Mixed Feelings

Have you ever felt that you were partially at fault for someone breaking up with their boyfriend/girlfriend?

This past weekend has left me with... mixed feelings. I mean, he always complained about her a little, and on Friday night hanging out with them (and a few others) was just fine. But Sunday... holy shit, on Sunday, shit hit the fan. They argued. They acted immature. They literally dragged each other around. They threatened to freeze themselves to death. They threatened to move out. They threatened to break up.

And for some reason... for some reason I feel partially at fault. I mean, I know she doesn't really like me, especially since I'm a good friend of her boyfriend and she's one of those clingy, paranoid girls. I know she doesn't like me. And the fact they had yet another fight because he wanted to hang out with me and she didn't want him to... it makes me feel bad D:

So part of me is upset. I hate to see them fighting. I hate the fact she doesn't really like me, even though I try my best to smile and be polite and nice to her (I like her, personally, but she scares me because I swear she's secretly plotting out ways to kill me). I don't like to see them fight - especially as badly as they did on Sunday, but according to him, they had had worse fights over the past few weeks. I don't want them to break up, especially on such terrible terms.

But part of me... part of me is relieved. I dunno. For some reason those two never really felt right; I mean, she was really good for him, and he did good things for her, but all in all... they really just seemed thrown together, like they were only dating because it was someone's bright idea to consider it, ask, and someone else's bright idea to say yes. :| that, and if they're fighting so badly, wouldn't they be better off not living together, and not constantly pissing each other off to borderline physical and emotional abuse?

I don't know. There's so many pros and cons to this and as badly as I want to shrug it off and not worry about it, I know I'm partially the reason. And that makes it very, very hard to let myself be guilt-free. Especially since if I did allow myself to just shrug it off, I'd feel like a selfish bitch who doesn't care what the hell is happening to my friends and their relationship.

I hate feeling so... pulled in many directions. Yeah.

And as April creeps up on me I find I miss someone more and more. These next few months aren't going to be easy. -sighs- Six years. It's hard to believe it. Six fucking years.

I tell you, it certainly doesn't get easier as it goes, but... it gets easier to pretend it's easier, I guess. Some days I've convinced myself it's easy and that I'll keep moving along just fine. Other days I lock myself up in my room all day and try to sleep because at least when I'm sleeping it doesn't hurt, and it feels like I haven't been moving along at all over the past six years.

I kinda feel partially to blame for that one, too. If I wasn't so selfish and stubborn, if I had just given in to such a simple request... things would be so much different. They'd be so much easier.

Mrs. Mueller always used to say that in life, when things happen, you can either become bitter or better. When I first heard that, it had hit me like a brick that I had become so, so bitter. So I started to allow myself to change, for the better. But looking back, it feels like I really haven't gone far. In fact, it just feels like I've picked up a whole new kind of bitter instead. No better. No better, not even a little. And that's a tiring thought. Ideally, I'd like to see myself as being better. Realistically, I know I'm not, and I don't think I'll ever be able to be, at least, not entirely, not even half. Maybe a little, eventually, but never completely.

But hey, at least I tried, right?

I mentioned to someone the other day that, if another one of me were to exist, I wouldn't be able to stand her. There is no possible way I wouldn't try to kill (or at least fight) my other-self in that situation. I would hate me. It's not that I hate myself; please don't misinterpret. I'm disappointed with who I've become, but that doesn't mean I hate myself. It's just, if i had to put up with someone that even has half the traits I do I wouldn't be able to stand them.

All this talk about how I've changed over the last six years reminds me of something my sister told me, just a few months ago, the night my Uncle Martin died. She told me I changed - she had told me this before, but this time there was a new twist on it. I had "completely" changed. I wasn't the same at all. Not even a little. I had become a completely different person. (all indirect quotes here.) And so, being instantly scared by her words, I asked her if it was a good change, or a bad change. I had to know. I wasn't just curious, I literally felt an ache - I was literally aching to know. I had to know. I had to. So I asked her; and you know what she said? She just shrugged, and said, "I don't know, you just changed."

And for some reason, that really, really hurt. Had I really changed so much that I wasn't even comparable by any means whatsoever to the person I had been six years ago? Not even close enough at all to judge whether the change was good or bad? Had I really changed so much? That thought scared me, it scared me more than ever. I wanted/still want to go back, and be the person I was before.

