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every year or so i suddenly remember that i started blogging in 2016, and i skim through the ten or so melodramatic musings of my former self and feel sad for her. she was so lost, so scared, so unsure of herself and those around her. most of all, though, she was angry. she was angry at anyone who reminded her that the outcome of her life is fully dependent on her own actions - that she's the only person responsible for herself. it took a long time for me to realize that all i have in this life is me, and no, i'm probably not going to win the 100 million dollar jackpot, and yes, i will have to keep a job likely for the rest of my life.

every action i took up until the past two or three years was fueled by that anger. the anger toward my alcoholic mother was the strongest of all: i blamed her for every bad thing that happened to me, as well as all of my mental health struggles. and while she may be partially responsible, and while i may no longer be in contact with her, she's just a person. she's no evil entity who set out to birth three kids and fuck them up beyond repair. she was making choices for herself, just like i'm doing right now, and i can't really hold it against her. i'm happy she's not in my life anymore, though. being around her was simultaneously terrifying and draining.

all this to say: hey! it's really not that bad, man! why are you always tripping about what the future holds?

seven years ago i was shitting bricks thinking about what the future held for me. i wish i could tell her that the future is just fine. i kept that bagel job for almost seven years, and would have worked there for another year or so if the ownership didn't suddenly change and the new owners turned out to be real assholes. now i work at a granola company, and my back hurts every day from lifting fifty pound bags of oats and hunching over a packing table for hours on end. but hey, at least i smell like brown sugar now instead of onions and garlic!

i'm also still with christopher. we're actually getting married on june 10th. i never thought i would see the day when we officially tie the knot, especially since i'm pretty against being legally bound to someone, but it's happening. he proposed on my birthday in 2021. as of right now, the plan is to get it done at the courthouse, grab dinner, and go bowling with some friends. i love bowling. the next day, june 11th, we'll be setting off on a week long camping trip through oregon, spend some time at a lake house with his family in california, then drive right back up. i'm so excited for this trip that i could scream!

2016-2017 me already knew the pain of losing a friend, but she was not prepared for the absolute gut-punch that was losing erin. october 29 2023 was the last time we talked. she's been radio silent since then, and i don't think she plans on ever talking to me again. i cried for months, wrote angry journal entries, wrote letters that i never sent, made a depressing playlist, stalked every single one of her public accounts i could find, and still it feels like i can't move on from it. i now realize that this is what people call heartbreak. i guess i had never experienced it before this. it's truly awful, but it gets better with every passing month. our relationship was extremely strange and horrible for my mental health. i was unhealthily attached to her, she said weird stuff about me to our other friends, she would tell everyone i was her best friend but at the same time never tell me anything, et cetera. it was bad. i wish we could have just talked it out, had some big fight and made up, but she decided a break up was necessary. what's done is done. i'm still working through it.

i don't really know why i got the urge to update this ancient blog from my teenage years, and i don't really know if i'll keep updating it, but i guess it's nice to have a place to come to when i want to write about my life. hand-writing events in my journal takes so long and hurts my wrist.

It's beginning to look a lot like summer.
Even in northwest Washington, where the rain seems neverending and the skies are painted grey by cloudy paintbrushes, it almost looks like summer. I don't know whether to rejoice or cry, because I was finally starting to get used to the rain.

This Friday signals the two-month mark of living in Seattle. This morning, mid-breakdown, I tearfully confessed to Christopher that I wanted to move back to boring, bland, eastern Washington. Back to the safety of my parents and their money and their nice houses and their supportiveness and everything they can provide for me.

My dad called me asking about college and financial aid and he mentioned that it might be a good idea for me to join the Air force or something, to get on track. Since I don't have any plans or foreseeable future. The only thing anyone would expect for my future is suicide, and I'm trying really hard to not make that a reality. I'm not taking my medicine as regularly as I should because I have a very limited supply, but since starting a new job, it's been under wraps pretty well.

I think the only thing keeping me tied to reality is my job. I feel like I'm contributing something, even if it's only toasted bagels. Making money is nice, and not having to rely on Christopher is a plus. And my stir-craziness has substantially reduced since I've been able to leave the apartment more. Much better than my last job, that's for sure.

My name's Zoe, and I think I want to kill myself.

Not to sound dramatic, or anything.

