and everyone else in the car has halted their consumption of carbohydrates and fatty acids. Wonderful.

We get into the house, my dad tells me that he's sick of it and that I should treat him with more respect. I want to say that once he's earned it, he'll receive it. I don't say that, though, because that would earn a slap to the face from somebody. Anybody. Instead, my voice decides to die out on me because it's a wimp. I nod and walk off, screaming internally about self control and contemplating the twenty five different ways I can commit suicide and wake up dead in the morning.

Which would probably ruin their wonderful plans for sending me to work tomorrow. Oh, what a fucking bummer.

Then, afte two hours of silence in my room, filled with angsty Vocaloid songs and recaps of Durarara!!, my mom walks in and tells me that the bitter people lose their road or some other piece of advice that was lost in translation. I nod, and she leaves me to wallow my misery. Fucking beautiful.

And I'm sitting here through this entire episode, wondering, what the hell did I do so fucking wrong to manage to piss off the world?

Oh, and never find love, but that's for a different post. I'm pulling a Neru Akita, and blowing this popsicle stand.

I'm obsessed with the mess that is America.

(Marina and the Diamonds - Hollywood)

Today, I decided that I would write a blog post in order to talk about what the hell I've been thinking for the past few days. If you have seen me IRL, you've probably noticed I haven't been as obnoxious as usual. (Except when poking my food, sorry about that, Jesse.) That's because of Sophie's World.

If you didn't know already, Sophie's World is an intricate, and informative story, on philosophy. Here's the wiki page if you would like to check it out. The novel's been making me think about things I would've never thought about. It's also made me revaluate my own thinking and my own personal philosophies.

What are these philosophies of mine, you might be wondering.

Guess what? I'm not telling you. Not yet least, because I have math homework that needs to be done.

...I fail so much.