The problem is... I've lost her.

I know my memory is bad, but this, this is the worst thing I could've forgotten. I can't even remember his face, but I still hate myself more for forgetting who I was back then. I mean, at least, for his face, I've got pictures, and even videos (which also help with his voice). But for myself? I have nothing - no documentation of my former self. Not even a scrap of an inkling is left in my collective memory regarding the person that 13-year-old-Patricia was.

I didn't want to change, especially when it makes me so distant from my own sister... I want to be who I was, back then. But who was I? I can only recall a few things that I liked, and some I didn't like (one of them is the reason I feel so guilty over what happened), but I can't remember how I would act, what I would do, or even the kind of people I liked to associate myself with.

I have seriously forgotten who I was, and this scares me. Because I know she was better than the person I am now.

I mean, sure, since what happened all those years ago I've become a little more understand, and a little more helpful and wise for when people need someone to talk to, or even advice. But other than that... what am I? Who was I then? I want to know, so badly. I want to be that person I can't be any more, because I forgot her. I buried her in my own stupid problems and now I can't dig her out. It sucks.

I want to be who I used to be, especially if it means I'll close that huge rift... no, wound... that's been left between me and my sister. I'm tired of her acting like we're fine one minute, then screaming at me and genuinely hating me the next. It's like she's bandaging my wounds only to tear the tourniquet off and rub pig shit in 'em and then start all over again (seriously, pig shit burns when it gets into an open wound. I know from experience). And I hate that. I hate being the reason she's pushed away from me. I hate this gap that's formed between us, and this unreliable, shaky bridge that's there. I swear, that things only there at all because we're blood related.

But she said that I've changed, and she said it in a way that has led me to believe I'm not even anywhere near who I used to be.

I wonder if she can't compare if I'm worse or better now than then because maybe... maybe she's forgotten who I was, too? Could... that be possible? I don't feel it's probable; I just know it's possible. Maybe the old me is so far gone that even those who knew her best can't even remember her smile. That thought scares me, because I so desperately want her back. There's only one person I want back more than I want her back, but I know I can't have him back. I still feel at fault for why he left, so why the hell should I deserve to get him back? Why the hell should I even deserve to be the old me, then? Maybe this new, ugly me is the punishment for my selfishness that day. Perhaps I'm doomed to forever live with a me I can't stand because I fucked over the me I could.

But then is it really so fair that it doesn't matter if I torture my family or not?





You may think this is all weird and deep but seriously, I think about shit like this all the time :| Perhaps I'm trying too hard to both repair and move on with the damage I've done in my life. I can't do both, so I suppose the question is, which one should I do? Are either of them even worth doing? Perhaps I could just sit here and stare at this lovely mess I'm in. -sighs- So many options, so much effort that needs to be put into them.



Well, anyways, I'm tired (both physically, and tired of thinking) so I'm going to go to sleep and distract myself with thoughts of what I'm going to draw Aerron for his birthday (which I so lovingly missed/neglected.)

Night, all.

I'm going to be an auuuunt. And pink rabbit girl... things.

Or an uncle. Me and my sister are fighting over that right.

But yus, Jessie is pregnant, so that's cool.

Other things that happened my week off:

- got high on paint fumes
- painted waaaay too much shed wall in only two days (thus the highness) to the point where my one hand because virtually useless, and any movement shrouded it in unearthly pain
- got to see Bob, hooray
- got to pester Shirley, huuhuu
- watched what may very well be my new favorite anime (whathwat? more on this later)
- lost the "what-war" with David (so I'm not drawing him any moar fanarts of his character dressed like a schoolgirl. Psssh.)
- Dad had his birthday party, he's 47! :D
- rekindled my will to write that very tragic novel (gonna restart it, at some point)
- avoided the french kid like crazy
- gave Shirley a tour of my desk... mess... thing... (every ten seconds it was like, "Oh, cool! I found my lightsaber back! Awesome, a really old sketchbook... ew, no, that can go back... oooh, what's this, a fanfic I printed off? Hey! My Prismacolors!")
- slept until two in the afternoon (whatwhat? the first time I've ever ACTUALLY slept that long)
- missed church due to really, REALLY bad splitting-omg-im-dying-headache.
- ate real food. hooray~
- made my sister hate me all over again
- watched some sailor moon with Kelly, ahahah
- wrote the most AMAZING Bleach fanfic ever, of course, with Kelly (see hurr for it: it'll be the one called "Preggo")
- drew a cool picture, but left it at home, so you can't see it yet


and probably more but it's all a blur, so nyeh to that.