As years pass, I begin to realize the futility of resolutions and making plans and trying to motivate myself to do things that I know I'm not going to do before I even think about doing them. Almost a full year before trying to go to college, I knew I wasn't going to go. I knew that I would chicken out, or some complication would arise, and I knew that I would be sitting here, as I always do, wondering when my life will begin to change.
And it is changing, slightly.
Christopher and I have made plans to move up to the western part of Washington, with his mother. He wants to go to college up there, and I honestly don't care where I go to college, so it works out fine. I just don't want to be here anymore, with these people and these feelings and these memories. I don't want to be anywhere.

And so that brings me back to my first statement. I want to kill myself.
Almost daily. I think about it a lot. I know that I'll never do it, but most of me thinks I would be better off gone. It's cliche, yeah. But that doesn't change the thoughts of worthlessness or self-hatred. It doesn't change the fact that I'm too afraid to do anything for myself, and the one time that I did do something for myself, I fucked it up by quitting. I fucked it up. And I don't like fucking up.

So yes. I want to kill myself. But that doesn't change anything.

just a quick ramble about life and me

I've always really liked makeup. I like the fresh feeling of buying something new. I like glitter and soft pinks and cute packaging. I like the way my face feels right after I've applied foundation. There's just something so nice about makeup.
I don't exactly have enough money to buy makeup regularly, but when I do, it's really nice.

As far as college is going, I'm taking the "entrance exam" on the 21st of July. 8:00 in the morning. I'm not exactly nervous, but there's a subtle pinch of stress in the back of my mind whenever I think about it.

we are futureless.

It's the middle of summer, and I've just applied for a position at Fred Meyer.
My mom took me to Fred Meyer a lot when I was younger, and we would go to the deli and eat lunch before grocery shopping. We used to spend a lot of time together, like that.
It's very different now.
I can't really describe the feeling I had after applying. I wasn't excited, but I felt accomplished. I'm dreading any sort of response, but I expect it, because I couldn't dare imagine the heartbreak of being turned down for an entry-level position that any average joe could work.
I've never, ever imagined myself working - having a job. I've never wanted it, I don't think I ever will. I don't like talking to people, interacting with strangers, being put in a situation where people expect me to know what to do when someone reacts negatively, et cetera. It terrifies me.
And yet, I'm thinking being put in that kind of situation will help me.

Other than the stress of applying for jobs, I've been thinking about college a lot. What it'll be like, how I'll pay for it, etc. I prefer not to focus on it too much, but the thoughts of it linger. It's only a matter of time before I get there, and then maybe I'll begin to realize I can never go back to that comfortable place I used to be.

No one talks to me anymore, aside from Christopher. But it's kind of hard to expect anyone to talk to you when no one knows you. It took so many years for me to realize the shockingly small number of people who know me. That is, my family, and Christopher. No online friends, no real life friends, no imaginary friends. Nothing. No one to talk to. That's probably why I find myself talking less and less as time passes. Because no one is there to listen.

It's midnight.

and so it goes.

I just graduated.
There are so many feelings rushing through me.
When I say I just graduated, I really mean I graduated about 7 hours ago. During the ceremony, I was excited, buzzing, thrilled. Everything was so beautiful and happy and everyone around me was just as happy as I was. As I was handed my diploma case, there was this amazing sense of accomplishment that just rushed through every vein of my body. And I walked back to my seat, and past my high school friends, and they all shook my hand and smiled at me and everything felt so... magical.
We released about 500 butterflies, threw our hats into the air, and everything was over. We're done. My family came rushing down, we took so many pictures, and then in a blur, it was all over. We went to lunch, came home, and that was it.
As I was driving to my mom's house from my dad's, this strange, unexplainable feeling washed over me. Something like dread.
Everything I have ever known is gone now.

i guess this is it.

In four days, I will be graduating from high school. I will legally never have to attend school again.

For the past few months, the idea of graduating has been totally fuzzy in my mind. It’s like my body has been rejecting it—barring me from realizing that it’s here, it’s really here. I’m done with school and all of these people that I’ve known for all of these years are going elsewhere, and I likely will never see them again. It would be pretty scary if not for the constant reassurance that “everything will be okay.” Even if it’s not true, the statement itself provides at least a little comfort, I guess.

What people always say is actually true: things will change, and they’re going to change pretty fast. It’ll feel like everything is in fast-forward while you’re sitting there trying to keep up with the motion. Everyone around you is doing something that seems so important, and you feel like you’re just… stuck. People constantly talk about this sort of feeling but I never actually considered it until it became reality. Even though I know other people feel the same way, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for myself. I’m alone—no one is with me in this. Everyone has their own thing going on. Everyone is slipping through my fingers.

