Still

glass and notebooks and blood and phone calls
text messages and secret plans
broken bodies and hearts and trust and homes
fear
excitement
hope
loneliness
anxiety
love
cuddles
puzzle pieces and night clubs and couches
friends and ex-friends and everyone else
tears and music and diamond rings
hotels
voices
teddy bears and crayons and sex
466 miles, sometimes
cold pillows and puppy kisses
empty water bottles and Family Guy and journal entries
sweat and protein
wild and wonderful
buses
headaches
naps
money and time
anticipation
still fear
but still
hope.
still love.
still time.

Tooth

A few minutes ago, I was leaning over my bed (which is actually just a few inches above the floor anyway) and spitting blood into the lid of an empty Chinese food container. Remembering a conversation I had with a friend a week or so ago, I started to concentrate on the pattern created by the flow of blood around and through the stack of tissues in the middle of the container. This seemed to ease the pain a little...or at least make me forget about it for a little while.

The searing pain itself brought back vivid memories of living at Bates--of the last time a problem with one of my wisdom teeth sent me to the emergency room. I remember clutching the edge of the chair in the room they stuck me in because they couldn't leave me screaming in the waiting room for two hours. I leaned over the left edge of the chair, and as I screamed, a mixture of blood and saliva shot towards the floor.

Tooth pain is probably the worst physical pain I have experienced, though the menstrual cramps I experienced in my early teens are a very close second to that. Earlier this morning, I took eight Excedrin, and it made me absolutely ill. I don't think I've fully recovered from it either. I was sick to my stomach, dizzy, feverish, and a little out of it. But it was still better than having to deal with the feeling of having a hammer smashed straight down into your tooth, that feeling radiating out to your ears and right through your skull. When you're in that kind of pain, it's the only thing you can think about.

Jon is coming up the stairs. Done for now.

Fire and Flames

"I know y'all know what I mean when I say that I'm waiting for the day when those who are so full of shit finally reach the explosive diarrhea stage of life. ::smiles::"

It seems like a fitting status for Facebook at this time. I'm having trouble sleeping, even though I'm exhausted beyond comprehension by the events of the last 24 hours. Briefly, I was right to worry last night because, yes, something did happen. And I don't want to talk about that right now. It's the same story again and again.

I might as well talk about another story that seems to repeat itself in my life. But I know I'm not the only one.

Let's talk about fake people. And fake compliments. Fake personalities and people who stab you in the back when they think you aren't looking. Let's talk about all of the smoke blown up some people's asses when they barely deserve a head nod and a handshake. So much of social interaction is fake, and everyone has a different kind of fake they want to show all the other fake people with whom they've surrounded themselves. It's seriously incomprehensible to me how you can live your life that way and not be screwed up. Fortunately, I've never met one of these fakesters who hasn't been fucked up by their own facade. But I don't know if that's justice enough for me.

And you know what really fucking sucks about all of this? I have to be a little bit fake too. I have to play these games, but at least I recognize that I'm playing them. At least I know it's not real. At least I know I can go to a part of myself that is real when it matters.
But I have to play along. Otherwise, it's social suicide. I can't say everything I need to say to everyone I need to say it to, and I definitely can't do it here. So I'm being a little bit subtle. I'm lying by omission. And that's really not something I'm that great at, so I'm sure that my fake subtlety is not fooling anyone. And I think I'm okay with that because I really do want people to know the truth of my existence, even when it is ugly. Even when it involves anger and hate and bitterness.

Maybe I'm bitter because it isn't fair. Because I'm too nice to ruin another person. Even though I know exactly how to do it. I'm smart and observant and I know very well how easy it would be to shatter this glass in just the right way. And I could watch you fall. And then you'd probably ask me for help.

But I'll never be able to do that. I will never go out of my way to hurt another person just because. But I'm also not going to help you. And I am speaking in generalities here, again, because I need to reference multiple people in one post, and I have the feeling that my generalities are assumed to refer to very specific individuals. The reverse is more often true. Keep that in mind. You can interpret "help" any way you want.

