These Stories Are Ringing In My Ears

We critiqued two stories in my fiction class yesterday. One of them was really interesting, about a guy who immersed fantasy and memory into his reality as he misses his ex-girlfriend. I thought it was really amazing. I love the feeling certain stories give me and this kid, the one I'm stalking to Espresso Roma (No, I'm not really stalking. I'm just finding him to be interesting from a distance and don't really have the nerve to tell him in person or in a way that's less creepy. How do you tell someone they're interesting to you when you know nothing about them and not be creepy? I'd rather be creepy from a distance.) Anyway, it was good. Reminded me a lot of the... I want to call them The Blake Years but damn it if I have to say his name all the time.

What shall I call them then? "A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet" and by any other name, that period of my life would still suck.

I don't want to call them The Blake Years because in fact, I don't want him to ever read this or for me to say this out loud in front of him because I really don't want to hurt him. In reality, I really want nothing to do with him anymore. Not in a bad way, just... we can't be friends, we're not more than friends, we're that awkward too much history. I said this to Stephanie- (well, I typed it out and it felt too personal to say, especially when I know certain readers do not have the full story, so ask me in person if you really want to know.) But it's true. It is too hard and I don't have what it takes to make our relationship/friendship/awkwarship anything. Therefore, no Blake, no Blake Years, just... the years I wasted. The years I wasted yet learned so much. Too long. Acronym?

The second story was about a girl Carmen who had a lot of family baggage and she has these mysterious to the reader scars all over her stomach. Turns out, she's a cutter, which none of us ever guessed during workshop. Espresso Roma Kid (ERK from here on out) asked why it wasn't on the wrists, and she said because the stomach was easier to hide. Then ERK was like "Oh good, so it's not like for attention" and then the workshop ended with everyone making slights about people who cut, like they listen to this certain band and dress this way and have razorblades just chilling in their bathroom all the time.

I've said it on here before and those who know me know this, I used to have a problem with cutting from eighth grade through sophomore year of high school. And if you've read some of my more depressing blogs on here, they usually have to do with a fear of relapsing. And it always hurts me so much when people make fun of self-injury. It's not funny. It's not something that only affects "emo" or "goth" kids. I haven't changed much in the way of looks and apparel and outward demeanor. Would you count me as an emo or goth kid? Would you look at me and say she cuts herself? Probably not. So why in the fuck do people have to always assume that? It pisses me off to no end.

I've had people make fun of me, not only behind my back, but to my face about cutting. People I trusted and loved tear me apart because of something that I couldn't help, something I was literally addicted to. I know their words and laughter hurts, and it's not what anyone dealing with self-injury needs.

I just hope if anyone can read this and be more aware then I did my part. If you ever want to know more about this, don't hesitate to ask me. It's a part of my past and made me who I am today. I'm not ashamed and would more than willing to share my experience with you. But please think about your words when you talk about this. You never know if the girl with the smiles plastered all over her face is actually hiding her pain beneath them.

You never really know.

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