Grammar Nazi
 

You know what bugs me? O_e When people don't use the term "CC" right. "Please comment and CC!" Um...you're using "CC" as a verb...it's not a verb. "I want lots of CCs!" ...Well, that's almost right, since you're using it as a noun. But "CC" means "constrictive criticism." By asking for "CCs," you're asking for "constructive criticisms." That's....not correct. I hate to be a Grammar Nazi, but, this is a writing website. People should be able to ask for constrictive criticism without sounding strange. o_0

Please comment and CC = Please comment and Constructively Criticize.

Yeah, that was the point (AL) Yeah, just ignore that rant. My mom and I decided to wait a week, and see how things go... and If Mrs. Abraham doesn't work out, I will tell my mom, she'll talk to her, and if things still don't go well on the second week, my mom and I will talk to Mr. Aberforth (False name), the principal, and see if I can transfer to a different gym class.

I never even thought of that but haha it makes total sense :D

Or 'criticise' xD As I'd type it.

Same thing. Here in 'Merica it's criticize. :P

Same thing happened for me and DR with someone at our school. In our case we waited a bit too long because of some confusion about her parents, and the teachers found out at the same time as half our year. Try to find out if she is still cutting, and if any adults know about it. If she is still cutting and no adults know, and you're both part of a club, or go to school together, then maybe tell an adult that you both know and trust, like counsellor or a teacher, or get them to do it themselves. I don't know what kind of services you have in the US, but if there is one then it'd be a good idea to have her call an anonymous advice line.

That's what I was gonna say. XD

It's actually constructive criticism. I was in the big Alison/Arin fight and I got sick of saying constructive criticism over and over and over, so I just shortened it to CC.

I'm so, so sad right now, I'm just sitting at the computer, listening to music and crying.
Why do you do this to me? It's like you want to drag me into Wonderland with you, where I can live forever without knowing what is real.

Dx
*Hugs*
*Unhelpful post is unhelpful*

So.

This was my first school dance.

And the best part was the goldfish?

I don't really know what I thought about it.

The music was too cussing loud for me to think.

At all.

That was pointless.

And stupid.

And kind of fun.

But not really.

Le end of rant.

Ran 1 mile today, but really tired.

I have headphones on, loud music blasting through them, writing my story. These are the few moments I feel really, really, really happy.

Plus, my sister and I are going to play Slender at night today.

I feel the same way.

Depressed.
Headphones in.
Volume up.
Block out the world.

Ugh... okay, here goes...

My mom. We're locked in a perpetual arguement that's been going on since I was eleven.
Our personalities conflict massively. I am water, she is fire (actually, I'm earth, but this makes a better metaphor), she is the popular girl, I am the quiet kid, I am the one who just wants to mind my own business and she is the one who has to have everything her way. She rages at the stupidest things, she plays stupid mind games, she does stuff JUST because she knows it really bothers me...

She keeps telling me I'm fading away. She told me that I had gaunt, for god's sake. Who tells their kid something like that? Her exaggeration is atrocious! A normal-sized bowl becomes "teeny weeny tiny" if I've eaten out of it. A good portion of food becomes "a crumb" if I've eaten it. Something becomes "tiny and nice" if I'm wearing it. A number is too small if it's my weight. A BMI is too small if it's mine. There's never, ever enough food, as long as that food is for me. A figure becomes "muscular and tiny (if that combo is even possible)," but only if it's mine--if it's anyone else's, it's fat and curveless.