When people ask me, I always give the same vague answer about what I plan to do with my future. Go to community college for two years, transfer to my ideal university, and get a degree in environmental science. I’m not sure that’s what I even want to do anymore. I’ve just said it so many times that it feels like that’s maybe what I possibly want to do with my life. I don’t even know what I can do with a degree like that. Teach? Burn it? Save the world from its inevitable and violent demise? Doubt it.

So here I am, with graduation only days away, having no clue what I’m doing or want to do with my life. At least I can drive a car.

With the summer holiday coming up, it's feasible to assume there will be more "regular" updates.

friends. right.

My best friend is going to college a few hours away while I stay in my hometown for who knows how long with my dad. I tell myself it’s because I need to get my shit together - I need to figure myself out, and figure out what it is I actually want to do with my life.

But if I haven’t figured this out, how is it possible that she has? I just don’t understand her anymore. I thought I knew her so well. I thought she wanted me to be part of her life. But as more time passes and fewer attempts at any sort of communication with me are made, I’m beginning to realize maybe she isn’t my best friend, after all. Maybe all of the people who I think have been my best friends are really just the only people I’ve ever been able to hold a conversation with; the only people who will tolerate who I am and the things I do. And eventually, I’ll push them away. I always do. I did it with Elizabeth, and I’m doing it to Alex, now.

Maybe this is why I feel so lonely. I find myself with plenty of things to do to pass the time, but very little enjoyment in doing such things. It’s weird. I just have this tiny, miniscule hole somewhere and I didn’t know what it was until right now. It’s me. Feeling lonely. It’s my mind telling me that I need friends. I need companionship. I need someone other than Christopher to talk to about my life. I need someone who will support me and help me come up with new ideas and I need someone who will inspire me and I just

don’t

have that person anymore.

Maybe I never had that person to begin with. Maybe I’m destined to be friendless for the rest of my life, drowning in shallow puddles of friendships with people who will eventually move on to something greater than me or what I have to offer, like so many of my so-called friends are already doing. I feel like everyone around me is moving so fast onto better things and I’m just stuck in park (or, dare I say it, reverse). It’s a terrible feeling to have, to be nearing eighteen rotations around the sun and finally realizing that no one really cares about you and your business even a fraction as much as they care about theirs, if at all. Even the people who say they care, don’t really care. It’s easy to care in the moment and show concern or happiness or whatever emotion is appropriate, but when the sun goes down and comes back up, it’s a new day and the problems of other people are memories.

And that’s how I feel my “best friend” has regarded me and our general relationship for the past two years. I’m here when she has no one else to talk to. I’m just a brick wall that she can spout her problems to. And that’s only if she can’t find one of her other friends to talk to. She has so many. Even when we’re hanging one-on-one she’s talking to someone else. I’m just the entertainment. I’m just the cushion: the sponge. The one who soaks up all of her words and holds them in until she forgets about me and I squeeze them back out.

And she forgets about me a lot.

So where’s my sponge? Where’s the person who’s always readily available to listen to my woes? Who can I shamelessly, guiltlessly, recklessly abuse when it’s convenient for me? Who can I contact at any random hour of the day to tell them that I’m low on affection and I need someone to tell me that I’m worth something? Who can I call when no one else is listening? Who’s the person who I know will always listen to everything I say, no matter what it is or when it is, whenever I actually feel bothered to talk to them?

I guess sponges don’t get their own sub-species of sponge.

I guess I’m just destined to be her sponge until she finally gets rid of me for good.

my life.

I’ve stopped taking my medication.

Even when I tell myself that I’m going to take it, I stop short. I haven’t taken it in over a week, and Christopher has stopped reminding me to.

If I’m honest, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I don’t feel any worse not taking it. It seemed to be doing wonders before. I just can’t bring myself to swallow that little white pill, and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s the fact that I rely on chemicals to make me feel normal and stable.

Other than that, the second semester of senior year is going by very quickly. Only about 100 more days until I graduate. About 60 days of actual school left. It’s scary. I haven’t even applied to college yet or filled out the FAFSA. It seems like everyone I know has already been accepted to the college of their dreams and they’re out buying decorative lamps and paintings for their dorms. I’m here. The one who’s going to community college. The one who’s in more AP classes than most other seniors, and yet the one who’s going to a crappy local com college.

