Breaking Vertigo

2009-02-20T20:29:00.000-08:00

So you've forgetten
and you've surrendered.
Let all the words burn,
let no one remember.

And the sky's grey,
with no light shining.
Dimed through weakness,
no longer blinding.

The streetlights flicker,
fighting to guide me;
lost myself in absent times
whispering to me gently.

No one listened
and no one cared.
No one bothered to notice
of the things I couldn't bare.

I fell apart
relapsing more than twice.
Closed my eyes and let it flow,
going against my own advice.

Would it have made a difference
if I had spoke my mind?
What would I come across?
What could I find?

It hurt to breathe;
like my heart was wailing,
like it only had so much time
before it would start failing.

I tired to hide it;
tired to mask it once more.
Tired to fool you, did it work,
because it did so before.

As I lay here fading
I only have one request.
This was meant for us all,
this was for the best.

I had it all in a vision,
a way to make it all better.
For your mind to say,
"You don't have to love, but you should remember."

So everytime you look at the clouds
and you see the light seeping through,
baby, that'll be me
shining my light on you.

Dressed in white silk and lace
under a dim light past eleven,
I'll be writing for you
up there in heaven.
Farewell.

Peroxide.

2009-02-20T00:55:00.000-08:00

Relapsed on 20FEB09.
6;48 pm.

This Close...

2009-01-22T12:03:00.000-08:00

I can feel everything slipping out of my grasp.
Whether it be reality or all in my mind,
I'm not letting you go...

Not ever.

The Writer's Curse.

2009-01-20T02:26:00.000-08:00

There are a number of writers that write as freely as they want. They say what they have to say, what they have in mind without any thought of who they could specifically impact. There are about 7 billion people in the world. I wonder how many people I have had a significant impact on? And more importantly, in what WAY have I impacted these people or just this one person?
I'm surely not one of those writers that speak their full story often. It is a very rare occassion that I do so. So when I do, you'd know it's serious. But that's beside the point right now.

As I walked anxiously to the bus stop this morning, I thought about the blogs I wrote about certain people or that I wrote specifically for one person to read up on. A few things in the end have happened. Many of them I don't take pride it.

Freedom of Speech:
*defined more by what you can't say, rather than what you are allowed to.

What I'm trying to get at is, we can't say what we want at any given time and without thinking ahead to how it could made a person feel, or think. This happened to me many times already. To think I'd learn from it by now. Never write things down in the heat of the moment and even then, think thoroughly about that you're saying.

It's the writer's curse; what he writes can be a relfection of him.

Truth of the Matter is...

2009-01-19T03:38:00.000-08:00

I don't want to lose you, baby.

But I feel like I am. I feel like you're not listening to me somehow. I don't like the near silence on the phone these past days. It's killing me. Baby, I know I'm not perfect, but I'm trying as much as I can to keep you around, to keep you happy. And, I don't have much to offer you, but I love more than any amount of money can buy anyone. I'm hoping that's enough that you'd at least be content with having someone like me. I'll be better now... you'll see. I can change my old ways. I'd do it all for you. I'd go that extra mile. I just want you and no one else.

I love you.

To My Father.

2009-01-18T01:07:00.000-08:00

You have raised me for almost 17 years now, and for the first 5 years of my life, you raised me on your own. You have gone from teaching me how to walk to teaching me how to drive. You have given me shelter. You have provided me with food and necessities. You blessed me with so many things in life. You taught me to be wise, to think about things before I act on it. You told me to dream big and work hard for the things I want. You made me independent and to live this life to the fullest, to never let an oppertunity pass me by. You have seen me transform from a totting todler to a woman in the making. A lot of people say that I will one day be successful, and its because of how I was brought up. I will always be thankful to you because of that, daddy. I'm thankful that you loved me unconditionally for 17 years and that you will do so even after your last breath.

But with the things you taught me how to be, you also unknowingly taught me what NOT to be.

I will not raise my voice to my children or anyone around me out of frustration.
I will not lose my temper over something small.
I will not use FEAR to gain respect for my children.
I will not face a problem, only to run away from it in the end.
I will not be arrogant when it comes to my pride.
I will NEVER even attempt to hit my children.
I will NEVER make decisions for my children.
I will not constantly preach about things I told my children before.
I will not talk down on the profession my children aspire to be.
I will let my children follow their own dreams and support them no matter what.
I will listen to what my kids have to say instead of forcing my ideas on them.
I will have patience with my children.
Most importantly, I will NEVER make my children feel like they aren't good enough, that they don't meet my standards.

Diagnosis Scoliosis.

2009-01-17T06:36:00.000-08:00

After waiting for an hour at the clinic, the nurising asisstant finally called my name.

"Mia," she called out.
"Its Maia, thanks," I said to myself.

After coming in here since the 8th grade, she still couldn't get my name right. I waited in the doctor's office to be checked. My dad and brother were with me. As if an hour just wasn't enough, I had to wait an extra 30 minutes. How wonderful. Finally, it was my turn. The doctor walked in with my x-rays in hand. He took them out of the huge folder-envelope thing and examined it.

