I wrote this letter at the beginning of 2008, on a word document labeled "don't open until 2009. I figured it's close enough, considering it's the last day of 2008. here it is: OMG, IT'S NOT WORKING. WHAT?! Okay, there it goes lol. [I made it a printscreen picture, so just click on the picture to view it bigger, it's still kind of hard to read then, but you can do it [i believe in you]
omg. this is so insane for me to read, i like the line "I hope that you haven’t screwed up too much when you read this."
This is too weird. okay, so those new years resolutions, weren't exactly pulled through with. Well, I did some of them: I'm more outgoing than I used to be [aka, less shy], I'm less judgemental than I used to be and I am working harder in school. So that's good for something right? Now I have to decide on this year's new year's resolutions.
More.. Active Optimistic Less.. dependent on people, for my happiness, for everything. holding my tongue about things.
-TRY and keep my room cleaner
alright, that's it for now. Ill probably add more later.
Byeee.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
okay, i shouldnt have flipped out so fast. i just got a text message that fixed things.
Well, my mom isnt going to let me spend the night out, because she's paranoid, and i'm still not breathing perfect.
So i cant go to kate's sleepover :[
but she said i could have one person over, which would be one of my best friends, easily, but they'll all be at kates, which is fine, i understand.
I asked antonio, and he said it was fine, his dad okayed him coming over too. But then his mom randomly comes to his dads, being a bitch and picks him up. So we thought he was going to have to spend new years with her, but he convinced her otherwise.
Happy freaking new year. I thought everything was coming together, as this new year comes crawling in. But I was wrong, everything is falling apart.
Mistakes and problems have the snowballing effect.
If it wasn't bad enough that I've been trapped by sickness inside this house for over half a week, but now I'll be stuck here on new years. I had a moment of hope that I wouldn't be alone, but don't worry, that hope was soon crushed too.
I'll be spending my so-called happy new year, smugly watching the ball drop, alone on the floor in my mom's bedroom while my brother and his fiance get half drunk watching the georgia tech game in the living room my mom is out partying. and everyone else is at least with someone else. Not alone.
If this is happy new year? than I can't WAIT to see what oh so joyful surprises this year holds. I'll say that things couldn't get any worse, but I doubt that, I've got an entire year in front of me, with this wonderful opening act, I'm sure things will be just great, right? good omen.
Smile big, girl, everyone's staring. Slap on that fake grin, and act uncaring. if the pain is hidden then no one can tell. if the hurt is behind doors then no one sees hell.
the longer you hide it, the easier it feels the further you enclose it, the less it can heal. there's no chance when you say it doesn't exist. there's no hope when it's held there tight in your fist.
Pretending things are fine can be easier than it appears. When lying to friends seems the tiniest fear. They don't understand and couldn't help you. They wouldn't say anything, if only they knew.
So just slap on that fake grin, and smile big, girl. Never feeling more alone, in the whole entire world.
i dont really remember why i felt like that or anything, but there it is.
All these things we said. All the countless sweet nothings. Did you really believe them? That things could be so perfect. Did you think the words you said, would make things better? That lies could cover up the hurt. All the pain underneath. All the silent cries. Did you pretend you couldn't see me falling apart? That if you ignored them, they'd disappear. Did you get so used to the cries, that they became white noise? That maybe things would just become right. All this pain. All the hurt you caused me. All those night, the nights spent crying over you. Crying over someone who didn't give a damn. You never gave a damn. I guess that's what hurts the most. When the one you love most, could care less. Could you care any less?
Okay.
Here's the long version of my adventure yesterday.
I can't leave my house because of it, and I'm so bored, you might say "Allison, why don't you just go sleep?" and I would, but laying down makes it harder to breathe.
So I'm just gonna sit here, and tell you my story...
So the last night I was at my grandparents house, I started to feel sickish, and it was very annoying, but I dealt with it, and sucked it up over a restless night.
Then I came home on Friday, and was feeling pretty crappy, but when I started to feel better, I decided to go to Rachael's, and besides, I had a date that night.
So the date went well, we saw Despereaux, which turned out be probably the worst children's movie ever.
Okay, I'm exaggerating, but still, it had a confusing plot, and this princess was almost eaten alive by rats.
Pretty creepy.
Either way, it was a great date and made me very happy.
Of course, he was guaranteed to get sick, but was willing to take the risk, and I wasn't going to stop him.
So I wake up on Saturday morning [yesterday], feeling pretty sickly. My asthma was acting up, but the Primatine Mist OTC inhaler seemed to be doing its job. By five o'clock I was feeling a little better, and so i assured my mother it was okay for her to go out to her friend's party out a couple hours away.