I keep trying to tell myself that this will all be over soon, and I'll never have to worry about it again. But fake people are going to continue to be a part of my life for as long as I choose to be a part of this society. At this point, I don't have that choice.

I just want to scream to the world, "Can't you fucking see past all of this bullshit? Look at it for what it is already!!"

I'm not the one who wants to hurt you. It's from a song.

Hallmark should really make FUCK YOU cards. I need a couple of those right now.
Writing is the best therapy I've ever known.

I will dance in the flames I go down in.

Slime. Fucking Slime. Let it hit your ears as hard as it can. Let them bleed. Can you feel the heaviness of the word? The cold stickiness that wants to trap you, right there in that "s"? The pressure of the "m" trying to crush you? The [lai] in the middle? The lie in the middle.

I will dance.

NEPA Vacation

I've been home for about six days now. It feels like it's been both longer and shorter than that, and I have a lot to say, and I think I'm in one of those moods where I'll actually be able to say the important things in important-sounding ways. We'll see about that, I suppose.
I want to start with some background information. The whole story of my existence is embarrassingly complicated, and although that sounds like a very hipster thing of me to say, I can't very well deny the complexities of this twenty-two year journey into myself. I don't remember a time when my father did not drink a large amount of alcohol every night. That's just the way life was for me, and there were nights without sleep in cars in parking lots in a nearby town. We'd wait for the sun rise to drive back home. We'd check to see if the lights were on. It might have been a school night.
Sometimes the fights would be verbal. They were loud and angry. And it could have been any one of us. I didn't know any better when I was younger. I didn't know when you weren't supposed to argue with a drunk person. The answer I've learned over the years is, of course, NEVER. Sometimes I tried to fight back, but it only made things worse. My brother would never back down. My mom would get between them or between us. Or maybe she'd be the target this time. And sometimes, people got hit. And I didn't think too much of it for the longest time. And I'd believe her when she would say that she was going to leave when we both went away. But now I know better.
I'm leading you down a different road than I thought I would be at this point. My intention is not to garner sympathy or anything of the sort. It's not to worry you at all. These are parts of my past that I acknowledge, still reluctantly, and that is perhaps because I know that no matter how much things change, there is always the potential that it will all come crashing back to this.
Another piece of the puzzle...I come out as trans. My brother has been in prison for over four years at this point. My mom is at her heaviest. My father is getting heavier, and it seems he's getting sicker. My life is an emotional mess. I'm on my way up. I'm on my way out of a lifetime of pain. I'm working through things I'd avoided for years. Meanwhile, things are getting worse for my parents in so many ways, and my coming out didn't do a lot to help. It might have been the breaking point, and the fights on the phone and in the car and almost every time we saw or spoke to one another almost killed me. And probably them too. But maybe that almost was just what needed to happen.
I'll bring you back to the present, where my mom has lost over 100 pounds. She lifts weights, does Zumba, goes to kickboxing. She buys clothes that she likes and has friends. She's happy. She's not just existing. She's living. And it is so amazing to see her like this. I hated to see her cry and torture herself about her weight. I hated watching her sink into depression from afar. I'm crying right now because I'm so proud of her. Because SHE is my inspiration, not some roid monster on the cover of a magazine. When I am feeling lazy or like I don't have to try as hard, I think of my mother and the drive she finally had to get out there and take command of her own body. And I cannot pretend that my coming out and my physical transformation had nothing to do with this. But I think the final straw was when I would no longer engage in the destructive and abusive conversations that were driving me into a state of almost constant helplessness and anxiety. I decided to let go. And we did not speak for 4 months, perhaps longer. And when I did let my family back in to my life, I did it slowly. Coming home this time around is coming full circle, allowing them back into my life fully and completely.
My mom took this time to really look at her own life and what she wanted from it. And every time I saw her, she had lost even more weight. I loved seeing how happy she was. I still do.
Where's the downside? Well, what about my father? My mom is going out more to work out, to be with friends, etc. She's not content to just stay up late with him while he drinks, to make him food at 2 or 3 in the morning just because he wants it. My dad is lonely. Craving social interaction or something that can be his substitute. (I don't think I ever remember my father having friends as long as I've been alive, and that actually doesn't seem to bother him. I suspect he is much like me in more ways than he realizes...)
