Warning: Cathartic Rant

I am seventeen years old. I admit that, when not in a crisis situation, I do not act my age. That does not mean you have the permission or the right, to speak to me as though I am twelve. I try so hard to judge people by their intentions, instead of actions, but eventually I cannot fight the urge to ignore the reason of others. The first time you spoke down to me, it hurt, but the next day I forgot of such. Then it happened again and again. There are but sixteen days left, and yet you make me want to skip them all, to avoid you and everyone else treating me as though I’m inferior to everyone. I already feel in the way, left out and like a perpetual hindrance. I’m not going to hunt your down, so in person I may list my many social faults to you, or my insecurities, to try and make you understand how much you ‘hurt’ me. Nor can I guarantee that, if you do it again, I won’t finally voice my opinion of how you treat me. First, you bitch at my friend as she raged, as though feelings are controllable and something to punish other for. Now, I cannot try and look out for a friend.


Fine. I will sulk, avoid you, and curse like a little twelve year old who has just been to exposed to expletives. If you’re going to treat me like a child, just fuck off.

Instead

I could be writing of the terrible mindset I seem to have put myself in. I could recall the woe of being reject by someone I'm enamoured by, the inability to wear pants with a size smaller than half my age, and the instability found in the rapidly changing moods of my parents. Oh wait, no. I can't. I have found it physically impossible to do such. Instead, for the moment being I feel quite content, happy even. So, now you get to hear about that.


I received acceptance to my first choice school. There is a chance we're "poor enough" to have 2/3 of my tuition covered. I'm going to get to move out, but will always have a home to come back to. I have a really great relationship with my mum. I tell her almost anything, she's like my best friend/secret keeper/chauffeur. It's warm enough to walk home from school, I've been able to fit in an hour of running into my day, and it is officially 'shorts weather' in my world. I'm excited for prom, graduation and parade season. I love using gouges and chisels for art, and have only stabbed one finger (left thumb) twice.


Just when I started to feel as though my friends haven't a single shit to give, a fantastic redhead proves me wrong. She has written on my facebook wall, and did to me in her own blog. I have no clue how to show her how much it means, or let her know how much I appreciate her. But I will, even if I have to draw her and duct tape said drawing to the whiteboard of our lit class. (Everyone knows, only the classiest get their portraits done by artists.)


Now, I am off to look up scholarships, job applications (I've decided I'm saving for a netbook to write with, and a camera lens), more information on my future place of education, and plot how I'm going to show Melissa how glad I am that we are friends.


Sarah