Mom, I don't understand why you have to keep screwing my mind, over and over--there's really no other word for it. You're screwing it, leaving me in insecure shreds. You don't realize that your chronic lying is making me instable, fearful, and panicked--you don't understand how I see you as a parent. I don't act like it, but your word is my Bible. Your actions are my guidelines. Your feelings are my sky. I'm still your little four-year-old because you've managed to keep me pressed beneath your thumb for so long. Every stupid white lie that comes out of your mouth, I see through, and it's worse than if you had told the truth.
No...
I NEED the truth. I need you to tell me that my face is unaesthetic and lumpy, because it is. I need you to tell me that my body is unaesthetic, lacking curves, with shoulders that are too broad for a girl and hips that are too narrow. I need you to tell me the truth, and nothing but the truth--one more lie from you, from anyone, and I feel like I'm going to break from the effort it takes to root through what you say to determine what to believe.
130lbs is big. I don't care how you put it. I look bigger than 130lbs. I don't care if I used to be 150 before all this started.
And I swear to God if someone describes my body as "Nordic," "muscular," or "big boned" I am going to snap. I know perfectly well that those are moronic excuses for you not wanting to say I'm fat, just like you, just like every other woman in this city.
Because of all the stupid threats you've given em about food, I can't... I can't LOOK at food and NOT feel scared and bad and guilty. "You will self-cannibalize if you don't eat this egg." "You will die of osteoporosis if you do not drink this milk." "You will starve if you do not eat this chocolate."
I know what you're doing. You're trying to assimilate me to yourself--you've been doing it since I was born. You never wanted to dye your hair blonde before I was born, and now you've GOT to have it my colour. Your personality has changed since mine has flourished--you're not party girl anymore. You've got to be the subtle, quietly-intelligent, "old soul" that you seem to have alluded yourself to believe that I am. You don't want to have your style anymore--you want MY style.
You want us to match. I find that disgusting and pretty damn scary.
Don't think that it's okay for you to want to make our weights match. I know that's what you want. You're sneaking stuff onto my plate, you're leaving things out that you know I'll eat, leaving triggering books about food in my room, playing games with my head.. but in the end all you ever achieve is this. Me. Blaming you. Again.

I didn't have to be messed up--I believe that it is not the child's fault until they have kids of their own. Because of the way you taught me to think, I don't want kids because I know that, subconsciously, I'm going to play the same guilt games with them and lie to them just like you do to me. You chose to make me like this--I am, after all, nothing more than your little doll, aren't I? I was created for you to dress me up and feed me and love me just so you have something to pour your immature, shallow emotions and instincts onto.
The only thing worse than being told the truth--that no, I'm NOT perfect, I'm a little below average-looking with a body that looks like s**t and a mind that disintegrated long ago, crashing and burning--is being lied to. Especially by the one that I'm supposed to trust.
Every day, I love you and then I hate you, unbelievably, indefinitely, HATE you.
I just wish you would tell the truth to me.
Just once.


Because I'm going to find out eventually.

(*hugs back*) (*is actually really angry right now, so it's an angry hug XD DX*)

You and me both...

(*turns up the thrash metal*)

>_>

You remind me of Salamanca's mother in Walk Two moons at one point.
That's bad D: I don't think I'll ever have that problem, though, since my parents are always honest and critical. Sometimes TOO critical, but that's beside the point.

~nods, listening to secondhand serenade~ depressing band..... ~turns up screamo~ Anger.......
Why must life be so confusing ;~~;

/turns up Nirvana and Three Days Grace and Lacuna Coil and Avenged Sevenfold

Works like zen.

Sandy: Do you think you could show your mom this? (or rewrite it with out the swearing if she is that kind of person)

I've never read that... what's it about? (*is interested because it's relevant to me*)

I wish my parents were like that... my dad is, for some reason, too "in awe" of me to treat me like he treats my brother, who isn't as academic or "talented" (=_= yeah right, I'm talented) as I am and he tends to lose his patience with him quicker, but my mom, god, I wish she was honest and critical of things that are actually REAL. I need to hear about my bad points, not stupid "gaunt" crap and "skinny" crap that she makes up to make me feel better--it only messed with my head.