So his drinking gets worse. And he's getting sick. And the situation almost explodes. I only found out after the fact that my father had atrial fibrillation. And that his heart is still not healthy. He wasn't breathing well and was swelling and couldn't move much. He finally saw the doctor in January. I don't know how, but he talked enough sense into him to get him to stop drinking. And he just did. He quit without hesitation. And he began to drop weight like crazy. He's lost about 60 pounds so far, and I suspect that he will lose a bit more because he also walks for a little over an hour every day. However...
I got some emails from him about a month ago or so. I knew they were composed when he was drunk. And then I got the apology messages the next day. I wrote to my mother. She was so upset. I know there are things about that night that she isn't telling me, but apparently it was at least verbally abusive enough to make her feel that way. He just drank almost a case out of nowhere the one night, and she had to deal with that. I wish I could have come back to get her away from it. But I could only be helpless. The talk went on for a little longer this time about separating. But in the back of my head, I knew it wasn't going to happen. She loves him, and he is a part of her life. I don't know if she would know what to do without him--without having someone need her like that. I kept worrying about this and thinking about it. But things eventually went back to normal, whatever that is.
I came home last weekend. He was drinking. That was his one night. My mother wanted me to stay in her room until he came to bed, just in case. I didn't have a problem with this. But she eventually left. He came in and thought I was her. He touched my shoulder and I jumped back in fear, and when he yelled at me, he still thought I was her. I immediately left the room, still in shock about what happened or what almost happened or whatever. I went downstairs to my room to try to sleep again or at least calm myself. But I was followed. He was still drunk, it was light outside, and I found myself in a position where I could not get away. I didn't want to talk about whatever he was saying. I didn't want to talk at all. I couldn't slow my head down enough to explain, but I do remember saying that I didn't want to talk at the time but that I would be happy to later. But he kept going. And he kept making accusations and just talking at me. Sometimes it got loud. And there were so many, and it was so random that I just couldn't handle it. I remember turning on my side and squeezing up against a wall as tightly as I could while he sat on the corner of my bed. And I know I was making some noises and banging my knees against the wall for almost two hours. It went on for almost two hours. I was in a serious meltdown, and my dad didn't understand that. And he was actually trying to make it worse it seemed. My mom knew that she needed to get me moving. She asked a direct question with a yes or no answer: "Do you want to go for a ride in the car?" I shook my head yes and fumbled around with my shoes, and twenty minutes later or so, I was mostly okay. I wasn't great, but I was okay. And I've been worrying.
It's a week later, and he chose tonight to drink. Today was a strange day for me in general. I've been pretty antisocial all day. I just couldn't get myself to talk to other people without discomfort or irritability. And I knew that that was a bad thing to combine with my father's drinking. So I came down here to my room to be by myself, which I needed anyway. I wanted to avoid a situation. I just don't feel like dealing with that stuff anymore. And it breaks my heart to know that there is now one night a week where my mother potentially has to deal with this shit again. And I won't be here to help. But it's not my life. It's not a choice that I can make for her. And I fear that she will never make that choice. It's still really early, and he may or may not "start something" tonight. That's always how it's been referred to around here. It's funny how things like this become normal.
I'm not really afraid of him. He's much more of a nuisance when drunk than anything, but there were occasions where things did get out of hand. And you never know when that is going to be. Drinking almost killed him in the first place too, and it baffles me that anyone would go back to what has essentially poisoned his body to the point of incapacitation once already.
I think I am most worried about my father messing up what my mother has going for her. I wonder what that says about me.
I want to make something clear, though. I don't hate my father. I actually really love him. He's the one who has been most accepting of the person I really am since coming out the first time. I really do believe he understands a good deal of what I've been trying to explain to him and show him in the past few years. He's seen my performance videos. He's asked questions about what spirit gum is used for and things like that. And he's happy for me when a show goes well. I've been getting closer to him over the past few years. I never really felt close to him when I was younger. I think I really did hate him. There are a lot of things I don't like about him, even now, but I understand him much better these days. He is a genuinely good person at heart, but he is not the same person when he is drunk. I'm sure that's why my mother has a hard time with all of this. I don't know if I can say much more about this right now.
I don't know how I feel about this next part yet. It's confusing to me because of the context. I do remember my father using my name during that two-hour meltdown. He called me Dylan. He talked about me as Dylan several times. And as much as I hated a lot of what he was saying, at least that came through. I'm still turning it over in his head. I keep wondering if he would have said it if he were sober. Maybe it's better not to question.

