Tired

When people talk about what they were in high school, they often mention such labels as "the geek," "the jock," "the bitch," "the slut," "the bossy girl," "the class clown," and a plethora of other titles. Often, these succinctly capture a person. At other times, it does not. Honestly, I never could find a suitable label. But then again, it's hard for people to accurately describe themselves; no matter how objective they think they are, even just an ounce of subjectivity can creep in.

As for myself, I was one of those rare, highly motivated people who had a goal and, by God, was going to stick to it and achieve it or commit a homicide trying. Sixth grade, twelve years old, and I had it all planned out: nothin' less than an A and class valedictorian. Hell, I'd even started writing the speech. It was beautiful, it truly was, but by junior year it became painfully obvious that I'd never be able to deliver it. Despite hours of hard work over trivialities in the grander scheme of things, lack of sleep, and enough stress to give me five breakdowns a year (minor therapy, nothing that kept me out of school for more than a week and nothing that got out; I'd of been mortified if it had.), I was three points behind #1, the pitifully close #4. Four, FOUR, can you believe it? What the hell kind of ranking is four? Couldn't I squeeze into the top three at least, or back up to five? Nooo, just coolin' my fuckin' heels at 4.

Argh. It just… pisses me off, ya know? That was a big part of my life, something that I really wanted. Hell, something that I actually deserved. I assume I'd of gotten over it in time, had I only been given it but, as it now stands, I'm going to be bitter over that for a while. Sigh… moving on.

I was mean, but marginally, enough so that I easily made friends, when I wanted them, and that people didn't mess with me because they knew (hell, or even just thought) I could kick their ass. And I'm tiny, people, riding a couple inches over five foot, but mean as hell, crazy as hell, with an anger problem that sends me into rages, swearin', breaking shit. I'm pretty sure that, prior to my death, I was spiraling towards insanity. I guess that's one good thing about dying: I beat the clock. Yeah, makes me feel so good, but most people didn't know the extent of my instability, and my parents didn't want to confront it. They'd drop a line to my therapist and schedule an eventual visit and we'd talk about it. Dr. Laret wasn't worth shit; I never improved.

Hmm… I wasn't fat, but I wasn't skinny, more muscular, and pretty built. Kind of good looking (I wasn't a dog but I'd certainly never be asked to model), but because I was mean as hell and crazy I never had a boyfriend. As you can see, I'm teetering somewhere between bully and loser. I guess I could have dated the couple of people that asked me, some of them were actually nice, but we never clicked and, as a friend, I could see that. On some level, I didn't think they were good enough for me though it might have been the other way around (Heh. Like I'd admit/think that.) and, well, high school relationships are stupid. They don't last and they rarely mean a thing other than sex but still… a Christmas date, a Valentine's present… those little things would have meant something to me. Guess I'll never have them… not unless they have a dating service here and, to my knowledge, they don't. Aw, great. Now I'm feeling depressed… let's move on.

So how can I be classified? A snob? Maybe, but I was pretty darn poor; Goodwill everything, no car, no computer, no cable, and during the month following when my father got laid off, our power got shut off and our water almost did so, no. A jock? Hah! I was far too lazy to try out, despite my natural athletic ability. A nerd? Yeah right. I may be pretty smart and fourth in my class, but I didn't give a damn about anything other than history and English; those were my two best subjects with world history and sociology pulling ahead. I wasn't all that great with economics but that was only because in math I barely pulled an A-. The bossy/bully girl? Yeah, that one hits closest because, for a while at least, I had to be in charge of everything but, by senior year, I was just tired, so fucking tired.

It's hard to describe my lethargy but it just seemed like I didn't… give a damn. I never got enough sleep because I was just praying I'd make valedictorian, even though I knew that I wouldn't, but I'd study so hard anyway, extensively reading my notes and textbooks, busting my ass on extra credit and scholarships, extra work that I simply didn't have to do, organizing community service projects and tutoring sessions, trying feverishly to pick between my two top colleges. Miraculously, I'd made it in, but I was scholarship deficient and a poor, white girl doesn't warrant much aid. It was frustrating.

Some nights I'd fall asleep crying because I didn't know what to do, or, my eyes puffy and red, I'd simply be filled with this hollow empty feeling, like there was nothing in me and, in that last month, I might as well have been empty. I still don't know if I feel anything but at least I'm containing the utter rage that just pisses me off, scares me a little. It'd be great to really know what I feel, if there is still anything inside, would've been nice if I'd known it before I died so, at the very least, I could've been happy about my state of mind. As it was, I just wanted to quit, let it all go, and have someone else take care of it all for me but no one was going to. I just don't know people like that, I guess, and I was far too tired to care. Maybe if I had just given up, if I had just taken sleep over work, let 95s overtake my 99s and 100s, I wouldn't have been so tired and cranky that day, I could've just let the comment slide.

But I guess you can't let the thoughts of the past bother you like this… you can't wish for something because it just won't happen… and you shouldn't rely on "should of"'s.

Heh. Like anyone can really follow that; we're all just too stupid, I guess.