In Summer, the Song Sings Itself.

It hasn't quite set in yet.

Summer.

It feels unreal. Like it should still be thirty degrees outside and snowing, because too little time has passed since the last time it was.
I'm so happy it's finally here.
I love the feeling of the sun all over my skin, kissing me golden; painting my hair the color of the marigolds and sunflowers blooming left and right.
I love dancing barefoot in the hot summer rain in a brightly colored dress, drawing stares from anyone who considers ordinary behavior to be a mandatory ordeal.
I love riding through my neighborhood on my bright red and white bicycle, feeling eight years old again as the warm breeze sings in my ears.

That's what summer is about, isn't it?

Putting everything painful and unhappy behind you. Starting anew.

It brings out the best in me. I feel the only time I am truly at ease is in the months of June, July and August. I feel like the real me.
Squealing as I run barefoot through grass; smiling as I close my eyes and stare at the yellow sun behind my lids; breathing in the sweet smell of the things nature only presents when summer comes along: lilacs, the pavement after it rains, water brought to life only when I disturb its gentle surface.

I love it. All of it. If I could, I would have it be summer all of the time.
Because in the summer, the song sings itself.

Cry, Cry, Baby.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't the way I was.

I wish I was the honors student, the one who had a passion for learning, athletics, volunteering, you name it. I wish I wasn't such a disappointment to everyone around me.

I wish I wasn't such a disappointment to myself.

That's what I sit and think about: The fact that I'm wasting my life. The fact that I'm nothing more than a waste of space. I think of what it would be like if I experienced an 'It's a Wonderful Life' scenario. Most times I don't believe it would be the way it is in the movie. That it would be a sickening prediction of mine come true: I'm not necessary.

I look at my mom, and the stress she's under constantly, how hard she works to please everyone but herself, and no one takes the time to notice. I realize she probably runs through the same scenario herself, and feels almost as hopeless as I do. It makes me sad.

Then there are the times I think:
"Is there even a point to this? I don't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I don't feel like I mean much. Am I supposed to be doing something? What's the point when I only have a few decades left anyway?"
Those are the times I feel the most hopeless.

It's just like a friend of mine said to me.
"Truth is, very few of us actually make a difference in the world. Most of us will never mean anything to more than a handful of friends and family."

I told that person I was determined to make a difference. That I would prove them wrong. But now, as I think about it...What's the point, really?
What's the point of life?
What's the point of even being here?
What's the point of living?

Emotions Suck.

I wrote this a while ago:
http://www.writesomething.net/you-know-whats-fuckedi-liked-you/1781241.html

I don't even remember writing it.
Emotions are funny that way, aren't they? I was so angry; so overcome with it that I wasn't even controlling my fingers on the keyboard. Not consciously, at least.

Sometimes, I wish I could control my emotions.
I hate that I blush when I'm embarrassed.
I hate that my palms sweat when I'm nervous.
I hate that I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I so much as think that a cute boy is looking at me.
And I hate my anger.

My anger is so unique. I don't throw things, I don't yell. I seethe. I write. I sit there silently, my head feeling like it's about to explode.
Sometimes I feel like that's more dangerous than yelling or throwing things.

Just because something is contained doesn't mean it will stay that way forever.

I Can Only Hate You For So Long.

I've decided there are more important things in life than wasting time being angry. It takes a lot of energy to hate someone. I'm exhausted. So consider this a peace offering.

I still don't trust you. And I still think you're a jerk. But I'm not going to waste time and energy hating you when I can use it to do something else.

Like smile. And move on.

"Things I've felt but I've never said.
You said things that I never said.
So I'll say something that I should have said long ago:
You don't know me.
You don't know me at all."

If I Just Lay Here, Would You Lie With Me and Just Forget the World?

The future seems so far away. All the time. Senior year, college. It's all going so fast, though. I get so confused.

I used to think people were my strong suit. I used to think I could understand what they wanted. I'm starting to second guess myself more and more.
Not only that, I'm starting to compromise myself. To please other people. More and more. I hate it. I think one day, I'm going to snap.

Sometimes the weight of the world is too much for me. I'm fed up with getting mediocre grades when I know I can achieve so much more. I'm fed up with people walking all over me just because they can. I'm fed up with not being enough for anyone, including myself. I'm just so fed up.
I want to do something about it, but then it's like I get intimidated by taking the risk. What if I can't do as well as I think I can? What if I try my hardest, and still fail?

It's like this summer at the quarry. Seeing the height of that fall, I was scared as hell. I didn't show it, but I was. But imagining what it would feel like; falling long enough to think about the pure joy I was feeling; it motivated me. I ran. And I jumped. I didn't scream, I didn't even close my eyes. I just smiled. I smiled at the thought of hitting the water. And when I did..well there just aren't words for what I felt.

I just need to take that jump. But first, I want to lie here. Just feel safe for a moment longer. Brace myself for what's to come.

Sometimes, I'm Just Not There.

Ever feel like you're floating through life? Not really there, merely an audience to your own experience. Saying things, but you're not the one speaking the words. Doing things, but you're not the one initiating the action. You're merely a spectator. Like you're sitting in a movie theater, watching your life unfold before you.

It's how I feel. It's how I feel most of the time.

I don't know who I am. I don't know why I'm here, or what I'm going to do with my life. I suppose one could say I 'roll with the punches,' but even that isn't true. I seem to seek out the most damaging people and experiences and immerse myself within situations that cause me nothing but harm. I sit back. I'm on autopilot, and I seem to look for only things and people that will hurt me. Disappoint me. Or worse. Leave me.

What's so incredibly frustrating is that I have no idea how to take control. I've been like this for so long, I have no idea where to begin. How does one go from being in the audience to the main character in the film? How does that happen? I want to get out. I don't want to feel trapped anymore. I want to take control. I just don't know how yet.

"Tell me there's a logic out there.
Leading me to better prepare
For the day that something really special might come.
Tell me there's some hope for me.
I don't wanna be lonely
For the rest of my days on the earth."

Life Goes On.

I tend to get lost in my own existence. Time doesn't move in my brain. In my brain I'm living in the past. I need to stop that. I can't bring those times back. I can't.

Time goes on. Life goes on. I'm just jogging to keep up.

I'm frustrated by life. Everything around me. But then I realize.

Life is beautiful. And although life continues to march on, I should stop trying to catch it. I should step outside of myself and enjoy it. Go for long walks. Sing until my lungs give out. Smile.

Because that's what life is about.