i’m just going to lay low and watch the l word because i feel really misunderstood.
here’s a piece of advice: DON’T have super massive and TOTALLY obvious crushes on friends that happen to be girls and are straight. especially if that friend has two lesbian friends with super accurate gaydars and can TELL YOU LIKE HER. YOUR HEART WILL BE CRUSHED.
one thing i wish i was different about me is that i am not that good at communicating verbally in person, most of the time with people i am unfamiliar with. it’s like there’s this sense of disconnect between me and the person and it throws me off and i feel like everything i say doesn’t make sense to them or they are completely uninterested. it’s very inhibiting because i can’t freely discuss stuff without tripping over my words and grappling for the right thing to say. i think this is totally psychological though because i realize i’m more focused on how the person is receiving what i’m saying instead of what i’m actually saying.
things are beginning to look up.
note to self: don’t make impulsive decisions (ex. changing schools in the middle of high school)
something that bothers the hell out of me is that since i’ve come out to my mom as bisexual like five months ago, she is always thinking me to be a lesbian! like with everything! if i was a lesbian, i would have told you, mom. being bisexual doesn’t eternally write me off as one day being a lesbian, or being a lesbian and just being “unsure”.
for instance, today she was talking about “if” i have kids. like that is somehow a questionable and maybe difficult thing to do, and maybe…IMPOSSIBLE. oh my goodness! *gasps ripple through the crowd*
…mom, i’m a woman, of course i can have a kid (unless i’m infertile, and god i hope not), no matter if my partner is a man or woman. she then goes on to say that her female co-worker and her partner adopted two children from central america. which confirmed my suspicion that she, yet again, was writing me off as a lesbian.
like i am thankful my mom peacefully lives with who i am, but her lack of understanding drives me up the wall.
probably one of the first and foremost things is knowing the guy truly cares. i have been with too many guys that don’t fucking care about anything expect for what’s coming out of their mouth, what’s going on in their life, what they can see with their own two eyes. i’m not asking the guy to be so utterly infatuated with what i’ve got to say, or what’s going on with me (i think that’d get a little annoying lol), but i really do appreciate those looks that clearly say “i’m listening to you, and i am constructing a response because what you say matters, and what happens to you also matters.” i like it when a guy is charming, because we can work our magic on each other and it’s a win-win situation. he should be respectful of others, not tearing people down behind their backs, creating bad karma for himself for the hell of it, especially not mouthing off to adults or peers. that’s immature and a total turn off. he needs self control, too, in those situations and also when it’s the two of us and things are getting steamy. do you really think i wanna go the whole nine yards every single time we’re together? HELL NO. that’s not why we’re dating in the first place. i don’t want him to be harshly critical of me, but if he can offer me polite and honest advice, i will always be willing to lend an ear. i really respect that. i like a romantic — not always like a sexy romantic, but a romantic-romantic. something to level me out, so i’m not drowning in a sea of my own poems and love notes. i like it when a guy doesn’t mind being vulnerable around me, revealing secrets and insecurities and what not. he doesn’t have to be this super masculine hulk of stone that refuses to cry, and he especially doesn’t need to be no fuckin’ ken doll. i want to know that he is capable of apologizing for his mistakes and not flipping shit over my mistakes, either. i would never do that to him. remember, the golden rule is key. intelligence is attractive, but i’m not asking for a perfect IQ of 150 or the emotional maturity of a 30 year old. i’m dating a teenager — of course he’s gonna lose his head here and there.
i guess that’s covered it all, but i should say this: these are not rules and conditions, and if the guy doesn’t perfectly fit into this criteria, by no means does that mean i would refuse to date him. we’re all human. we can work at each other and help improve our flaws together.
i’m having the time of my life at my new school.
not really. i’m lonely as fuck. it’s small, my only best friend who happened to transfer with me is glued to her boyfriend, and i’m left awkwardly stuttering to the rest of the people. i have to make a strenuous drive back and forth every day, totaling to about 45 minutes every morning and afternoon. i’m expected to adjust to 1.5 hour classes along with a block schedule just like that. we don’t have lockers. i have to deal with middle schoolers in my homeroom because it’s an integrated middle school and partial high school (i’ll be part of the first graduating class in 2015). most of the kids have terrible socializing skills. rolling book bags EVERYWHERE. like i just want to cry at the end of the day.
so now i’m stuck in a rut: go back to shitty public high school or stay at stale ass tiny charter school.
people are suddenly interested in me, not intimidated, but i have no motivation to be anything for anyone else
edit: if anything i want stupid, sexual, no-strings-attached shit and i feel so selfish for that
i tend to avoid my problems, especially if they are people who suck the life out of me.
i can’t explain the level of panic i am feeling over coming out to my dad tonight. it’s making me want to cry uncontrollably. he could call me any moment now. i’m so used to how harsh he is to me about the more sensitive topics of my life [ah fuck emotions] and it’s caused so much estrangement in the past. i told him a couple years back about how i was suffering of an eating disorder and he belittled and emotionally abused me so much i’m crying like a baby just thinking it might happen all over again. i love my dad and i want him to love me as much as i love him
i might be coming out to my dad this week. i’m terrified. i just want him to love me without any obstructions.
i couldn’t edit it on my phone, so i’ll just continue it here.
so i schedule the appointment, have to literally fight with the stylist so he’ll cut it (he thought i’d be a pussy about it afterwards — i never cried once, for his information), and off goes my hair. bianca reborn. i shed the dead weight: hair that had gone through so many exhausting years of everything from depression, anxiety, extreme suicidal thoughts, to an eating disorder, it was no longer hair. it was this filthy and sad extension of myself, with lots of negative emotions and experiences tangled up in it. i emerged this shining, maybe a little boyish, smiling young woman. and i’ve felt better and better since that very day.
i had about 18 inches or so of hair, so it was ridiculously long. this is going to sound really strange, but i grew my hair that long for two main reasons: 1. i was looking for some sort of shield to hide behind. a curtain, a cape, a shell, any sort of metaphor you want to call it because i was incredibly self conscious about myself. i wanted some sort of protective barrier between me and others so they wouldn’t see the frightened piece of flesh underneath. 2. i felt like it was among the very few things made me noticeable or attractive. i used it to define my existence in a sense. for example, referring back to 1., i never EVER put it up. ever. i was seen as the white girl with the long, billowing kind of nice hair. and i liked when people complimented my hair but i realize now that that never solved my dangerously low self esteem.
so flash forward to march 2013. self esteem is improving, my medication was improving my depression and anxiety over my flaws. im having this intense transformation of self — i’m becoming more secure in my sexuality, im seeing the more masculine parts of me, i’m starting to take more things with a grain of salt. i don’t feel like i have to hold onto myself with tooth and nail. i’ve freely and willingly moved in a much more positive direction. i was also out to test everyone else about how they saw me — was my hair my only defining quality or was the person beneath it just as acknowledged as the hair? and the thought of a pixie cut had already sat in the back of my mind for a time, but i thought it would take til sometime in college to finally be able to lay my old self to rest.