At the beginning of the week, I went to Zumba with my mom for the first time. Of course, I am the only boy in the room, and everyone is curious. The instructor knows my mother pretty well now, so she asks who I am. I introduce myself as Dylan, and my mother adds..."My son."
I wanted to cry right there. It was so simple. I mean, you could tell she was a bit uncomfortable. Well, I could. I don't think anyone else noticed in that tiny little interaction. But it made me so happy. I told her about it when we got home that night. I told her that that's all it really is. A few words are different. Our relationship is still the same. I would argue that it's even better now. Her response was mixed. But it is progress. "What else was I going to do?" followed by "I still think it's a mistake, but..."

The only people I've really talked to in person this whole time are my parents. It's been pretty weird. But on Tuesday, I will be seeing my ex-boyfriend from high school and the beginning half of college for the first time in about three or four years. We have a lot to talk about, obviously. I'm nervous. More nervous than I should be. I guess I also still wonder how he explains the whole my-ex-girlfriend-is-a-man thing. And I wonder what he thinks. And I'm also generally curious about what has been going on in his life because we were also best friends.

So much left to talk about. So much already talked about. So much left unsaid.

I talked with both of my parents separately about possibly going back to school for graphic design/advertising or something along those lines. My mother feels that my time at Pitt will have been wasted if I do that. I have two responses to that. First, the skills I have learned in college can be applied to anything that I do. I do not have to be working in the field I studied in undergrad for that to be true. And the most valuable things I have learned did not come from the classroom or a textbook. An education, though, is never wasted. Second, if I do go into a field or a job that I'm not happy doing day in and day out for the rest of my life, the REST OF MY LIFE will be wasted. My father agrees with me on this. I'm still thinking about it. I haven't made a decision yet. There are so many things that I could do, as I've said before. But I've always gotten a ridiculous amount of satisfaction out of completing projects. I love creating things. I feel very powerful after having done so, and I can work on these projects for hours upon hours without wanting to slit my throat. I don't feel drained after working for 3 or 4 hours on a design. That's definitely a plus. This is going to be hard. I'm not sure what to do.

I have a new boyfriend. And I'm so fucking excited about this. He likes to PLAY. He understands what it means to play, and he actually likes the weird things about me. We've been texting back and forth the entire time I've been away from Pittsburgh, and we made it official (on Facebook, of course, because it seems that's the only way anything is real anymore) the other day. I absolutely cannot wait to get back now. He gives me that feeling in my tummy. That lightness. The one where your entire body feels like its melting away. Like its diffusing. It's been so long since I've known that feeling.
I think that the moment I decided to let go of the elements of my past that continued to hurt me, I was able to feel again. Who knew it would take so long to say goodbye and really, really mean it? I guess you really have to know when to stop letting people and things hurt you. And that's not always easy, as I have found. There's a connection here with something I was talking about earlier, and I hope you understand it without my having to explain it.

There are no final words in that situation. The resolution is as simple as the choice not to engage. And I feel like this is where adulthood begins for me.

