You know those days when all you want is

for the day to be over?

(Who am I kidding, of course you do.)

That's how I feel about this whole aspect of my life.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this post, other than to say it's hard being a teenage girl.

Where am I going?
I don't know.
I just want to get there.

I'm not a patient person, and to be made to wait to see what will become of me is, to the most irrational part of me, unfair. 

Sometimes I wish I could just fast-forward time to when I'll be happy and at peace after accomplishing all I ever wanted to.

And then other times I want to rewind time to when I had no worries, no responsibilities other than being healthy.

Like now? I'm unhealthy as hell (had gastro a few days ago), my mental state isn't the brightest, and I struggle with so many things I'm beginning to feel like Atlas with the weight of the sky on his shoulders. Only, I hold the weight of the sky in my hands. I've not accomplished much to be honest.

People who think they know me might say to others, "Look at her. You see her? That's a girl with all her shit together."

People who do know me know I don't. I'm a scatterbrain on my best days.
Look at me. I mean really look, and you'll see. These days, I wear a Nicki Minaj smile and host Marilyn Monroe's messed-upness behind it.

I have never, ever, ever had my shit together. And the truth is, I probably never will. That's the sad truth.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

So it's that time of my life when I need to

decide what I'll be doing with my life.
The dreaded two words.

College applications.

I mean, who knew I'd be 16+ and having to stress over what college I'll be going to in a year?
Well, I am.

Now my dilemma is this: I want to do medicine so I can become a psychiatrist, for reasons previously stated here. But I can't afford $3.22 million dollars per year to do that, can I? And with these grades I got in my Unit 1 CAPE exams....I guess I have to kiss those scholarship dreams of my mother's goodbye.

So I have to be considering other options. The very sound of the phrase is ludicrous to me because, really, psychopaths are my passion. I have no other option because my heart won't give me any.

But to please my mother, and to not turn a total cruff after high school, I will apply for other things.
The easiest way to discuss them is using a list. Now I hate lists, but here I go.

1. Actuarial Science-- which is this.
        It pays a shitload of money. Admittedly, while my first ambition is to leave this society a better place than how I entered it, my second ambition is to make money. Not to be rich per se, but to not need to struggle to find money. Actuarial science does that.

2. Civil Engineering-- which is this
      One thing that fascinates me (and has done so ever since I was young.....er) is beauty. The science of beauty. the art of beauty. Making beautiful things. I'm a quasi-artist, but I want my idea of beauty to be real. I can't sculpt (never tried, but I don't think I can) so I'll just learn to construct pretty beautiful buildings.
      And it pays well too. :)

3. Foreign Languages
    Here I was all ready to type this part of the post in French, because francophilia but I reminded myself that whoever reads this speaks English only, and maybe good ole Patois. But still.
                                      J'adore le franҫais!
Spanish...I don't adore it, but I like it. One of my greatest dreams is to live in France. Any Francophone country will do, but I really, really, really want to live in Paris.
   This time, I really don't care how much it pays. I just love my languages.

So yeah...that's it. Dilemma one of many.
The sad/funny thing is I can't decide this one with a coin toss or "Who's coming next Punchinello little fellow". This is my life.

I think I need advice. Best friend, darling.... :)

@Jaye_Eccentriq

       

I may talk to loads of people, but the truth is

I don't really have many friends. I was confronted yesterday by two such, because I'm apparently "spiraling out of control". (Let's not go into that right now.) And they said, "You can talk to us. anytime, anywhere, we are here for you."

I was struck immediately by how few people I've had say that to me. And then how few people really mean that.

But why do I have only...let's see... four (or so) real friends at the moment?

I think it boils down to being "once bitten, twice shy". I have spoken to friends about what's going on in my life and it's backfired. Hard.
do you really expect me to open up after that? I still hurt. After *stops to count* 4 years, I still hurt. Badly. And then I see  this.That doesn't magically massage my bruised and broken emotions though, but I'm trying. (Me, the rambler, off on a tangent. As usual.)

So maybe I am spiraling out of control. Whatever. I don't think I am buuuuuuut let's not go there either.

The fact is, regardless of how I feel, those days when I'm just like "I have approximately zero friends!" there is someone-- technically four or so really but let's not quibble over trivialities-- who will slap me upside the head and say "Bitch what the fuck am I, a tree?" 

The funniest part of it is that there're like 2 girls (who I don't consider girls really cuz they aint feminine at all) and then the guys who I've known for like 3 years but still can't friendzone. In fact, I think I'm starting to get a crush on one such.

