Attached

Nothing in life is ever easy.  If it is easy, be skeptical.  Those papers aren't going to write themselves, you need to do your taxes, and your children are starting to smell.  That sounded funnier in my mind.

Anyways, in the last few days I've been taking an optional summer english class, which is almost over, but we've been reading a really good book about Vietnam, called "The Things They Carried."  I really like this book because it's a horrific war story, but it isn't just about war.  It's about love and necessity, it's about hardships and tough decisions, "it's about sisters who never write back, and people who never listen."

So all these men had to go to Vietnam, a lot of them died, and a lot of them still have lasting psychological problems.  Some people hold to the belief that if you are hurt or depressed or unhappy or whatever, you just need to suck it up and get over it.  I am not one of those people.    I guess you could say I'm one who lets people take their time to heal, even if it is at my personal expense.  What is the technical term for that?  Oh, right, a softie, a wimp.  But I'm not, just in some emotional matter I am.  Like when the girl died in Chile, and I couldn't stop crying, and my brother didn't understand why, my roommates didn't understand why, most of my friends didn't understand why.  I began to think I was wrong, until I looked around and saw other tear streaked faces, blurry red eyes, waiting in the crowd, hiding from those who didn't understand.  And I called my mom, and she told me it was okay.  And it wasn't okay, but I felt better.  You know those times you start off crying about one thing, and then go into everything that is wrong with the world?  I started out with a dead girl, progressed to Iraq, and ended with gas prices.  So that was a rough trip.

But something I realized has really helped me through the year.  I shouldn't be ashamed of the fact that I was crying over a dead girl who lived one floor up, one room over, and I had never met.  It's not something to be ashamed of, and I still am not.  Because the fact that I was crying meant it meant something to me, that I felt scared, and sorry for this girl, younger than I was, who I'd never met.  People who were fine, it didn't affect them the same way it affected me.  Because at first, I was fine.  I don't even think it meant anything to me, maybe I thought it was a joke?  And then when I did find out it was, indeed, very real, I told everyone, and it wasn't until about an hour later when it was just Christine and I alone in the room that I started bawling, and I couldn't stop.  Because I felt for the dead girl, and everyone she had formed attachments with.

In April, something happened at my school.  Something really bad, and something that still keeps me up extremely late at night, something that people would rather that it be swept under the rug, something my advisor tried to make me feel bad for being so upset over.  And it didn't even happen to me, but it happened to one of my best friends.  And it was awful.  Every second of it was awful.  When I found out what had happened, I skipped training to be with my friend, because that was more important than anything, how she felt.

But then when i found out the whole story, I was hysterical.  I mean, I couldn't talk because I was hyperventilating so badly.  It was bad, it was really bad.  I went home, at nine o'clock in the morning, with almost an entire school day ahead of me.  Told the one teacher I was going to miss, called my mom, and just left.  No, I didn't call my mom, I had a friend call my mom because I was hyperventilating.  My friend stayed at my house that week, because she couldn't bear to be at school anymore.  A lot of my friends went home that week, because they couldn't deal.  Well, not a lot, more like all the 96's I'm friends with.  But it was bad, it was really bad.  It was part of the reason my parents made me see a therapist.

But what I realized through all of this was that it is okay to be sad, to be really, really sad.  Sometimes at least it's okay.  Because sometimes being sad is what helps you through things, it is what makes you process and reflect and get through it.  Sad isn't a bad thing.  At least sometimes.

And another thing sad does.  It makes you realize who, and what, you can't give up.

"It's about sisters who never write back, and people who never listen."

'Now I'm dealing with the hell I put you through.
If I had my way I would be right there next to you.
There are things in life I cannot change.
I hope you know I care."

I am Gonna Make it Through This Year

So it's been  really long year.  Like, probably the longest one yet.  And don't tell me that's improbable because I know it is, but I'm tired and sick of being told what is and isn't right.  So if I want this year to be the longest one yet, that's how it's gonna be and everyone is just going to shut up about it and move on with their lives, got it?

Sorry.  It's been a long year.  Have I said that yet?  This year felt like an unending stretch of weeks, and everyone said, "oh this week has been long, but it will be better next week."  But it never got better and the weeks only got longer.  But finally, school ended, there were finals, then prom, and then I was free to hang out with whoever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, and be whoever I wanted.  But the thing that kind of sucks is that everyone is either gone out in Mammoth, still in school, home in some other distant state, or they are friends with my brother, so that automatically means they can't hang out with me without him being there, and that the minute they do, he freaks out.

But at least it's summer.  I have some babysitting gigs, which will be nice because young children are much less complicated than adults, and I really just don't want to be around adults right now, because they are just really annoying and always have hidden intentions.  But I have to find a real summer job.  Because I like money.  And not being bored.

Actually being bored might be nice.  It feels like I'm in constant motion all year, always doing something, always with people.  It's nice to be alone.  I value alone time more and more as I get older.  That's one of the things I really don't like about ski camps, you aren't ever alone, and if you want to be alone, it's misconstrued as you think you are better, or nobody likes you.  What if I like not having to talk, or socialize sometimes?  What if I like being left alone with my thoughts and the nearest container of unhealthy food and a movie?  What is so bad about that?

Some of this has to do with current times.  It's the age of social media, of being connected at any and every second.   I'm definitely guilty of over texting and too much computer usage, but aren't most people?  It's really hard not to be, right?

But I digress.  So It was a long year filled with a lot of ups and downs, woes, moaning, complaining, crying, and tough decisions I know I'll have to make again, probably in a short period of time.  But I got through it, just like I always do.  Whether it was for worse or for better, Katy Rosen is, again, alive, after another year at high school.  Whether she is happy about this remains unknown.  Whether she will ever be really happy also remains unknown.

That sounded like a newspaper didn't it?  God, it's been a really long day.  It's been a really long year.

I just felt Deja Vu.  Wonder why?

"I am gonna make it through this year, if it kills me."

"Maybe someday
You'll be somewhere
Talking to me
As if you knew me
Saying I'll be home for next year, darling
I'll be home for next year"

I'm either gonna go watch dailygrace, Emmablackery, or Roseellendix.  That is how unhappy I am.