Knowing

I've been surprisingly stable throughout certain events of the past week or so that have done a great job of dragging me back into memories that I've been avoiding, whether consciously or not.
I think it started during a group number rehearsal with HMH, and I didn't like what I became during that particular rehearsal. I fell back into not saying anything, and I'm still not sure if I did the right thing or not, but I do feel that there just wasn't room for any more tension in the room at the time. Someone needed to be quiet and calm. I wasn't calm, but I was collected enough to know what needed to be done, and I think things worked out as well as they could have. But I was taken back into a submissive state that made me feel really helpless. I think the way I reacted to it was more upsetting to me. I wanted to stand up for what I thought was right in that situation, but I could only be silent and watch. And that was really frightening. I felt like I was ten years old again, watching my family fight and trying to get up the courage to say something, but maybe I was afraid of having something bad happen if I finally did. That would only make sense.
Then I performed one of the most difficult numbers I've ever attempted on Saturday. It was extremely personal for me, and it really took me back into that space of being tortured as I went through school. That experience very well could have been my reality. I remember my brother and I being beaten and humiliated and threatened every single fucking day. I remember what it felt like to be so fucking alone and depressed that I just wanted to die, and I wasn't even a teenager yet. I never brought a gun to school, but I could have been that person. And that's terrifying. My brother was beaten almost to death by five people on his first day of senior year of high school. They ripped out his insulin pump and left him there to die. And that's the point at which his life started to really change. After years and years of dealing with shit from people, he just couldn't take it anymore. He never really recovered after switching schools, and he stopped caring about himself. And I remember what it felt like to be a new kid in 4th grade, not allowed to sit with the girls because I didn't look like them. And when I wouldn't leave the boys' table, a few of them decided to pick up my chair with me still in it while another took my head and smashed it off the corner of the table. So I would sit by myself at a cubicle-like desk that had been placed off to the side of the lunch tables. And people would still find their way over to mock me and scream inches away from my face. I remember having to be dragged out of the car kicking and screaming, getting stabbed in the face with a pencil, having my shit destroyed, getting ice balls thrown at my face, having to eat in the bathroom to avoid the people who always tried to put things in my food. You can only take so much of people thinking you're retarded or inhuman or an IT before they break you. And I was broken for a really fucking long time. And I know it seems like I am ranting about this for no reason, but I want you to get the idea. I want you to know how it feels to be in that situation, even though you may never fully appreciate its intensity.
I don't think I went a single day without crying. I remember my mom coming back to the car and finding me with an open container of anti-freeze. That was the second closest I have ever been, and I still can't believe it.
I have taken a lot of shit in my life. I have the ability to deal with a lot of shit. But that doesn't make it okay.
I don't know how else to say what I need to say. Tonight bothered me so much because I saw an insanely strong person cry for the first time. I know what it feels like to be pushed to that point--to just not be able to fucking take it anymore. I almost lost it then because I literally felt the same pain, and I didn't expect it, and I almost didn't know what to do with it. Sometimes teasing isn't teasing. And a side comment with even a hint of malice in it can be the one thing that pushes someone over the edge. You have no idea what the fuck is going on in someone else's life at any given moment, which is exactly why you need to be aware of what you are saying and doing. If you want to talk about what it feels like to be in a room full of people and feeling like everyone is laughing at you or hates you or doesn't take you seriously or doesn't even think you have human feelings, then believe me, I know all too well what that is like, in more than one circumstance. And I was taken back there tonight, after just revisiting a lot of my most traumatic past experiences, and I absolutely cannot sit back without saying something, even if it is to an internet audience, even if I am dismissed in person. And I want the whole world to know that I don't think this kind of thing is okay. And it really, REALLY hurts me.
When you can't even have an iota of compassion when seeing someone react like that, I have to question what else you are capable of. I was disgusted. I cannot hide how I feel about this.
I'll give you a relevant and recent example--one of many. I put my heart and soul into the drumline, but no matter what I did, there were always a significant number of people who were never going to appreciate me and who did their best to take shots at me whenever I was out of the room and sometimes even when I was sitting right there. And I was always fighting a losing battle. And I had to go back every day for more of that. But I kept going back because of the few people I really connected with and because I absolutely loved what I was doing musically. And I desperately wanted that connection with other people and had no idea why the fuck they kept shutting me out or what their problem was. The biggest problem seemed to be the confidence I had gained in myself. I would not be quiet about things that were important to me, and I began to voice my rather strong opinions. And we obviously saw how that worked out. (I'm still working on coming to an adult resolution to that situation, and I hope for the best, but there are some ties that will never be able to be repaired, and I am still feeling the pain from that.)
Even if you don't like a person, nobody deserves to be treated like that. We all fuck this up, but when we do and are called on it, we had better feel SOMETHING unselfish in that situation.
I know I'm probably going to get shit for this. People might think it's immature to write about it on the internet, but I think the broader message is really important here, and it's really quite simple. Treat other people like people.

