someone else saying it for me...

these are the lyrics to the song zzyzx rd. by stone sour. it pretty much sums it up. it's always nice when someone can kind of say it for you... which is why music is crucial. without music, there is nothing...

I don't know how else to put this
It's taken me so long to do this
I'm falling asleep but I can't see straight

My muscles feel like a melee
My body's curled in a U-shape
I put on my best, but I'm still afraid

Propped up by lies with promises
Saving my place as life forgets
Maybe it's time I saw the world

I'm only here for a while
But patience is not my style
And I'm so tired that I gotta go

Where am I supposed to run now?
What am I supposed to do?
Did you really think I wouldn't see this through?

Tell me I should stick around for you
Tell me I could have it all
I'm still too tired to care and I gotta go

I get to go home in one week
But I'm leaving home in three weeks
They throw me a bone just to pick me dry

I'm following suit and directions
I crawl up inside for protection
I'm told what to do and I don't know why

I'm over existing in limbo
I'm over the myths and placebos
I don't really mind if I just fade away

I'm ready to live with my family
I'm ready to die in obscurity
'Cause I'm so tired that I've gotta go

Where am I supposed to hide now?
What am I supposed to do?
You still don't think I'm gonna see this through

Tell me I'm a part of history
Tell me I can have it all
I'm still too tired to care and I gotta go

falling, falling, crunch.

there hasn't been much for a desperate, hopeless person like me to cling to lately. thoughts of planning for the future cause me so much anxiety that i become violently sick to my stomach. it's not even that i don't want to grow up, because i've already done that. i grew up a long, long time ago. it's that i don't think i can possibly stand to stick around and see how the next six weeks or six months or six years play out. i don't have any fight left in me.

i probably shouldn't write about any of this, but this is who i have to talk to. tonks, and this computer. i haven't told more than a few people about this blog for a reason. so if you're reading this, you're doing so at your own risk, knowing that what is written here remains confidential. if you have questions, ask me, but don't judge.

i don't know what to hold on to. i'm caught in the middle of a vortex of lies and deception and hatred.....and the closest thing i have to a "safe place" has been breached. it's not safe anymore. drama isn't safe anymore. that was one of the few shreds of hope that i was desperately clinging to. "my" teenagers. my drama kids need me. somehow, in some absurd, minuscule way they need me to stick around. well now i'm not even supposed to be around my drama kids without a babysitter. the administration has me convicted and condemned for a crime i didn't commit.

it's not even me saying i'm a bad, bad person this time.

i'm in trouble because some demon teenager used my phone to send a kid a dirty joke. a parent saw it, called the school and i found myself hauled into the principal's office for the first time in my life. i am 28 years old, and this was the first time i have ever been in the principal's office for being in trouble. of course i'm going to be terrified. and supposedly, my rigid body language was a sure indicator of my guilt, even though i was able to look him in the eye and swear that i did not send the damn thing. nor do i know who sent it. the phone was borrowed by a student, but not returned. they left it sitting on julie's desk there in the drama room, so it could have been anyone.

they told me what it said, and i'm appalled that something like that was sent from my phone in the first place. for them to think that i sent it.... ugh. it was gross. it was crude...and to me, it was triggering. i applaud a parent checking a phone and becoming upset with something like that. i'd do the same thing. but the administration is hell-bent on saying that it was me who did it.

so they decide to go through my phone, which was okay with me--if i had something to hide, i wouldn't have offered it for hendry to look at from the very beginning. but he goes through and finds some texts that he sees out of context that he feels are inappropriate--sent to me, mind you--and starts making it into this whole big thing. i'm not safe for the kids. hell, at one point he seemed to be trying to make me into a pedophile. me, of all people. just the thought makes me sick.

i have bawled more in the past week than i have in my entire life. i am totally defeated. and i say--what's the point?

and i'm falling apart from the other things, too. the other things that i'm always fighting with, which are winning more and more all the time. the shadows that lurk within my mind and body--my own personal, and very real, death eaters.

so, i'm hiding, hiding...just hiding. too scared to come out and play. i feel all sorts of screwed up. and my access to safe people is rapidly diminishing. i need a hug, but there's no one to ask for one. i need to feel protected and loved, but there is no one. it's not like you can just walk up to someone and say "i need you to just hold me for a minute." nobody wants to know that kind of thing...

it's a bad day--separate from me being bad. i wish i could go home. the more i'm around anyone, the worse i feel. and i'm afraid i'm going to make a fool of myself because i'm so shaky...i can't quit shaking and i can't breathe; i can't calm down even though i'm trying.

i'm falling apart....

breakdown

i don't know what to do. i'm think i'm suffocating. i'm cranky and exhausted, and i just don't care. i'm exhausted, but i'm afraid to go to sleep, even if i could. there's always a nightmare lurking...closing my eyes just makes me more vulnerable. the nightmares are so horrible.

apparently i'm grouchy. i don't deny it, but i don't know if grouchy is the right term. i'm tired, and i'm burned out. i'm on the edge of a meltdown--i can feel it coming. and yet, there's nothing i can do to prevent it. in truth, i start to panic everytime my phone rings or a new text message comes. it's always somebody who wants something from me. people i care about, usually, not understanding that i just can't give them what they want.

why aren't you doing more, rachel? what's your problem, rachel? why aren't you standing up for my manipulative, sadistic, soul-sucking excuse for a daughter anymore, rachel? you drama people need to grow up, rachel. you're not good enough, rachel. you need to try harder. you need to just be someone else, rachel...

and then there's:

"you need to work for me." "i'm not coming in." "more money is missing from the drawer." "i want a different piece." "ms. b is mad at me." "everyone hates me." "find me a monologue." "i need you to cut this scene for me."

i want, i want, i want. i need, i need, i need. every phone call. every text. every knock at my door.
i hate it.

is it really all that surprising that i just want out? *sigh*

Nothingness

It's funny. I used to be able to write all the time. Writing about anything, and everything. The words just knew how to come, and I had the patience to sit still and put them in written form. It's been a while since I've been able to do that. Even when I do find myself with the patience to actually write something, my mind is in such a fog that I can't seem to spit anything out. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that I'm not capable of forming the words to say it.

