vague mystique.

Eminem is an extraordinary rapper who has been and always will be one of my favorite musical artists. Even when I was a small child I had an odd appreciation of his work, idolizing the person that he was regardless of the fact that I was too young to understand the meaning behind any of his lyrics or actions. I adored him simply because it felt right, and even now that I’m older and am able to understand more about his music and his being, as well as possess the ability to analyze and truly comprehend everything about him, I still hold a fairly deep respect for him. He is, as unbelievable as it may seem, one of my much-adored idols.

With that being said, I feel the need to quote the lyrics of one of his songs, Beautiful, to convey what I have been going through lately and use as a starting point of my explanation of why I’ve mysteriously disappeared for the past few months.

I'm just so fucking depressed

I just can't seem to get out this slump.

If I could just get over this hump

But I need something to pull me out this dump.

I took my bruises, took my lumps

Fell down and I got right back up.

But I need that spark to get psyched back up

And in order for me to pick the mic back up.

I don't know how or why or when

I ended up this position I'm in.

I'm starting to feel distant again

So I decided just to pick this pen

Up and try to make an attempt to vent

But I just can't admit

Or come to grips with the fact that I may be done with rap.

I need a new outlet.

And I know some shit's so hard to swallow

But I can't just sit back and wallow

In my own sorrow but I know one fact

I'll be one tough act to follow.

It is said that at one point or another, everyone has a life crisis – most of the time, it’s towards the middle of one’s existence, thus named the “mid-life crisis”. For some reason or another, I believe that I had my crisis a little early on in my existence, at the ripe age of sixteen. I had all the symptoms of one – extreme depression, a sense of panic at where I stood in life, a heightened urge to do impulsive things, an intense fear of my future, and basically all of that immensely fun stuff. My mental state was in shambles; I couldn’t handle everything that was coming at me – I couldn’t handle the pressure, the stress, of my current life. I spent years handling all of the obstacles that the universe threw at me, from a difficult family life (which has progressively gotten worse) to financial troubles, from maintaining good grades to preparing myself to have the bright future that my family and teachers expected me to have. Quite suddenly, however, it all became entirely too much, and I couldn’t handle it all anymore.

So, knowing me, I ran. I couldn’t balance everything that I was expected to, couldn’t balance having an extremely dysfunctional family that lived below the poverty line, putting my best effort into school, having a social life, working anywhere from ten to thirty hours a week, doing the swim team, anything. Somehow, someway, I lost my ability to cope, to handle things. So I ran. I put everything that I was expected to handle into a small box deep inside my self-conscious, and simply (metaphorically) ran from it all.

Unfortunately I cannot go into much detail about what happened during this period, because I really don’t remember much from the past few months. I feel like I became a completely different person, living someone else’s life. All that I can remember was that my grades dropped tremendously (I’m failing several classes right now), I slept more than I ever have before, I focused a lot on my social life, and had an extremely complicated love life. Everything else is a blur, literally. It’s like I was a zombie for the first half of my junior year.

Somehow, however, I was resurrected from my zombie state and forced back into my actual life of responsibilities and expectations. I’m not sure how it happened… I’m fairly positive that my creative writing teacher had a lot to do with it though. He saw that there was more to me than the zombie, fuck-it-all persona that I put on, and put actual, legit effort into helping me through everything. He’s gone where no teacher has ever gone before to help me, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

I don’t know if I’m fully back yet… I’m not sure if the zombie is completely massacred, or if part of it is still lurking somewhere inside me. I’m terrified that I’m going fail at balancing everything again, that I’m going to lose myself. I hope that doesn’t happen, but for now, I’m taking things one week at a time.

I’m also completely fucking terrified that I lost my ability to write, but I’m trying not to think about that right now. I have homework to do.

xoxo,

Rosalie

Oh, and by the way, one of the first things that happened after I was resurrected was the addition of James as a boyfriend. It’s only been about a week, so I’m  going to go too in depth, but just know that after a year of wanting this, it finally happened.

"If you are a genius, you'll make your own rules, but if not - and the odds are against it - go to your desk, no matter what your mood, face the icy challenge of the paper - write." -J. B. Priestly

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters, compared to what lies within us." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." -E.L. Doctorow

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living." -Anne Morrow Lindbergh

"I have always believed that writing advertisements is the second most profitable form of writing. The first, of course, is ransom notes..." -Phillip Dusenberry

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." -Ernest Hemmingway

"The will to keep trying is often the difference between success and failure" -Davie Sarnoff

"Dreams become reality when intentions become action." -Author Unknown

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." -Gene Fowler

I am afraid that this is a short post.

Ten minutes ago I was sitting in my room doing my Algebra II homework, completely minding my own business and actually attempting to be productive instead of the lazy, procrastinating person junior I've been lately.

All of the sudden, I hear a screech, a car door slam, and people shouting obscenities. I walk into the living room and look out the window, and there is my sister with three of her friends on one side of the yard, staring down six black people on the opposite side. My sister is screaming "GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!" while a black girl screams simultaneously, her speech mixing with Serena's.

My grandmother takes this as her que to come outside and see what's going on while I stay inside staring out the window at the scene. She starts screaming at some black kid, and my sister is about to punch this black chick, and basically a ghetto fight is about to go down on my suburban lawn.

After a few more seconds of shouting, my grandmother walks about an inch away from this black kid's face and starts cursing and screaming in a really intimidating manner. Probably taken aback by the seventy year old woman, and the fact that my sister's crew is about to go APESHIT on theirs, the black crew of six motherfuckers leave.

Then my grandmother rounds on my sister, telling HER to get the fuck off the property because she is a disgrace and her bringing the fucking ghetto crew to our house is the last straw.

(Like we haven't heard that before.)

Serena says, "It's fine," and other useless reassurances, and then gets back into her car (which she had drove diagonal across the lawn in an attempt to run the black chick over, probably) and leaves.

My grandmother then comes back into the house and fucking screams at ME, telling me how much of a fucking bitch I am and how I shouldn't have stayed in the house, but went outside and fought the black motherfuckers even though they were several years older than me and obviously would have kicked my ass. And were a ghetto crew. Let's not forget that.

She then screams some more about how much of a failure I am, informs me that she will no longer take me to the fucking college fair tomorrow that we were supposed to go to because of my attitude, slams the door, and walks away.

I love how everything always comes back to something wrong that I did. Apparently doing one's algebra two homework is not a sufficient way to spend one's time anymore.

And I love how I've had a fucking horrid day and get to come home to screaming guardians who really don't give a fuck about me and have a gift for making me feel insurmountably guilty when, logically, I did nothing wrong.

I apologize, but I really cannot do this anymore. I can't... I can't keep living in this personal Hell, and I don't care if this makes me sound weak, but I CANNOT TAKE THE CONSTANT DISAPPROVAL AND SCREAMING ANYMORE.

I get screamed at every. single. day.

And get told how much of a complete failure I am by people who are supposed to LOVE ME AND SUPPORT ME every. single. day.

I give up. I admit defeat. I am a failure.

I'm not even angry anymore. I'm numb. And I'm talking in fragments. This is definately NOT my best example of writing.

I don't fucking care. I fail at writing, I fail at life.

I am inadequate.

Well they encourage your complete cooperation,
Send you roses when they think you need to smile.
I can't control myself because I don't know how,
And they love me for it honestly, I'll be here for a while.

So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough.
So give them blood, blood, blood.
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys.
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck.
The doctors and the nurses they adore me so,
But it's really quite alarming cause I'm such an awful fuck. (Why thank you!)

I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,
I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough.
I gave you blood, blood, blood,
I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love!