(no subject)
All I ever want to do is scream until my throat hurts.
In a good way.
I suppose the only way to fully comprehend senior year is when you are in it.
I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this.
I was so wrong.
These past few weeks have been torture.
I know where I'm going.
I know where I've been.
LET ME FUCKING MOVE ON.
Please?
And still,
I will cry like a fucking baby when I am signing everyone's yearbook.
Even the people I barely know
Or the people I feel I don't know at all anymore.
We're all different people now. "Grown ups" (sorta)
I don't feel all that grown.
(Obviously the "up" part doesn't apply to me. I am not bitter.)
It's two twelve. I said I was going to bed at least twenty minutes ago.
Guess I lied.
It's these ridiculously early hours of the morning that make me think too much
And ramble
And update my livejournal for the first time since forever
The thing about senior year is there's so much stress and pressure to be not stressed,
My mind doesn't know what to think
(So I get headaches where I can't look up because my eyes might sink into my head)
There are people I'd like to reconcile with.
Apologies have never been my forte.
Neither have goodbyes.
I feel like I've made little impact on the people around me.
Perhaps none at all.
If I ever came back to visit Whitman I'd have no classroom to stay in.
I have connected with three teachers in my history of being in school.
I am surprised I managed that many.
Oh well.
I think Huntington's done all it can for me.
Really.
I will miss (some of) the people, but
The longer I stay here, the more I KNOW
That I've moved on.
I'm done, guys.
In a good way.
I suppose the only way to fully comprehend senior year is when you are in it.
I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this.
I was so wrong.
These past few weeks have been torture.
I know where I'm going.
I know where I've been.
LET ME FUCKING MOVE ON.
Please?
And still,
I will cry like a fucking baby when I am signing everyone's yearbook.
Even the people I barely know
Or the people I feel I don't know at all anymore.
We're all different people now. "Grown ups" (sorta)
I don't feel all that grown.
(Obviously the "up" part doesn't apply to me. I am not bitter.)
It's two twelve. I said I was going to bed at least twenty minutes ago.
Guess I lied.
It's these ridiculously early hours of the morning that make me think too much
And ramble
And update my livejournal for the first time since forever
The thing about senior year is there's so much stress and pressure to be not stressed,
My mind doesn't know what to think
(So I get headaches where I can't look up because my eyes might sink into my head)
There are people I'd like to reconcile with.
Apologies have never been my forte.
Neither have goodbyes.
I feel like I've made little impact on the people around me.
Perhaps none at all.
If I ever came back to visit Whitman I'd have no classroom to stay in.
I have connected with three teachers in my history of being in school.
I am surprised I managed that many.
Oh well.
I think Huntington's done all it can for me.
Really.
I will miss (some of) the people, but
The longer I stay here, the more I KNOW
That I've moved on.
I'm done, guys.