"Well," he began to say.
"Your spine seems to have deviated to the left. It deviates in two places; on the slower back by 20 degrees and up here a little more by 21 degrees."

Note to self: look up deviated.

"So, yes, you have Scoliosis. Now, how old are you," he continued on to say.
"I'm turning 17," I said.
"Well, that means you've about reached your permanent height. You probably won't grow anymore, which is a good thing."

Thank you for also confirming that I'll be this short forever, doc.

"How is it a good thing," I asked, almost sarcastically.
"Its a good thing because if you grew any more, your spine could deviate even more. Then, you'd need srugery."
"Oh. I see."
"Now, since you aren't growing, I don't see how it will get worse. You might have to see a Chiorpractor though. Get some physical therapy to see if we can straighten it a little. Now, do you carry anything heavy on your shoulders?"
"What?"

I had to think about that for a second.

"Uhm... no," I hesitated.

Well, that last thing the doctor said got me thinking. I'm the type of person that keeps to herself. With most of my problems, I don't always vent them out like I should. The things I'd feel guilty doing, I don't say... everything. I honestly do sugarcoat about 89% of whatever I tell most people-- I tell the complete truth to three people. Anyways, the 89% of the sugarcoated things I say I don't easily let go. I carry them with me... on my shoulders. Like Atlas who carried the world on his shoulders as punishment. I found it interesting I was diagnosed with something that involved carrying heavy things. Though in my case, it was figuritively speaking.

Just wanted to share that with you guys.

The Night I Hated Myself.

2009-01-16T00:45:00.000-08:00

Its been nearly a year since I saw my own blood. I had rid myself the temptation or even the thought of pulling that knife from my desk drawer and giving myself a reason to cry. It had also been a year since I felt the control of the combination of Xanax, Motrin, Tylenol, and sleeping pills in my bloodstream. In that time, I thought I'd never cross paths with it again. But its true what they say. Never say never.

After a week long blow to the ego and the slow alienation I endured, I crashed out on the bed. This whole week I felt like an idiot. I was like a square trying to fit myself into a circle... a circle of people I'd known for years, but never really knew. I watched them laughing, I heard them talking, I felt every brushing of their fingers to one another. But none looked my way. The only person I could ever run to, gone. Left me in the cold, mid-December frost. I had so much time on my hands, yet no one to hold them.

There, on my bed I stayed... engulfed in the dark. I had a headache the size of Texas and my heart felt like it was being crushed. I felt it drop to my stomach. I felt it nearly pop out of my chest. It felt like it was about to explode. It couldn't take anymore beatings. It was too frail, too weak... much like the person it fought hard to keep live.

After losing the war with my good, angelic side, I got up off the bed. I turned on the lamp on my desk and opened the drawer. I slumped over... looking, searching. I pulled it out of its case and headed for the bathroom. I put the cover of the toilet down and sat down with my feet in the tub. My better conscious was still there as I hesitated to do the job. My reckless side got the best of me. I pulled my knees towards my chest. And there I found myself... with the glistening knife in my hand. I still argued with myself if this was what I wanted to do. I knew it was wrong and I knew that my friends would be so disappointed in me if they ever found out. But who was going to tell them?

I stretched my legs out over the tub. I leaned my body in, the knife clutched tightly in my hand. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the stinging pain I'd soon feel. I reached over to the bone sticking out on my ankle and started slicing-- right ankle, then the left. The crimson liquid soon covered my ankles. I took my legs in after seeing what I had done. "God forgive me for doing what I just did," I said to myself. "I don't think I can ever love myself."

I stood up, opened the cupboard and grabbed qutips and the rubbing alcohol. I rushed to my room. Luckily, I was home alone. My dad and brother ran off somewhere, but I knew they'd be back soon. So, I rushed. I sat down and pulled my feet up on my desk. I took a qutip and dipped it in the alcohol. I cleaned off every bit of red off my ankles. The alcohol burned my flesh like crazy-- it was an all too familiar feeling. I stepped outside and grabbed some bandages. I sat back down and placed my feet on the table as I did before.

I gently placed the bandages over every incission. "Wear pajama pants," I said to myself. I changed into my pajamas and went to bed. I couldn't sleep and the anger I held it was getting stronger, my heart still pounding to explode at any minute. I leaned my arm over my desk and turned on my lamp. I opened the other drawer and looked through worthless nothings to find a small, pink bag of pills I'd kept. I found it under a few pieces of paper seconds after I started looking. I opened the bag and emptied it. Inside were 2 pieces of sleeping pills, 2 pieces of Motrin, and some Tylenol. It wasn't enough for me. I went out into the kitchen and rumaged through the transparent orange pill canisters for my parents' medication.