Anyways, more about this anime I started/finished.
Never have I been so addicted. I watched 20 episodes in one day, part way through, because it was so good!

But I'm too lazy to go over detials, but the plot was AMAZING. Like, seriously, it kept me intrigued the whole time and as it thickened each twist became more dramatic, and even the ending was an amazing surprise (that actually made sense!) One of the episodes even almost made me cry (episode 42, so sad! Uwaaah!)

Anyways, that's not the most shocking bit. That's right, you heard me, the fact a shoujo got me so addicted and even almost made me cry is not the worst of it. Wait until you see my favourite character.


Meroko; the pink rabbit girl... thing.


Seriously, she's amazing.
((I couldn't find any of the video clips I wanted to D: Damn obscure animes. DX)

The Chairty Event I Was Allowed to Drink At That Sucked.

When I had got offline we went to a charity event where I planned on doing lots and lots of drinking. But half way through my attempt at getting hammered my mother got a call on her cellphone; my Uncle Martin had died.

So yeah. Since I'm not going back to college until about mid-week I'll be stuck with dial-up until then, and as well, I might not have a muse for posting.

My uncle died yesterday, so yeah... (it was a sudden death too. We're still waiting to hear back from the coroner about what happened.)

But when shit happens like this my muse likes to go to extremes; either I'll swear off roleplaying for days at a time or I'll get so absorbed in roleplaying I'll have over ten threads going.

As a side note, by the time we left Uncle Martin and Aunt Maria's house I was sober again. And I really, really wish I wasn't.

I'm very worried about my cousins, especially Deanna, the second youngest in that family. Valerie, Paula, (those two showed up later, it took them a while to get home from University) and Rachel were all switching between bawling and zoning out (Paula did a lot of zoning out, she almost fainted, too. PS she's the anorexic one). But Deanna... she wasn't crying. She wasn't zoning out. She was helping to make coffee for everyone and comforting her mom and sisters, talking about how she was going to take a year off from school (she's in gr. 12, going to university next year) to take care of her mom, calling relatives to let them know, etc., etc... she was basically being the strong one.

...Just like I was.

And that's why I'm worried most about her. Because that road... it's probably the darkest one. Because when you're on it, you're completely, utterly alone. And, naturally, you don't tell anyone you are. You keep it inside, because you need to be strong for your family. And as you help your family get back up on their feet, you're still sinking. To use a metaphor, think like the black knight. Whereas everyone else would be like "AAAAH I'M BLEEDING WHERE'D MY ARMS GO?!" he was like, "'Tis just a flesh wound." When obviously, it wasn't. =\ And even when argued with, he stuck with saying he was fine. Yeah. It's like that. A lot like that.

So I'm really, really worried for her.

When we went to leave, I told all of my cousins that if they ever needed to talk to me, I'd gladly listen and help any way I could. They all just sort of nodded, except Deanna. She smiled and said "Yeah, I'll probably take you up on that." ...which was a good feeling. It means she's already not as bad as I was. I really, really hope she does take me up on that. Because I have a feeling that she'll really need it. Before we left I also let Aunt Maria know that we're all there for her; she has a big, close family with lots of support. That really helps in times like these.

But I'm also kinda worried about Rachel, because she turns 16 soon (on Tuesday, I think?) ...so that's gotta be the worst.



But another person I'm worried about is my dad.
He... I can't actually tell if he took it well or not. It switches back and forth, but so slightly I barely notice. I'm not sure how he's doing... this is the second brother he lost; my Uncle Henry died when he was 16 (before I was born, of course), and now Uncle Martin died. Henry was the second youngest boy, Martin the third youngest in their family (dad's the youngest). So I can see how that might suck some, because when dad suddenly didn't have an also-kinda-the-youngest-boy he started hanging out with Martin more. And now he's gone, too. ;_;

This is no fun.

;_;