OK I'm gone before I spill what I'm not supposed to and get my ass in trouble.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

Is it that the ISIS militants are so firmly rooted in their beliefs that they just

randomly select people whose lives they will then unmercifully wield control over? All for power?

I just watched a series of 3 videos, where the 3 journalists were forced to say what the militants wanted to say to the super-governments. I heard their fear. I felt their despair. I saw in their eyes not self-pity, not self-loathing, but reluctant acceptance of what was to be done to them. I saw forgiveness in advance for what was to be done to them.

I saw a fragile hope. Hope that their deaths brutal slayings would not have been in vain. Hope that they, through having their lives brutally snatched from them, would somehow succeed in making the world a better place. And I barely managed to repress my emotions. Because, for a while there, I felt like I was them.

But right now I can't focus on them, or what they went through. All I could think about was the one killer. That one man who held the fragile thread of three lives in his hands. And did he just make it quick? One clean guillotine, sever their souls from their bodies?

No. A rusty blade. Breaking the thread fiber by fiber, watching souls bleed out, watering the dry ground.

Why?

That's the only thing in my mind. I think in movements, sounds, pictures. But right now all I can think is "Why?"

Those men had people they loved. People who loved them. Dreams, aspirations, hopes, memories, regrets, unresolved issues, questions, answers....they were, like we all are, like the ISIS militants are-- even though it's hard to believe-- human.

I started this post angry. Now I'm just sad.

Sad that men think that this is the only way to get the attention of the masses: carnage.
Sad that this is the best way to get the attention of the masses.
Sad that the carnage isn't over yet, because they haven't gotten what they want.

And these are the things that make me wonder, where the hell heaven is God in all this? Is he just looking down indifferently, occasionally cackling, and scratching his balls?
Is this his form of justice?
Why isn't he doing something?
WHY is this happening to innocent men who probably were counting down the hours till they could go home to their families, sit down and eat a good hot meal and just live? 

And I wait patiently for an answer.
Child. My ways aren't yours. My thoughts aren't yours. Believe that this is just a part of My grand scheme of things.

It's hard to do, God. It is.
Which is why I won't.

I will, instead, pity those poor brainwashed souls that believe that violence is the way to paradise. I will pity them, and....what? Hope they never reach my little island in the sun?

This just proves to me that we will never fully, if at all, understand the human psyche. Which is why I, now more than ever, want to be a psychiatrist. To at least try.

Yes, I know I've ended this post remarkably lamely, considering the buildup of emotions I started it with. But I just don't have the words. I can't find the words.

I've been rendered speechless, wordless, by these acts of unspeakable cruelty. I think I will now enter silent mode.

-@Jaye_Eccentriq

Eureka!

A moment of Eureka a few nights ago. All these years I've been struggling to define myself in terms of me, to step out from the shadows of others and form my own.

Suddenly, Saturday night, it happened.

I was writing, as I usually am, when suddenly I found myself writing the following:

You may not know who I am, but I think I have an idea. I chase after the wind. I trap lightning in bottles. I do the impossible and smile afterwards, because it was so easy.

I am both the diamond and the dirt. To expose me, you must first erode me. I hide who I truly am...simply by being me.

I am a true solipsist. I believe in the absolute power of my mind. I am neither a pessimist or an optimist. I am both an idealist and a realist; I live in a utopian world, well aware that it will never happen, and I have accepted this as fact.

I chart my own course. I refuse to trod the paths of others before me. I choose instead to walk within the jungles when everyone chooses to walk the highway. I embrace the pain on tripping and falling, of skinned knees, when all others rush to alleviate the stinging pain...

Saturday night-- or was it Sunday morning?-- caught me in the most introspective mood I've been in for a few months. But finally, finally, finally, I've learned who exactly I am.

I am exponentially more than the sum of my parts. I am a child, yet I am a woman. No. I am more than a woman. I am unique. Unique in that there is no other combination of genes which could ever produce this person, this exquisite example of... self... that is me.

I am not you. I am not my mother, my father, or anyone else. I'm me. You understand? I'm me, and I've finally learned to accept that which I cannot change.

Once I wanted to be someone else. To lose myself in the shadow of her personality and become her. But I've learned.

I seek true peace and happiness. I have yet to achieve it, but now I embark on the next step of the journey: acceptance of self.

I accept that I am flawed. I accept that there will be times when I will sink deep into the recesses of my mind and wish to remain there, stuck, for a lifetime. I accept that I am not perfect, and that I never will be perfect. I accept myself as I am, flaws and all, a girl who all she wants is to find her own niche in this world and make a difference, who wants to be happy, who wants to laugh until the tears flow and the stomach aches, who just wants to be accepted for who she truly is, who doesn't have to hide the diamond in the dirt, a girl who listens to the songs of the starsin the dead of night and marvels and the exquisite perfection of it all.