Around 8ish my asthma started acting up and the inhaler wasn't helping. I went to go take a shower, because the steam usually helps clear up my wheezing, but it didn’t. So I freaked out. The thing is, I have stress-induced asthma, so when I start to freak out, it only makes it worse. I had to hold back tears, because if I even started crying a little, my throat closed up and I literally couldn't breathe at all.
I called my mom, from the bathtub, [which is probably why my nine button on my phone is so funky working now] near tears. I thought I was going to pass out in that very tub, and die.
Especially because I was home alone.
She told me to calm down because stressing out wasn't helping the situation. I started yelling at her, saying she didn't care.
I was so mad, because she was two or three counties over, hanging out with her friends, while I was worrying about my life.
She told me that she had already drank 2 glasses of wine so she’d have to go to sleep for a couple of hours so the alcohol could wear off. [A baby can hold alco better than my mom]
I held out until 10 o’clock, sitting in front of the TV, not really watching it, and not sleeping either because if I layed down I could barely breathe.
At around 10 I called my mom and told her that I couldn’t hold out any longer, and she called Zach [who by the way, was down the hall with his friend Spencer] and told him what was up.
Zach and spencer drove me to the hospital and the fog was so horrible you couldn’t even see the other side of the road. I thought, “This is it Allison, we’re going to crash, right here, and it’ll be all your fault”
I was so relieved when I saw the brightly lit hospital signs up ahead. We walked into the ER and thankfully didn’t have to wait at all. Moments later Zach was signing things, and some nurseman was asking me questions I didn’t know the answers to, and it was all such a blur.
I was so out of it, the only question I remembered him asking was “when was your last menstrual cycle?” He asked it with Zach standing right there, awkward as ever. He checked my heart-rate with that pinching inflating arm thing, and my temperature also. Thank goodness, no fever.
They sent us to Examination room sixteen, where I was told it would only be a couple and that I needed to put a hospital gown on. Which meant the only thing separating me from the outside world was this open-backed paper-thin gown. Thank goodness, I got to keep my pants on with it though.
In what seemed like forever, someone finally came in besides the impatient lady trying to get insurance information that Zach and I didn’t know.
I got some heart-rate monitor strapped to my finger and was soon receiving some respiratory treatment, where I basically sucked on this inhaler thing with white steam coming out of it, attached to a machine.
I did half the treatment and it made me so jittery I was shaking. The guy told me we couldn’t do the other half till my heart-rate calmed down because it was at 160, which is apparently high or something, but I had no clue.
He said he would return in 15, which ended up being 45, while Zach and I pondered what all the gadgets were supposed to do, and he attempted to make me laugh to distract me from the fact that the treatment didn’t help at all.
When the man returned, we did the other half of the medicine, which led to more shaking Allison, and no relief from my labored breathing.
He left for yet another 30 minutes.
When he returned, he came in holding an oxygen mask, which shared the living daylights out of me.
He made me breathe through it for 20 minute increments, while I breathed in medicine which made my face tingle and lips chap like never before.
Nothing was helping and my mother still hadn’t arrived.
Spencer’s mother came and picked him up from the waiting room, the poor guy. He was asleep on the couch in our house when Zach awoke him to drag him to the hospital with us at a crazy hour.
Some lady handed me a couple of pills to swallow and I didn’t even hear her tell me what they were, but I took them anyways because I was too exhausted to inquire.
Then after the 2nd mask treatment, a man came in and asked me if I had taken a urine something [I didn’t hear the 2nd word]. I thought he said something about an ear, so like an idiot, I asked what that was. Zach cleared it up, “Allison, it’s when they make you pee in a cup.” Lovely I thought, just lovely.
I went down the hall, with half the cord that monitored me, still taped around my fingertip, and it was amazing I didn’t pee on it.
I go into the bathroom to pee in this little container that took me 5 minutes to figure out how to open.
When I returned, he told me to lay the container, full of my piss, on the counter. It sat there for the rest of the night, a blatant symbol of how when you are in the hospital, nothing is awkward anymore, you just do what they say.
After the third mask treatment [which I might add, didn’t help at all either], some man came in with a giant machine, telling me he had to x-ray my chest. Zach freaked out and decided to leave the room, even though, as it turns out, they didn’t have to take of the gown, all that they had to do was put this icy black slab of metal behind my back. I guess I was feeling darkly humored, so I said cheese when he flashed the light. Ha.
I did the fourth mask treatment, in which the man put 2 entire baggie things of this medicinal goo. It finally helped. He left for an hour while I watched my third episode of Allstar kitchen makeover on the cooking channel from a 7 inch tv screen in the corner of the little room, near the ceiling, while my brother slept across the chairs in the room [2 plastic ones, and a rolling chair]. Poor guy.
When the man returned [for the last time thankfully]. He checked my breathing and such and said I could be released, finally. He went to go fill out all these prescriptions for thirty minutes. And just before he returned, to her motherly rescue, my mom showed up.
