butterbuns: (¤DoC¤ NP/DOC)
I've never been particularly good at friendships. At relationships. At people. I have a hard time being around folks who don't know me incredibly well (and these days there aren't many of those,) and having anything but inane conversations. The banal topics of the weather, and what was watched on TV the night before are my common go-tos, when I absolutely have to talk about something other than work.

I let people slip away, because it's easier. Usually. The thought that I could reach out is there, always, in the back of my mind, but the rest of it is taken over with the thought that while I could do that, if I don't, it doesn't give anyone further chance to hurt me. I've made some terrible friendship choices, somehow I always end up with the people who have no qualms about stabbing their friends in the back. So I don't reach out anymore.

These days though, there's this part of me, deep, deep down that's tired of it. Tired of being the person who people only come to when they have a problem. Tired of sitting home alone, bored and kinda lonely. I pretend that I'm fine with it, and that works, because it's easy. Easier than putting myself out there for more rejection, at least.

But I got this text the other day, from someone who I'm not even that close to, after posting on Facebook that I wasn't feeling well, telling me that I wasn't "allowed to be sick, and stop falling apart, dammit." And it brought a smile to my face, not because the thought of someone demanding my body behave was funny, or even a happy thought, but because someone sent me that text at all. She followed it up with an "I miss you" which actually made me cry, and wonder if maybe I was writing people off who I shouldn't be, even those who I wasn't that close to.

It makes me want to put myself out there, to try and re-find a good group of friends, maybe even a relationship, as lulzy as that thought is for anyone who knows me.

And what I hate to say, what I have a hard time admitting even to myself is...

I'm so afraid.



Post written for week 2 of [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol
butterbuns: (¤House¤ Elfin)
There are no two words in the English language, or any other that I speak, in which I remotely enjoy the words "I'm sorry." Those words make me cringe, because how often are they really meant? How often is the feeling behind them actually apologetic or sincere? How often are they just the words people grasp for when they have nothing else to say?

I'd rather hear silence.

My hatred of these words began when I was twelve. The scariest day of my life when my family basically, completely and utterly fell apart. The day my life changed, and nothing will ever fix the crack that started that day. Nothing will ever make things better, nothing will ever be able to make my heart feel whole again.

When I was twelve, my grandmother died on our driveway. The panic, the tears, the being sent to a friends while my parents went to the hospital with her. It wasn't fair. I wanted to be there too, why should I have to sit and wait, find out after everyone else? But there was nothing to find out. My mom said she'd be fine, so she was going to be completely okay, nevermind the fact that it was Feburary, no one knew how long she'd been lying there after her heart attack and she wasn't breathing for god knows how long.

My mom lied.

Three hours later when my mom finally came to get me, as soon as I saw her face, I knew. I knew she was gone. The woman who had been more of my mother than my real mother, taken away in the blink of an eye for absolutely no reason.

So when my mom tried to hug me, and the words I'm sorry came out of her mouth, I ran. Shoved my feet into my boots and bolted home, only to slam into my father who instantly grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me and muttering the words "I'm sorry" over and over.

I'm sorry? What did that even mean? There was nothing to be sorry FOR. It's not like he'd done anything wrong, and it certainly wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that it was going to be okay. I wanted to know that it was okay, just some terribly cruel joke my parents thought it would be funny.

It wasn't.

Going back to school two days later, because I couldn't stay home anymore, having already missed about three weeks thanks to a teachers strike that was going on, people who heard what happened kept coming up and saying they were sorry. People who never even met her. There was a part of me that just wanted to shake them and ask WHY they were sorry, they hadn't done anything. I would have rather someone a "Shit, that sucks" or a "Man, that's terrible, anything I can do?" To this day, I'd rather have an honest response like that, than an "I'm sorry." Even a bad joke. Like when my cat died, and my mom kept stroking my hair. The best comment anyone made that day? The only thing to make me laugh? "Maybe she's doing it because she doesn't have a cat to pet anymore." Granted, I acted angry, because it seemed like the appropriate response, and I regret it. Because I did laugh.

I'm so sick of "appropriate responses."

To this day, the only people I want to hear the words "I'm sorry" from are my parents. Because that day? That day they began to fail as parents and as a couple. She was the glue that held them together, and without her they refused to even try to pretend. They are the only people I want an "I'm sorry" from, for making me scared of ever being in a relationship, for having a disfunctional teenage-hood, and for never being able to get along, yet refusing to be apart.

But only if it's not empty words.

The words I'm sorry just make me shake my head and wonder why, when people haven't even done anything to be sorry for.

I hate that the words have become and empty gesture, and that I'm just as guilty of saying it because it's become the expected answer when someone goes through tragedy, or has a problem.

And it shouldn't be.
butterbuns: (¤Who¤ Skipping)
Okay, since I apparently need a reason to make myself post, I'm participating in [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol this round.

I've been reading LJ, but apart from the occasional comment (and wank), I haven't really been saying a whole lot, sorry guys! I am reading your entries!

Life's just been...well, life. Crazy. And now, especially now that Gill and I are talking again, everything feels sort of zen. Until, y'know, I look at my pile of homework. Then everything goes to hell again.

Stupid college.

But anyway, back to the point, right. Yeah, LJ Idol.

My LJ's mostly F/O, clearly, but these entries will be public, at least for now, possibly F/Oing them after, just to keep things neat and clean.

So.

GOOD MORNING CLASS.

I'm Saskia, I live in Ontario, Canada where I'm in my third year of college. Yay for jumping around between programs. I was born in Germany almost 20 years ago, in Baden-Baden (points to anyone who can figure out what that means XD), and moved on Quebec when I was 2 and a half. Six months after my eighth birthday my family moved out to Alberta, and another six years later moved to Ontario. Ottawa, le capital to be specific.

No RL stalking, or I'll have to sic rabid zombies on you, and I don't think anyone would appreciate that one.

This is my first year participating in LJ Idol, sheerly for the fact that life blows, and I've always been too busy to do it before.

Y'all might not like me and might think I'm a massive bitch, but you know what? That's okay. Because honestly? I am. It's a fact that I've come to accept about myself (and as I've grown older realized really just how alike my mother and I are, oh god), and well, if you don't like it, I can't do anything about that, but I'm not one to censor myself often.

So, uh, guess that's all the important jazz.

Ta!

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