It's frustrating because it hasn't always been this way. But I'm not really myself anymore, either. I don't know who I am. I feel like I no longer really have an identity.

I used to be passionate about things. There were things that I loved. And things that I loved doing. People I wanted to be with. I knew what I wanted and how I was going to get it. I cared about things. I just don't anymore. I don't care. I put on the mask and pretend, but it's only because I have to. People expect things from me, and I have to live up to those expectations. There are so many expectations that I already can't live up to...

But in reality, I'm just an empty void. Useless, hopeless...taking up more than my share of space in an already over-crowded world.

I feel so lost...

Dear Santa...bah humbug!

I went outside a few minutes ago to get the spare bottle of ibuprofen out of my car, and then ran across the street to get myself a bottle of diet sprite. The ibuprofen is for my mouth, which 1/2 a lortab, 5 ibuprofen, 2 tylenol and an ice pack later is still in agony. The sprite will hopefully help calm my stomach, which is having it's own issues, in addition to the fact that i neglected to eat anything with all the painkillers. oops. But that's not the point. It's cold out there, and there are thousands of tiny, twinkling lights lining the streets. A painful reminder that it's the Christmas season once again. Not quite as painful as my stomach, but it's a reminder all the same.

In my professional opinion, December is probably the worst month of the year. Especially if you're considering health. Between finals, work, and the worry about what you're going to get for everyone, and how you're going to pay for it all...sleepless nights increase, stomach acid increases, blood pressure rises, possibilities of nervous breakdowns increase, and the frozen air is NOT nice and cozy like some holiday carols imply. Oh, to return to the Christmases of my youth. I was the angel in the Christmas play when I was two. I didn't have an ulcer then. The only sleepless night was Christmas Eve. (which is probably the biggest night of the year for Benadryl. You've gotta knock the little ones out somehow, right?)

And then, somewhere along the way, the magic wears off. You grow up. You help the nice sub-for-santa people bring in the Christmas presents after the brother and sisters have been given their Benadryl and have drifted off into a peaceful, drug-enhanced sleep. But in the end, it's all okay. There's still doughnuts and chocolate milk before presents. The Carpenter's vinyl still plays, and mom's beautiful alto voice drifts through the house as she sings along. Christmas morning, all is well. Maybe. But not so much anymore. Most of the magic left when mom did. Bless her heart, Annie tries, usually to the point of obnoxiousness, to bring some of it back, but most of her efforts are in vain. But to her credit, she keeps trying anyway. Annie loves Christmas. She's going to be a wonderful mother, when the time comes for her to do so. I know at times she's heartbroken that she's not a mother yet, but I think when the time comes she'll see that her patience will have paid off.

Last night was one of those sleepless nights. Part of it was due to the pain in my mouth. Some of it because of this stupid ulcer that is eating away at my innards. To say that I really, really don't feel good would be an enormous understatement. The majority of my insomnia, however, can be attributed to trying to finalize in my mind what everyone is getting, where i can cut back a little bit, trying to figure out how much my next check is going to be for and whether or not it'll be enough to cover everything i need it for between now and the end of the month. It's a fine line I walk, between planning everything out to the letter and flying by the seat of my pants. I'd like to believe that everything is going to be okay, but I don't. I've lost my faith in my fellow man. They tell me to "remember the reason for the season," but I have a few questions first. Questions that will never be answered. And all I want for Christmas is all that I can't have. Or give. So, I haven't decided if I'm going to write my letter to Santa this year. I think I've been on the naughty list for too long.

If I did, it would probably go something like this:

Dear Santa,

It's time again for that list of expensive toys that I can't afford for myself, don't really need, and will throw a tantrum that will outshine any two-year-old if I don't get. That's right--I'll out-tantrum Parkar and Irie. And as you probably already know, that's quite the accomplishment if either of them are in one of their moods...

First of all, I'm still waiting on that backhoe. I know you know what I'm talking about--we've discussed it every year for the last six years. I'm also still waiting for those matching four-wheelers for Tonks and I. There is much mud for us to go play in.

There's a young lady, Santa, who is one of the kindest, most compassionate people I know. I won't say her name, because if anyone found that out about her she'd make my life hell, but you know who she is. She needs to be cut some slack. People are always on her case about something. And she needs some good friends who can help her see how great she really is. She doesn't realize how much she means to us, and she's not very confident. That, and she needs cd's, and a fridge for her bedroom. Any way we can accomodate that, Santa?

More than anything, Santa, I want to alleviate some of the sadness in my family. I want there to be some way to assure a few individuals that it's okay to ease the fears and the heartaches that lurk in the deepest, darkest recesses of our minds.

I don't think Santa is listening, either.