Just in time…not.
Zach stumbled out and went home while my mother and I waited for another 20some minutes.
She kept apologizing, and I told her to shush cause I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
My mom was so tired on the way home, I was afraid she was going to crash, so halfway home I took her arm and pinched the hell out of it.
It worked, with a side effect of a pissy mom.
We made it home and fell asleep within minutes; I didn’t even take my contacts out or anything.
This morning we woke up and had to go to the Publix pharmacy to get all my medicines to make me better.
I’m on 2 different pills.
One every six hours, and the other, 4 throughout the day and 2 when I’m going to sleep.
Plus some weird inhaler.
Aka, I’m all drugged up.
While we waited for the prescriptions, my mother and I wandered around publix and looked at literally every flavor of ice cream to distract me from the wheezing.
Did you know they have a caramelized pear and pecan ice cream? I bet you didn’t.
We got the medicines and came home, where I had to take 4 pills, at least for now, there are more later today.
And here I am.
Oh and I wanted to say thank you, to my mom, for at least attempting to show up, and also canceling her trip to Virginia [which I wish she wouldn’t]
And Zach, for stepping up to the plate and being the best big brother ever. I owe you for sure.
Thank you, if you actually read the entire thing.
Oh and thank you for the commemorative photo Zach.
I'm sick, and it sucks. Cough cough, wheeze, cough.
It's two days after my favorite holiday that turned out to be somewhat of a letdown. I get so excited over the smallest things, but this year, no one seemed to share my excitement. I love Christmas because it just feels all warm and fuzzy to me. I remember waking up at five in the morning, as a little 5 year old, and having to wait till everyone else woke up, so I could run downstairs see what Santa left for me, as an innocent child, who knew little wrong in the world. I know I seem to blame a lot of things on my parents divorce, but I can't help it. I also know that so many people have parents that have gotten divorced, so I'm not trying to set myself apart and say no one shares the same pain as me. But pain is different for everyone, but my pain is missing how much of a family we used to be, and hating how little of a family we have become. We used to be the essence of the Brady bunch, in real world form, and now, as Christmas rolled around, we gathered by the tree at my grandparents home, with not much more than half-forced smiles on our faces. I tried to bring up the spirit, and plastered on silly reindeer ears, at a pathetic attempt to save what was becoming the first quiet Christmas, beginning what I know will lead to many more silent days. We are all growing old, and though many don't notice, or choose to ignore it, it's still happening. As we grow older, it seems as we are growing apart, rather than growing more intertwined. Maybe that's why I desperately try so hard to hold onto what little we have left, the little things that are holding us together. The little things, that still make me smile. I feel this way more than ever, as the new year rolls around, a closing to another great year, but what is also another great year, that it will never be again. I need lessons in optimism.
Although I'll be missing the past year, it somewhat excites me, that I have an entire unwritten year sitting in front of me. It's almost scary. Nothing is planned. There are no restraints to what may happen. Nothing's holding me back. And I can take this time to rediscover myself, Pretending that I've never met Allison.
"The best part of "Believe" is the "Lie", I hope you sing along and you steal a line I need to keep you like this in my mind So give in or just give up"
I had actually forgotten i had started this blog, like a 2 weeks ago, but here I am, feeling the need to pour these words out of my head and onto the page, so they stop driving me mad.
My dad's coming to visit tomorrow, which basically means that I have to go into crazy cleaning mode, so he doesn't yell at my mom. It's really strange how adults can act more childish than kids themselves. Adults, you've already gone through your childish stage, time to be a grown-up. Jeez.
So today I'm going to redo the purple in my hair so this gosh darn awful shade of silvery blond can be gone and forgotten.
My room has returned to its natural state of complete chaos.
When I woke up this morning, I felt the sudden need to type a note on my phone: "Sometimes it feels like you're all alone in a sea of jubilation. You want to smile but have forgotten how. The tears come, once again. You hurt."
I got a text message earlier today that read: "Is it a sin to fall asleep in church?" Should it matter if it's a sin or not? Do you think ANYONE wants you to fall asleep while they are talking to you? What makes it different if it's someone speaking to you about God? If it's not specifically listed as a sin, people seem to think its okay, or find loopholes to explain their actions to themselves so they don't feel bad.
Everyday we force ourselves to get out of the cozy bed and prepare ourselves for a day of failing once again. Its inevitable, this truth. And what force tells us to arise from the comfort of our covers? [In my case, it's my mother], but no, I mean a force bigger than that. You could easily disregard the alarm [or the mother], and suffer the consequences, but no, you don't. As humans, we have a desire to live. A desire to succeed. Whether we end up fufilling this dream or not.. We continue to cry, Don't ever call someone a quitter again. They got out of bed that morning, didn't they? They haven't quit yet.