What else?
Never take yourself too seriously.
Move forward.
Act with purpose.
Listen to the e's. (ask if you don't understand)
This is supposed to be FUN.

I need to come back to writing later because I'm getting worked up again. But I am glad I said these things. I am also proud of myself for taking five minutes for myself when I really needed it, and nothing bad happened. I was in control. And that was amazing. In the midst of chaos...

Here We Go Again (EDITED)

And I was going to look back through my phone to see the parts of that conversation that were important. But my phone is pretty crunchy right now. Do I really need to start putting stickers on things? I hope this will never happen again. I guess it's clear to me that my family is the only thing that affects me this badly. I've even tried to explain that fact to them, and they just laugh at me. They pretend this doesn't exist too, just like almost everything else about me. I know I really shouldn't have answered the phone. But I was feeling so pressured because it was the third call of the day, and we were at about three emails as well. The first one really made it sound like things were going to be better. And I fell for it. But when he answered the phone and greeted me in the same old way, I knew things were about to get bad, and I knew I should have just hung up right then. But I let it go for a minute and tried to catch him right there and explain that it wasn't okay and that I didn't think he really understood. And then there was screaming. And then I just hung up. But then there were more messages, and then I just couldn't let one of them go. I wanted to at least right one thing. And I think that was my bigger mistake. I can't let things go. I can't let things like this sit in uncertainty. So I tried again. I always try to make peace. I always try to make everyone happy. I always want that perfect ending. I guess I have to realize that it just isn't going to happen for me. They're never going to love me. They're never going to want ME in their life. They want someone else. They want to ignore me. And I can't do that. No self-respecting individual would. Tonight made me realize that this is the way it has to be until I can hear those words and believe them: "Dylan, I'm sorry." What I got tonight: "Elise, what the fuck is your problem? What's wrong with you? What the hell did we do to deserve this? Etc. Etc."
It's the same old story on that end. And it's about to be the same old story on another one too, unless I can somehow prove that it won't happen again. You mean too much to me to let this get in the way. I don't want to be something you can't handle.

I'm doing it for real this time, and nothing they can say, other than what I noted above, is going to change my mind. I won't be able to deal with it otherwise. And I shouldn't have to.

I love you. Please don't give up on me.

This was just a roadblock.

I don't want this to change your mind, especially after the conversation we had the other day. It was one of the best and most honest I've had in a while, and I don't think I've ever been able to say things like that to anyone else. I feel so completely comfortable around you. I still want 'us' to happen.

But I still understand your concerns.

I was doing REALLY well, especially today. Maybe that's why I thought I could handle that phone conversation. Maybe that's why I thought it would change things.

Thank you for telling me to hang up tonight. It was the right thing to do.

I can control myself. You've been right this whole time. I do have the ability to do that. You see that part of me every day. I can be like that more often than I am. And that's what I've been working on. I also have been working on a way to let people know when it's happening and to let them know that it is absolutely okay to leave me alone, and it's sometimes better that way.
The drama is going to stop soon. I'm going to make sure of it. That's been part of this whole plan I've been working on.

