In 8 days, I will be 18 years old.


I don't want to think about it. Any thoughts are of, of course, disappointment. Isn't it? Why else would I be back on this site, blogging anything at all?

There's a video I think you should watch, if you have the time. I assume you, as the reader, have time if you're going to read my (like usual) lengthy blog. But it's a poem, by a very great slam poet. My senior English teacher showed it to the class and I secretly could relate to it a lot. Is that cliche? I hope not. Here it is:

His voice and narration is quite strong and practiced.


Anyway, all that my 18th birthday reminds me of is of failure and my mother. Last Christmas (2 am on Christmas Eve, actually, 2012) my mother tried to kick me out of the house. She just exploded out of nowhere. I tried to leave at least for the night, but my dad took my keys and forced me in the garage as he tried to dissolve the fight.

It didn't work. She threatened to divorce him. They've been married for 26 years, happily. And she threatened divorce over me. And I spent the morning of Christmas Eve sleeping in the cold car with no idea what tomorrow holds.

I was able to get into the house. But we can't talk, my mother and I. We have nothing to say to each other. I can't stand her. She can't stand me. I think she's a selfish, spoiled, hypocritical and cruel witch. We both mutually hope one or another will keel over, dead.

But since that episode, my depression has returned. Time and time again, it's been haunting me. Especially at night when I try to sleep.

It's not really something I can help. I used to be able to tame it with cigarettes (which I haven't smoked since I quit cold turkey 3 months ago), yoga, diets, meditation. But I can't fight it this time. Nothing I do will help. And it hurts. It hurts a lot.

I've been trying to get a job; that's one of the things my mom was all pissy about, how I use so much water and can't pay for my phone bill or anything and just eat all the food. But I've been trying, really. And as a vegetarian, I couldn't do McDonald's or Burger King without daily vomitting by the local stench (no joke, not trying to act like a stuck up princess, I just really can't take it.) I've been applying and calling everywhere. Almost got a job at American Eagle (she never called me back about promised orientation). And with every rejection, I lose more and more confidence. It just kills.

I don't know why I'm so unlucky. I have 80+ hours of volunteer work and 2 months of full time experience. I'm polite, kind, dedicated, punctual, well-dressed, enthusiastic. I have to apply to 30 places before one can offer an interview. Yet my friends go around, job-hopping and getting jobs on their first or second application.

It's so frustrating that I'm so close to breaking over it. I know that's a ridiculous thing to crack over. But I can't keep my head up. I can't. I don't really let it show that it bothers me so much, so it bottles up until the sorrow eventually wells over into one big flood of shit.

But I don't want to do anything now. I just want to lay in bed and take constant doses of Nyquil each day, sleep and sleep and sleep and sometimes eat. And smoke. I want to smoke so badly.

I'm supposed to quit permamently, before cigarettes can wedge their nicotine deep into my adulthood. And I was scared initially after going cold turkey that on my 18th birthday, I would splurge on cigarettes. Now, the fear's even larger because of how important my cravings have been lately. I'm not that strong sometimes.

I saved up a bunch of extra cash, too. Cash from birthdays, Christmas, pawning off some of my stuff. I wanted to treat myself on my 18th. Get a piercing or get a tattoo. Get concert tickets (Volbeat's coming to town on my birthday). Go to a club or nice lingerie shop.

But all that cash is gone. On gas.

I told myself that I would get a job in time and replenish my stash of cash, save up. And now it's too late.

And one of the reasons my mother gave in to letting me back in the house was that fact that I was 17. It's technically illegal for her to kick me out without some court form of emancipation. Now I'm frightened to death that she'll kick my ass out on the street on my birthday. Merciless.

She's so twisted. The way that she blames the sexual molestation on me. I'm so sick of her warping mindset. I'm so sick of her negativity. Her detective soap operas. Her whiny voice. Her trashy gossip shows. Her lack of cooperation. Her laziness.

We both wish each other dead. That's no secret, and it's a mutual thing. But really, when it comes down to it,


I don't want to think about my birthday.



I've started dating someone. 19, in medical field, similar interests. He's not my type physical style-wise and he's very stubborn and sometimes close-minded. But he's smart. And has practical intelligence. And he's not afraid to be different. If I were "husband hunting" right now, then yeah, he'd be a smart choice. At lot of girls in this town marry young and never leave.

But I want to be more than that. I don't know if I ever want to marry. If I do, it'll be very exclusive. Special. Doesn't matter if it's a man or woman, it's the soul-connection. But I don't believe that that romantic mush will ever happen to me.

I think he wants to settle down with me, though. Maybe. Think he's kind of hoping I'll ditch the out of state/out of city colleges I applied for and go to the college in town (it's a good university, actually. I'm just not interested.)

That's the problem. I'm not here for the long run.

Also, my heart is very distant. It's like I'm incapable of having strong feelings for another human being. He likes me much more than I like him and that makes me a little sad sometimes.

But it's worth it for now I suppose.



When I was a littler girl at 11 and 12, I was first experiencing depression. Now, my father tells me that I had "angry anti-social" behaviors at a very early age (like 4)-but I don't think that's true. He says that at that early age, I threatened to cut my mom up with a knife? I don't remember that at all or want to remember at least. I did angrily threaten my mom in my 11 and 12 year old stage, because I was so mentally angry, distraught, and destroyed. That was when the abuse was going on, too. So I guess I wouldn't blame myself so much if I acted crazily towards my mother. But at age 4? That's not right.


Anyway, in my first years of depression, I thought about suicide a lot. Death. Always. I did self injure, but it was very "piddly." Little pencil hole pokes into my wrist. Paper clip scratches on the top surface. Chemical intake. That's it.

But I always thought "I'm not going to make it to my next birthday." To my next birthday. To the start of the school year. To the next holiday. To the 8th grade. I didn't really plan much for the future because I assumed that I would end up doing it-I would end up killing myself before that unanticipated event came.

Of course, I never went through. And those feelings went away. Depression did weave in and out, back through the years, but suicide didn't hit as hard in my head as it did in those days.

However, in similarity, I feel like some of those feelings have returned. That previous mindset…is almost how I feel about my 18th birthday right now.

I'm just such at a lowpoint right now that I can't find any more strength to carry on. Rejection after rejection breeds hesitance. It sucks the confidence, strength, and motivation right out of you.

What one really needs is at least one sign of hope. Even if it's static, random, a variable-ratio response. And I've gotten at least that, with the two interviews I've managed.

I mean, two is a pretty crappily low amount for the number of applications I've put out. But it's better than 0. Show's me at least I have a chance…even if it's a very small chance.


Living, right now, hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts my stomach, hurts my chest, hurts my head. I'm getting wrung out, but. I'm still here, so I guess it doesn't matter.

SoSgirl is still here.


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