Rebirth

It feels like I’m dying.

Like, not actually, I feel quite well.  Better than I have in a while.  This summer was truly a good one, and I did everything I wanted to do (besides beat MediEval 2 and get my full license, oops).  But tomorrow (well I guess today actually, since its 1:43 in the morning) I leave to start “a whole new chapter of my life.”  As much as I hate the cheesey-ness of that phrase I guess it’s true.  Life, as I know it, will change.

I go to a new town to live in a small room and learn new things.  I have to be social and make new friends, because the the friends I have made here will also move on to better things.  Soon they’ll forget me, and I’m mostly okay with that.  There are some people I never want to let go of, like my closest friends, my mentor, my awesome librarian friend that listens to me rant about movies and books, and all the people of my theatre group who have been like a second family to me.

This life that I have here, I’m leaving it behind.  Even when I return for vacation I won’t be living in the same house (my parents decided to move to a nicer house… Figures right when I leave, eh?).  And even though people say I will be back soon enough, it feels like the life I have now is ending.  This is my last night alive.

Which is why I’m up at 1:51 in the morning.  How can I sleep when I know I’m going to die tomorrow?

Even though there will be things I miss, I am glad to be going.  This is the adventure I needed.  I always felt, despite the army of support I have, there is nothing here for me.  In school I was the loner, at work I was expendable, in my home I kept to myself because that’s where I was most comfortable (on a side note, I find it interesting that I enjoy my company now, considering 3 months ago I practically hated myself.  After getting to know me, I’m actually a pretty cool dude).

Because there’s this overhanging feeling that my time here is done, I am ready for this adventure that awaits me.  I just hope this small town I called home will be fine without me.  (I know it will be, but it’s nice to at least pretend I had a purpose here.  But if I had no purpose here, perhaps I will find one out in the world beyond this small town)

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7 Days…

So after a conversation with my dad and my brother we ended up talking about if we had 7 days left of our lives, what would we do in those days. My dad and brother talked about travelling with people they loved to a place they really wanted to go.
At first I thought that’s what I wanted to do, but what’s the point of that? What am I gonna do, brag to my afterlife friends about how I saw some European country capital city before I died? And it would just add unnecessary complications to my final week of life that I would probably end up getting stressed over planning the whole trip. I feel like it would just be a pain and a waste of money. And why would I spend money on a trip that I’ll probably be too distracted to enjoy when I can just give all my money to someone who needs it?
So if that wasn’t going to work, what would I do if I found out tomorrow that I had seven days to life?

Well, from days 1 to 5, I probably wouldn’t do a whole lot different. Yup.
I’d just go to school, like normal… Okay, I won’t do my homework at all and I probably wouldn’t pay attention in class very much, but you get my drift. I’d also quit any long-term commitments I have (like Student council and this play that I’m in), just so they have time to find a replacement. If they get mad at me for it, well… They’ll find out in a few days why I quit.
Oh, and I wouldn’t tell anyone that I was dying. From what I gather from reading a lot of books and watching a lot of sappy movies is that people treat you differently when you’re dying. And sure, maybe they would be nicer to me and that sounds perfect, but it wouldn’t be genuine. If I was dying I would talk to people I wouldn’t normally talk to, I’d sit with people who I wouldn’t normally sit with at lunch. I want how they would interact with me to be honest, not forced smiles just so they’re being nice to the dying kid.

Day 6 would be like an erring of grievances, except it would not be all the bad stuff, but good things too.
I’d just go to all my friends, people I know who have made a difference in my life, maybe even my family, and just tell them everything I really feel about them and thank them for things they have done for me. For example, there’s this one lady I know who was very nice to me when no one else really was. Everyone else kind of ignored me, but she didn’t. She’s helped me so much and she gave me a reason to wake up in the morning, but she doesn’t even know the difference she has made. So if I was dying, I’d tell her all of that.
Maybe I’d tell them I’m dying too, depends on the person. I haven’t really figured that part out yet.