That solution might be to take a semester off, which I guess would equate to taking a year off since the only classes I absolutely need are offered in the spring term only. But that would give me a chance to work and raise enough money to take those few classes that I do need. It's not ideal. But we have to work with what we have, and right now, I can't afford to graduate in the spring. This is my reality, and I am okay with it.
I'm constantly surprised by what I actually can live with.
I do need to finish this semester, however.
I am getting help from SJ on Saturday to get my shit out of Greenfield.

Things actually are coming together for me. And it's awesome. And I don't want you to think that tonight is an indication of the way things will be in any way.

Even the things I still have left to do tonight, I'll be able to do now. That's pretty ridiculous. I never would have been able to focus on work after something like that before. But now, I'm ready to go do more laundry and read some chapters in this book. And that makes me really happy.

It ALWAYS looks worse than it really is.
You never have to worry about my hurting anyone, including myself.

I was going a year plus without problems. I see no reason why that can't happen again. And those were pretty stressful times as well.


I'm serious about not letting this get in the way of anything. And I'm willing to do pretty much anything to make sure it doesn't. I just want you to trust me about that. If you can offer me that, I know it'll be a lot better off.
If you can believe that I am capable, then it just helps me out that much more. I don't want to feel like you think I can't do this. I can.

Give me some time to show you that this isn't what it's going to be like.

You're on my mind a lot.
You make me smile.

Please let me know when I am doing stupid things. Don't let me get away with it.
Hold me accountable.

Fuck.