I highly doubt that it would do anything. I've told her so, SO many times to stop--she's not one of those people, a my-way-or-the-highway, bossy, stubborn person who refuses to listen to others. She will do what she believes is clever, smart, whatever, even if it means her driving off a bridge into a minefield and no one will be able to talk her out of it. There's no point in repeating stuff I've tried desperately to tell her--there's just this massive communication rift between us. She sees me as the bad guy, like I'm doing stuff "on purpose," and she overthinks and twists everything I do so that somehow I'm "out to get her," while here I am, thinking this... :I The communication between us is atrocious. Her and ANYONE, really. With my dad, it's a different story though because we share so many personality traits--him and I don't even have to talk. He's come up to me after my mom has called me gaunt and sickly thin and told me with a lopsided grin, "Yeah, unm... you know she's just messing with you, right? None of that stuff is remotely true."
(*ultimate facepalm at my mom*)

OK, I'm not being discreet, but telling the truth. YOUR WRITING AND DRAWING IS FREAKING AWESOME YOU ARE DEFINITELY TALENTED.
The story won't be really relatable to you, I don't think, but it's sweet. Sal's mother Chanhassen, usually nicknamed Sugar, wants to find her cousin to tell her who she really is. At some point when she announced that she wanted to leave, she says she's rotten. Her husband refuses to say that. And she went, "Look, you won't even call me rotten!"

Then why does your dad not do anything?:eek::(:confused::mad:

Awww yeah, Nirvana, TDG, AS... yes.

I'm blasting my German metal that my family laughs at (although I'm pretty sure my dad secretly likes it a lot because he is the one who introduced me to it). I get teased soooo much for my music--ever since I stopped listening to pop and went off into my own style. =_= And then they get mad at me for listening to my headphones so much. And then my headphones get taken away. So now, I have $800 headphones that I don't even use because "I can't hear people while I listen to them." YOU DON'T SAY? I think that's the POINT? o_O
Ugh... just... ugh. I'm pretty much mad about everything right now. ._.

Like I said, he shares a lot of my personality traits... this means that he doesn't like the mother-daughter realtionship we have, nor does he understand it or believe that it will ever come to a resolve. And we don't really do stuff that we believe to be futile. -_-
In reality, he's helping a lot simply by NOT being like my mom. Me and him rely completely on rationality and logic until mom comes home in a spinning rage of emotional dependency and disorients us with her LACK of logic and ration to the point where we can't even see straight.

In short... he's scared. x_x

Ohhhhh, that make sense. Hey, do you wan't my email, cuz I'd be glad to give you it, because sometimes I don't come on WB/KP...

800 dollar headphones?! :O:O:O
German metal tis' awesome ^O^ I love german music. It sounds cool :D

Oh yeah? O_O Which bands do you like? :O (*is excited at the possibility of another person on this earth who likes this*)

I've seen your pictures on dA, and you don't look fat. No, you're not really skinny, but you seriously don't look fat or ugly or unattractive. Really.
And so what if you don't match the standard definition for beauty? Someone will think that you look better the way you are. And I weigh about ten pounds more than you, and I don't look fat.

I know how you feel about your mom, that happens to me a bit… Though not as bad. :/
You're not like your mom. You're much, much awesomer. And you are so bloody talented—in writing and art. I'm in awe of your drawings. Even your quick sketches make me wish I could draw that well.

Sandy has a dA? Mind if you tell me what if is? NEED TO SEE HER ART. NOW. /drool

Just looked at some of your drawings, Sandy, and you are the most amazing drawer I have ever seen (I like your Swine Flu one).

School. >_>
 

Big surprise. :P

Thus ends the third week of school for me. My math class, Algebra II, is still on review (which isn't really review for me… 'cause I only did half of Algebra I). After the third week. And despite me not finishing Algebra I? I still have, I think, one of the highest grades in the class. School in general just seems kind of… slow. Meh. And I wish there were advanced classes. And I'm not ahead in math because I haven't done geometry. Which annoys me greatly.
I tend to stay up kind of late finishing homework, despite not having much. So how badly would I fail if I actually had much homework, homework that was difficult? And because of that I haven't been reading or writing much.
Meh. I'm angsty and I wish I went to a better school. Mehhhh.
fml
/sitsincorneroffailness
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5...evt4o1_400.gif

And it's a week into September… Time Y THE HELL U FLY BY SO EFFING FAST?

Anothercompetitioncomingbythisafternoonandmyspeedi sgoingslowinsteadofquickidon'twantogoooooooooo.

It's okay, Sandy, Robin had a terrible childhood too.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8pEzi1E5Og

Lost. :( Well... kind of. I'm better now. :)