This is the life.

my life, as of late.

It’s the end of the first semester. My senior year, thus far, hasn’t been the hell I’ve imagined years previous, but as I begin to think about all of the things I’ve accomplished so far, it’s difficult to pluck out even just one particularly significant event.

Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe I don’t need just one significant event. Or two. Or three. Or fifty. Maybe it’s all supposed to add up to something significant. All of the pain I keep going over is simply what I had to endure to get to this point.

And what is this point? More pain? More confusion than ever? It seems the more I attempt to figure things out, the more hazy it all is.

Valentine’s Day is approaching, and my boyfriend, Christopher, is planning on staying the long weekend with me. The more we talk about the things we’re going to do, the more nervous I become. The more scared I am of rejection. Even when he treats me like a queen, I just can’t see it. I can’t see how I could possibly be desirable. Somehow he’s able to see past all of my melodrama and my far-from-perfect figure and just love me as me. It’s crazy, unfathomable to me.

Absolutely insane.

As Spring approaches I find myself wanting more and more to get outside and do something - run, bike, longboard, walk, et cetera. My younger sister and I went to our local park by the river yesterday and counted the dead fish that had washed up on the shore. We lost track after something like 12. Hopefully I stick to this regimen of getting out and doing something other than sitting on my bed watching Jeffree Star makeup tutorials.

Until next time.

college and what it all means

Last week, my father and I were driving down the road and suddenly, I thought I had figured everything out. I turned to him, and I said, “I think I’ve decided.”

His eyes were fixed on the road, but he glanced at me. “What’s that?”

“I think I’m going to stay here for two years and go to school at CBC.”

And at the time, it really did seem like the option I wanted to choose. At the time, it seemed like I had really figured everything out, at last. Like all of the years I spent agonizing over my choices and the decisions I needed to make and the plans I needed to formulate had finally come to an end, and I could wholeheartedly approach the future without the worries that had been haunting me since I entered high school.

And yet here I am, a week later, thinking over this so-called decision I’ve made, unsure if this is the future I want to approach. Unsure if there’s any possible future I’d entirely want to pursue one-hundred percent. And as I think about it, I really don’t think there is. And that scares me. That scares the thirteen year-old girl who wanted to be an astronaut. The fifteen year-old me who was determined to join the airforce to fly jets. The sixteen year-old girl who wanted to change the world, one environmental restoration project at a time.

It scares me. It scares all versions of me.

I don’t know if there will ever be a time in my life when all of these problems suddenly go away. Maybe that’s what life is: a constant struggle to figure everything you think you need to figure out. Maybe life would be a whole lot easier if everyone realized that you can’t figure everything out.

You simply can’t.

The year is closing, and so I begin to run over all of the little details that shaped it. The first thing that comes to mind is meeting Christopher, my boyfriend. As someone who's known for being quite shy, making such fast friends with him really came as a shock. What was even more shocking was that he asked me to be his girlfriend only after three months of knowing me - and even then, he really didn't know me. Nearly ten months later, and here we are. Two people who probably shouldn't be in love, in love anyway. Two people who honestly don't know what they're going to do with their lives, already planning for a future together that's simply too far out of reach to even see (even with my glasses). It's silly, but I really do think it's going to happen. All of the things we've planned for each other. The only thing that worries me is we might be planning too much for each other, and not enough for ourselves. I haven't mentioned it to Chris, and I'm not sure if I ever will.

2015 isn't necessarily on my list of greatest years, but I'd like to think it's up there. As far as writing goes, this very well may be my most inactive year. I haven't updated my online novel in over five months, and I haven't come close to finishing any other projects that I've pursued. Writing has come to a lull, and for some reason, it's much harder to pick up now than it's ever been before. I keep telling myself that if I just keep at it, it'll begin to come naturally. But I don't think the problem is my ability to write. I write fine. I think it's just that I'm unmotivated. Things that interested me before don't really seem to have the same luster. I've picked up a few new things, of course, but things like writing and reading and school just seem like hindrances. Nevertheless, I am persistent. I continue to write even on days when it seems least appealing; at least I try to. I've been working on a short thriller novel, which is outside of my usual genre. It includes ghosts and murder and all of that good stuff.

( + )

So, 2015. Not a great year in terms of writing. Here's to 2016 being a little bit more inspired.

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Zoë. 19. Just trying to figure things out.

Page generated Aug. 27th, 2026 07:35 am

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