I accept my paradoxical personality. I accept that I am an oxymoron. I accept that I am an eccentriq in every sense of the word. I accept that I will laugh where others remain stone-faced, and I will remain stone-faced where others laugh. I accept that I will be different from the rest of the crowd simply because I am me.

I am an oddity. I am whimsical. I am unpredictable. The empyreal is my desideratum. Never the terrestrial. I am flawed. I am oxymoronic: I am flawed and imperfect...yet I am absolutely perfect.

Finally, I know who I am. I flopped back on my bed that Saturday night/Sunday morning with the biggest grin on my face because guess what... Eureka!!!

Happier than I've been in a looooooooooong time,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

Praeteritus

I am here, waiting to be found
To be remembered
But alas
No such fortune.

Everyone is too busy with memories to recollect
There was once one who wished to be like them.

In the beginning I'd thought
I'm just a memory
Turns out I'm less than a memory
I
am
nothing
at
all.

They have passed me on
Barely stopping to look at me
The few who have met my eyes are blank
Not even the merest flicker of deja vu.

So it has been since....
I've forgotten.

They have forgotten me utterly
And now I begin to forget myself

What shall I do when, like them, I have forgotten?

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Michael

Sorry for not writing before but a girl got business to take care of plus it's exam season now so you understand....don't you?



It's now exam season. Again. Which means that all my friends in upper sixth shall be off to that great exciting unknown called college. And I'll still be here with my memories of them and things said and unsaid. Things I wish I had said.

It may not be obvious, given that I'm prone to rambling, but I find it extremely hard to say things that matter. So if I hurt you, I'll beat around the bush, and rationalize, and avoid. I can't say I'm sorry. Even harder for me to say that dreaded L word.

Even when I do mean it with every fiber of my being.
No I am not talking about Iceburg. That's something I need a week or four to contemplate. I'm talking about people like Excelsior.

Excelsior....this one is yours.

I met him when I started 6th form at Chesta.
And I hated him. Hated his guts. My first impression? "Jesus ee nuff sah!" The guy came up to a friend and me one lunchtime and was introducing himself and expressing his good wishes for our lower sixth year. (Incidentally, he and my friend's elder sister are friends.)

We both disliked him. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't dislike this male they dunno from Adam who just randomly comes up and starts talking?

Fast-forward a couple of days. We saw each other around the school and it progressed from "Hey, what's your name?" to "What subjects do you do?" and eventually us realizing that we had Carib class together and consequently sitting next to each other at the....wait for it.... back of the class.

Whenever I skipped class and hung out on the gazebo, he was always there. First came the days when he'd be like "Shari yuh need fi gah class enuh" and then those days when he just said "Shari....ah fuck it yah man"

All this time I didn't trust him as far as I could push him, which isn't very far. He always saw me in my depressed states and asked what was wrong. He understood what I meant when I shook my head silently without looking at him. He understood I meant "Leave me alone. I don't wish to talk about it." And he did as I requested. He left me alone until I came around.


My nickname, after he found out I was 15 at the time, was "Jailbait". We eventually let the rest of our friends in on it because that was one in-joke that killed us every time. "Jailbait."
My private nickname for him is "Drama King" but let's not go there... and I'm rambling. Dammit.

On my 16th birthday (I celebrated it at school, in Carib class for heaven's sake) he officially rechristened me as "The Girl Formerly Known as 'Jailbait'".

Yes. Et cetera, et cetera. Or, as Iceburg would say, "And some other shit."

Now? I can't imagine Chesta without him. Who am I gonna idle with now? Who am I gonna be inseparable from? Who's gonna listen to me and give me good advice that I don't wanna hear?

Who's going to be the best friend I've ever had in a school setting?

And I'll bet he'll have some smartass response for that.

But the purpose of this rambling was just to say I do love the boy/man. I really do.

Remember how I said earlier that I'd hated him the very first time I met him? I never learn. It's always those people who end up meaning the most to me.

But I'll miss him. And the thought of going through another year of stress and problems without him to destress and kick back with...frankly, it's making me shed a hella lot of tears. And that, for those of you who don't know me, is something I rarely, if ever do.

Anyway, Excelsior.....good luck. Keep writing.

Not used to expressing feelings like this but I'm sure he understands,

@Jaye_Eccentriq