Day 7, I would just take off.
I’d just take some things with me, probably some books, a sketch pad, one or two stupid and/or quirky things, and then I’d walk. And I’d just keep walking. And on that walk I’d do whatever I feel like doing. If I wanna buy a chocolate bar, I would. While I’m waiting in line to buy that chocolate bar and the man infront of me is being an asshole to the cashier, maybe I’ll just punch him for being such a dick. And then maybe we’d get in a fight, or maybe I’d just run away because he’s way bigger than me, I don’t know. It would all depend on how I’m feeling.
It would just be my day to do what I want.
And then just as my time would be up, I’d go lie in the snow and look up at the stars and think, “Damn, I wish every week was like that.”
And then I would die, but with a smile on my face.

Advice from Life Itself

*please insert over-the-top salesperson with a Brooklyn accent voice for Life because that’s how I imagined it*

H: Life, I feel like people don’t like me very much, so I just wanted to know if there was something I could do to change that.
Life: It doesn’t matter if people like you, Hayley
H: What? Really?!
Life: Because you’re never going to amount to anything in life anyway!
H: Uhh…
Life: But you gotta try every day to amount to something, even though you know you’re not going to!
H: Why?
Life: So you can be disappointed! And I love it when people are disappointed!
H: Wow, that seems kinda dickish, Life.
Life: But if you’re really having trouble making friends, allow me to set you up with my good buddy, Anxiety! He’s great at making friends!
H: Wow, thanks! 😀
Anxiety *the voice of a monotonous prick*: No one likes you because you’re weird and you’re also kinda ugly.
H: Huh?
Anxiety: I think you should start hating yourself more and then imagine everyone else hating for the same reasons you hate yourself, even though they might not hate you at all, but that doesn’t matter.
Life: Great advice!!
H: I feel weird…
Anxiety: Also, everyone hates you. They might not actually, but it’s going to feel like that.
Life: Shall I introduce you to Depression?
Depression: Hey
H: Hi… Do you hate me?
Depression: No, but I feel like you shouldn’t exist anymore. That would make people happy.
H: 😦

And that, kids, is how mental illness forms.

Tragedy = Comedy

So I’ve noticed that whenever things are bad in my life, I just laugh at them and makes jokes about it. I mean, if anyone else were to joke about it, it would probably come across as extremely rude but for some reason it just gets me through the day to laugh at all the things gone wrong in my life.
For example, I never thought I was pretty or anything, so I just called myself and ugly son-of-a-bitch, laugh at myself and then move on. Whenever I’d do this people thought I just had low self-esteem (which don’t get me wrong, I totally do) and then try to get me to compliment myself. But I can’t, and that’s fine, because it’s funnier to call myself ugly than to lie about how pretty I am.
I do admit that it is very self-destructive to make fun of myself and laugh about my own faults, but its not as destructive as crying over my insecurities instead like what I used to do, and what most people struggle with now.
Its just easier when I ask myself, “Gosh, why doesn’t anyone ever talk to me anymore?”
And my brain just answers, “Because you’re a loser. Go be more social or something, damnit.”
And then I just giggle at the bluntness of it.
I guess it’s motivational in a way?
Maybe it’s just because of my cynical sense of humour that finds insulting myself funny, meanwhile if anyone else were face the destructive things that go through my head constantly that may find it more than unpleasant. But I think I just got tired of being uncomfortable and depressed about it, so it’s just better to laugh about it the same way everyone else does when they say something rude to me.
That way, when someone just yells “Fag” at me, I just laugh and say “You betcha,” considering my self-destructive brain has already called me a “sinning fag” at least 3 times already. And it’s just funny.
And its funny because I refuse to let a meaningless slew of words hurt me anymore, so instead of things like this tearing me down, I’m going to laugh about how much of a loser I really am and move on with my day.
Because screw anyone who tries to hurt me with their words anymore.