Why I hate moving and other crap that's on my mind
I've been doing a lot of thinking recently about the past and the way I feel now. I've lost count of all the friends I lost in my life because one of us moved away. Oh, you always say you'll keep in touch and you mean it at the time, but it rarely works out. You write letters and call each other for a while, then you stop calling because you've always preferred the written word to the spoken, then gradually, you run out of things to write about because the other person wasn't there and wouldn't understand; and before you know it, you've lost a friend. I've only ever been able to keep one friend when I moved away, and then only because she just happened to still be there when we moved back two years later. Of course, then I lost her because what happened to me while I was gone forced me to grow up early and she hadn't reached that point yet; which I guess is a kind of moving away, in a way. It should be easier this time though, now that e-mail had been invented. E-mail lends itself much more readily to the kind of inane babble that helps maintain friendships than does snail mail. I reach out and send e-mail after e-mail and I rarely get a response; and when I do get a response it's usually a disagreement that feels like an attack, even though I know it's not, and makes me think that it would be better if no one responded. And there's no real point in making new friends because I'm just going to loose them when I manage to move back home. I just can't wait to get a job so I can afford to get back into WoW; my friends will have a hard time not responding to me than.
Old kid's shows like Reading Rainbow, Mr. Roger's, and Sesame Street make me cry; I even almost cried the other day when I watched the Disney Robin Hood, which I always used to watch when I was home from school sick. I think it's because I grew up so fast. When my brother molested me he stole my innocence and I had to go from child to adult practically over night in order to survive; I missed out on the best years of gradual transition and it's not fair. And yet, no matter how much I might like to, I can't bring myself to hate him for it; the fact that he's my brother and I love him wars with the hate and I wind up feeling nothing.
Why don't doctors discuss things with you anymore? I think the foot I broke is permanently messed up because my orthopedist neither discussed my recovery with me nor showed me the X-rays. From the way it feels now, almost two years later, and the way it's looked since the accident, I think the bones did slip out of place and I did need the surgery, but the doctor just couldn't tell because they slipped into the position of a "normal" arch and he didn't know I had high arches because he never spent any time with me. And when I got my root canal a few months later, the dentist never discussed anything with me and made fun of me for using the Internet to try and figure out what the hell was going on with me. Then he slapped a cap on the tooth which causes me near constant pain, where there was no pain before, from gums inflamed by what I can only assume is traces of one of the many metals I'm allergic to in the porcelain, again, something he would have known had he discussed my options with me. I think this all may have been the reason for the inexplicable flash of rage I experienced around the time all this was happening where I had the strange urge to pick up the cheap cane I'd bought to keep the strain off my foot and start swinging it like a baseball bat at the people who were wandering the quad that day; though my book bag probably would have been a more effective weapon.
I haven't had any real physical contact in months. I want someone to hold me as we curl up on the couch to watch TV. Simple thing like these are what I really miss.
As much as I like e-mail, I still wish people would send real letters sometimes. It's more special to go to the physical mail box and find a little treat to show that someone was thinking of you. I've been trying to write a letter to my boyfriend since I got here for those reasons, yet, for some reason, I can't do it. I just seem to find it easier to write to no one in particular, like I'm doing now, at the moment. I had planed on writing this and sending him a copy with a few other sentiments just for him, but I can't because this has turned out far more depressing than I thought it would. Now I can think of nothing else to say to him other than a litany of "I love you"s and "I miss you"s, and, since he knows that, it would be silly to write him just to repeat it.
Old kid's shows like Reading Rainbow, Mr. Roger's, and Sesame Street make me cry; I even almost cried the other day when I watched the Disney Robin Hood, which I always used to watch when I was home from school sick. I think it's because I grew up so fast. When my brother molested me he stole my innocence and I had to go from child to adult practically over night in order to survive; I missed out on the best years of gradual transition and it's not fair. And yet, no matter how much I might like to, I can't bring myself to hate him for it; the fact that he's my brother and I love him wars with the hate and I wind up feeling nothing.
Why don't doctors discuss things with you anymore? I think the foot I broke is permanently messed up because my orthopedist neither discussed my recovery with me nor showed me the X-rays. From the way it feels now, almost two years later, and the way it's looked since the accident, I think the bones did slip out of place and I did need the surgery, but the doctor just couldn't tell because they slipped into the position of a "normal" arch and he didn't know I had high arches because he never spent any time with me. And when I got my root canal a few months later, the dentist never discussed anything with me and made fun of me for using the Internet to try and figure out what the hell was going on with me. Then he slapped a cap on the tooth which causes me near constant pain, where there was no pain before, from gums inflamed by what I can only assume is traces of one of the many metals I'm allergic to in the porcelain, again, something he would have known had he discussed my options with me. I think this all may have been the reason for the inexplicable flash of rage I experienced around the time all this was happening where I had the strange urge to pick up the cheap cane I'd bought to keep the strain off my foot and start swinging it like a baseball bat at the people who were wandering the quad that day; though my book bag probably would have been a more effective weapon.
I haven't had any real physical contact in months. I want someone to hold me as we curl up on the couch to watch TV. Simple thing like these are what I really miss.
As much as I like e-mail, I still wish people would send real letters sometimes. It's more special to go to the physical mail box and find a little treat to show that someone was thinking of you. I've been trying to write a letter to my boyfriend since I got here for those reasons, yet, for some reason, I can't do it. I just seem to find it easier to write to no one in particular, like I'm doing now, at the moment. I had planed on writing this and sending him a copy with a few other sentiments just for him, but I can't because this has turned out far more depressing than I thought it would. Now I can think of nothing else to say to him other than a litany of "I love you"s and "I miss you"s, and, since he knows that, it would be silly to write him just to repeat it.