Calming down doesn't mean getting over it. In fact, I think I'm actually worse off than I was yesterday, even if I'm not showing any outward signs of distress. My brain is functioning properly this morning, but that only means it can more accurately and efficiently process this situation. My stomach is boiling, I'm still dizzy, and I really don't even want to be alive right now. I don't want to talk to people or see anyone because I don't want to explain why I'm acting this way. I made a phone call last night in an attempt to make this right, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. It's over. It's over for the biggest bullshit reason I have ever heard. It's a reason that absolutely doesn't make sense, and it was even agreed that, were I anyone else, the decision would have been different. I should have been allowed to come into this year with a clean slate, but instead I had the entirety of last year working against me, and I hardly count that year as a fair evaluation. There are so many inconsistencies in this logic that it's absurd. I brought these up and received no answer, and I can only assume that that is because there is none. A piece of me has really died. So many things have been absolutely ruined for me. I'm never going to be able to go to another Pitt football game and enjoy it. I'm never going to be able to watch my friends play without wanting to break down and cry. Even being around the House, where I used to feel so safe and at home, is going to make me feel awkward, inferior, and out of place. I feel like my memories of this experience will be tainted forever. How can it be that I'm going out like this? How could I possibly consider my self an alum. That's not what happened. I didn't graduate. I've been cut. I've been cut for reasons that have nothing to do with my abilities as a drummer, and that's beyond comprehension right now, and I don't think it'll ever get to that point. I hope it doesn't because that means I'll have stopped making sense as well. Maybe my first hunch was right. Maybe people have just gotten tired of dealing with me. Why am I not given the same chance as everyone else? Why do people think it is better to completely strip me of my identity rather than give me that chance? If my performance aspect and memorization abilities are the subjects of concern, why would it be acceptable and encouraged to join another section in the band on an instrument that I can't even play, where the same things will be required of me? If Jack thinks I am capable of this, then there is no reason I should not be capable of doing it on the instrument that I already know. I keep wondering if Jack knows the whole story. No one's ever going to know what really happened, and I don't know how many times I'd be able to tell this story without crying or wanting to hurt someone. I'm glad I'm not the only person who thinks this is absolutely ridiculous. I'm glad that while I was on the phone last night, a friend of mine had to leave the room because she couldn't stand listening to what was coming from the other side. I'm really not okay. I'm not going to pretend to be okay for anyone. And I'm never going to forget this, and I'm never going to feel okay about how things turned out. I love this drumline. I will never stop loving it and what it stands for, but a lot of people are beginning to forget. I want to be involved in any way that I can, but no one has given me any option to stay involved other than Jack. From that I can only conclude that the staff just don't give a shit anymore. I'm not going to leave. I am going to stay involved in any way that I can, even if it only serves as a constant reminder to everyone of what happened. I hope they look me straight in the face on game day this fall and see the empty space they've left behind it. I hope they never forget this decision, but the worst part of this may be that not a single one of them is going to lose sleep over it. I hate being lied to. I hate not knowing what really happened in those meetings. I don't know how much more I can say. I'm honestly dying inside right now. I can't think about anything else. I can't concentrate on anything that I have to do. Drumline is what has always kept my life in balance. It was the center of my universe. Do you know what happens when the sun burns out? And I just can't help feeling that this shit always happens to me. I'm not saying I'm the only one. I'm saying that I'm the only one I know who constantly has to deal with the most random ass disasters and soul-crushing experiences. I'm getting a little tired of this. I have to wonder how this is good for me. How does this make sense? Why would God let this happen to me? I see no reason for this--no purpose. I wasn't exaggerating when I said that I have never felt worse in my entire life. I still want to march. If I can't march here at Pitt, I will try to march somewhere else, but do you know how amazing it felt to be part of that at this school? I love Pitt, and now I can't show it or express it in any way. I can't do the thing that I do best. I think I'm beginning to ramble again, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm attempting to get lost in the characters and keystrokes, and I'm almost there. But something in my head isn't letting me get away. I've got an anchor weighing down my conscious mind, and I'm sinking fast. This time I really am drowning, and the only people who have the ability to save me just told me that there's no more room in the boat and that they have to save their resources for more useful people on board. I'm floundering here in this ice cold water--ice cold like the turf at the practice field against my bare legs last season. The water is filling my lungs. There's no room for anything else.
I feel like the outside is mocking me. It looks so beautiful. This was supposed to be the best summer of my life. Now it doesn't feel like summer at all, and I don't feel like I belong anywhere. I've been thrown away. I see people smiling and going about their lives this morning, and I can't even attempt to smile back. I have nothing to smile about now. Everything I have looked forward to all winter has been annihilated. There is no hope in this situation for anything good to happen. And how do I explain this to my family? How do I explain it to all my friends who were planning on coming to games to see me this year? How can I ever chat about the good old days of Pitt Crew with the alumni without feeling out of place? How can I ever belong again? I don't want to go out like this. This is not the same as marching off the field on Senior Day and never being able to march because your time has already passed. This is just cruel. This is wrong on so many levels. I could understand cutting me if I completely sucked ass, but that's not what happened here, and I really don't want people to believe that. It's not so much what people think about me as what they think about the people in charge of this decision. People deserve the truth and not some bullshit excuse that makes it easier to explain. I can't ever be okay with something like this. It's like asking someone if he'd ever be okay with cold-blooded murder. All of this shit is making me not want to do anything ever again. Can you blame me? The only advice I've been given has been to give up. I'm basically being told that I'm not worth it. I entrusted my heart and soul to these people for 3 years--put them into every note that I played for them. This was my life. And it has ended in the worst way possible. If you think I am exaggerating, then you have no idea how much this has meant to me and has influenced my life and my every decision here at Pitt. I literally built my world around this identity. It's how I always define myself, and I don't have anything now. I can't just create a new identity for myself out of necessity. I'm not falling apart. I'm decaying from the inside out. I feel like I've lost all purpose here. I don't really see the point in trying for anything now. I'd feel so much better if I had been hit by a bus. Maybe then I'd be remembered differently. I'd be a martyr instead of that loser who got cut as a senior. I've given so much to this drumline. I feel like I have been forsaken and disowned. I just don;t know. Fuck.