I read through every label, looking for something to help me. That's when I came across it. The one thing I was so sure would help me. I held it in my hand as I read the label. Across the orange surface it read Xanax: for anxiety; may cause drowsiness. I poured 13 pieces into the palm of my hand, grabbed a glass of water, and rushed back into my room. I took the pills I had in the pink bag and poured in on my hand with the Xanax. I took in all 20some pills in three glups. I went back into bed and grabbed my cellphone. Out of the many people I knew in this world, I knew only a handful really cared. They had the right to know what I just did. They were worried. I could tell from the panic in Kevin's texts and from the panic in Christine and Kat's voice.

Soon after, I peacefully slipped into unconsciousness... only to somehow wake up in the morning with just the biggest headache I ever had.

From a Comedy.

2009-01-15T04:48:00.000-08:00

"Life is like a rock; its hard."

Lack of Responsibility.

2009-01-12T04:11:00.000-08:00

Oh, mother. How careless you are somewhat becoming. It's unlike a good mother to pile HER workload on her daughter who, a) has work of her own to do, b) has alot on her mind, and c) and who has a life. Thanks. It's not fair how YOU expect ME to finish these online trainning sessions for YOUR work. I mean, I don't need to know this stuff, mom. YOU do. Not ME. That's why your boss asigned it to you. I understand that you're under a lot of stress, but you're not the only one with work to do. I really don't mind helping you, but I don't appreciate how you want ME to do everything when you don't get what's happening.

I can't even speak my mind because I know you'll make it seem like I'M the bad person. I'm very much aware of all the things you do for me and our family, but please understand, mom. I'm here to help you, but not for you to take advantage of. And Gianne is OLD enough to do his own work. At age 9, I knew how to do current events. He needs to learn how to do things on his own. He's almost 10 and he can't even get food for himself. There hasn't been a project asigned to him that he did more than just dispense tape. You and dad need to stop babying him. And you wonder why he busts a brat status when you ask him to do something. You spoiled him like that.

I just wanted to get this off my chest.

The Doubting Scenario.

2009-01-11T02:46:00.000-08:00

I think this blog, like some of my others, has gotten me into some trouble personally.

Now, for some of you that may not know, a retraction is a way for taking back the things you said about something. And this is what I'm doing. I'm writing this blog to formally make a retraction on my blog, "The Doubting Scenario." I'm sorry if I hurt you with anything I had in this blog.

-Maia.

Exams on High.

2009-01-09T03:42:00.000-08:00

Lovely. I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm, as usual. And just like the usual, I hesitated to get up.This past week had been nothing but a pain, and with the addition of my monthly enemy, things just seem worse. After getting ready, eating, and hearing the voice of my angel on the other side of the phone line, I headed off to the bus stop with a few things on my mind: 1. I'm gonna fail my Spanish exam, 2. I want this day over with, and 3. I'm gonna fail my Spanish exam. My confidence was just exuding off my skin, I know. In the bus, I'm plagued by the same thing that's been on my mind these past few months. Getting my license. Obviously, its gonna be a pain for someone like me, who's father is the main cause of fear. I'm not afraid of driving. I'm past that. I'm just concerned about the amount of anger and frustration I'll be holding in while hearing the constant, incoherent, and redundant ramblings of the old man beside me in the passenger seat. Whether the anger and frustration is healthy to keep bottled is beyond me, but I highly doubt I'd be able to keep it in for long.

As I wait outside the enterance of the damned high school, I looked around to see students coming in by the bus loads. I could hear the muffled humming of their voices through my earphones and I began to wonder if they thought the same thing I did about school. Did they want to leave as much as I did? Do they miss their old schools, roaming around the familiar corridors as opposed to the new painted halls of my own personal hell? Did they just want this year of their lives over with? And most importantly, did they feel just as isolated as I did? Probably not. Only I could sum up my time in Okkodo to be this emo sounding... unintentionally, but naturally. In a frantic way, I tried my best to study once we were gathered up in the common area to wait for the bell to ring for classes. I had about an hour to kill, and I wanted to make that hour well spent. I failed. After "studying" for Spanish, I crashed out, my arms folded on the table and my head resting on them. A few of my friends followed suit. I'm such a trendsetter.

Fourth period went by in a daze. I was so groggy I could barely keep my eyes open to look for the answers in the book. And with an exam four pages long, what do you expect? Thankfully though, my teacher had mercy on us and let us have the remaning 25 minutes of class to relax. Exactly what I needed knowing that I would be going insane in my next class. Fifth period was... not what I expected. I thought I'd be gasping for air and suffering of a heart attack after the exam, but it was rather easy. A perfect score isn't a guarantee for me in that class, but I know my work was well enough to pass. Lunch was fine, I suppose. I won't even bother go into detail with that. Sixth period. Honestly, I don't even remember what we did. All I can recall is me drawing on my friend's arm. Some honor student.
The school day was over. Another week had passed like a slug in a race, but I was thankful it was over. All I wanted to go was get home and hear that voice that makes everything better. I wish I could say the same for him. My lovey got sick. I hate feeling so helpless when it comes to him, and anyone that mattered to me, actually. Get well soon, bubby. And goodnight to my readers.