I'm in the mood for believing in myself.
My fingers only smell of the diet pills I crushed up into tiny pieces with a Red Devil blade and my right nostril is numb from vicks. Three weeks ago, I weighed 127.5 pounds, and five minutes ago, I weighed 115.5. I have dominated the majority of my from yards weeds. Yes, dominated. By myself, I have filled two 40-gallon bags of weeds and three 30-gallon bags. The last two showers I have taken have been two of the most wonderfully refreshing showers ever.
I have been taking my prozac for a countless amount of days straight. And I mean countless, as in, more than two weeks, just, I don't know by how much. I have been bonding with my paternal parental unit, Mr. John Francis Nichols, more than I've bonded with him in all of my fifteen years and nearly three months of breathing as a result of his little spermies. The conversation we had before we did gongyo together a few evenings ago consisted of his first acid trip, during which he had to run a cross-country race, and had his sophomore yearbook picture taken. The topic began over two bowls of ramen, one for both of us. He showed me his yearbook picture, when he was sixteen at Vancouver high, I think. I realized why he became Buddhist when he was sixteen; for the same reason I became Buddhist when I was fifteen. We both smoked a lot of dope and suddenly, all the meaning in the world became clear. We were both enlightened more than ever.
Through therapy, medication, and very, very helpful blogging, if you were to read my January posts, through February, til now, my relationship with my dad has gone from horrible to suddenly very good. Sometimes when I'm in my room (well more often then sometimes) I'll look out my window to the driveway to see if I heard his car. He's been coming by quite a bit later, so I usually keep him past his usual bed time. He retires on the 31st of December, although he reaches retirement age on the first day of school, the eighth of next month. Then, his daughter becomes his full time job.
As far as my relationship with Toby goes, it's always off the wall and back out and bouncing happily around again. We're so unhealthy that we're actually becoming healthy, and so dysfunctional that sometimes, we function better than anyone elses relationship possibly could. You wouldn't be able to understand us toenail biters, but that's the way our relationship should be. You're not supposed to understand us. That's what makes us so hard to crack open. The fighting and yelling and crying has began to subside, and the happiness and late night conversations, and cigarettes and incense outside my house at 2am talking about life after we've had sex, like, three times has taken its place. I'll leave room to complain, but the complaining will be saved for another day.
I'm listening to The Friday Night Boys right now, which is good. They calm me down. All their songs are like, whiney teenage boys talking about either getting laid or not getting laid or, sometimes, even someone else getting laid. I don't know. They're catchy. and local I think? Ask Julia, or better yet, Charlotte. Marcy. Whoever the fuck else I'm not affiliated with, even though apparently there are some good words out for me.
Anyways, let me tell you a love story.
There was once a girl named Emilie. She learned at a younger age than most that love doesn't come when you look for it.
She encountered a boy named Tobiah, in a way that you could only describe as fucking weird. He dated her best friend since birth, they'd broken up, and, simply, he became a cunt. So Emilie told him he was a bitch, and he told her she was a bitch. It was love.
They began talking on aim and myspace and eventually facebook very frequently, then through texts and late night phone calls that lasted into daylight. Eventually, something horrible happened between them and they lost contact. Emilie refused to answer his instant messages or gay little snippets of shit he'd send her on facebook chat, until she learned from this girl named Kayleigh that was her best friend at the time, that he'd been invited to a birthday party there was a possibility of her going to. She'd previously decided it wasn't really her thing, but then considered the fact that she'd probably not meet Toby in any other way, in a very long time, if ever. So she went.
Once they saw eachother, all the feelings from summer came rushing back. It was February 28, 2009, at University Mall during Rocky Horror Picture Show. In the theater, Emilie was sitting between Wes and.. someone else, because she sat down before Toby, although she was hoping to sit next to him. Then, she noticed the seat next to him was empty. She quickly moved seats to sit next to Michael Jaster, and then stalled briefly, then left to sit next to Toby. At first it was awkward, but, they were obviously in love and didn't know what to say to eachother. Emilie, however... had a boyfriend, named Greg.
By about 12:30am... Greg wasn't an issue.
They began dating on March fourteenth, 2009, after having sex for the first time (weird, right...). The relationship wasn't rocky at all, until Emilie stopped taking her medication, Toby needed to take his medication, and there was just a mix up of a lot of emotions that shouldn't have been there.
Right before her fifteenth birthday, Emilie met a boy named John (well, formally). After a few weeks, she decided she liked the boy. Things with Toby went downhill. Then, something horrible happened during a night filled with alcohol and a drive to McDonalds.
After that night, things had been changed for the rest of Emilie's life. She couldn't think of herself the same, and she didn't know how to explain to Toby what had happened, because she didn't know how to explain to herself how she could have possibly let it happen. Toby developed feelings for someone else, and found out about what happened between Emilie and John. Their relationship seemed shattered, especially while insults were being thrown, and comments about how anywhere was better than being around her, and loud swears the neighbors would expect from my household and anyone visiting it. And through the tears and punching the ground, somehow, Emilie managed to get up and tug on Toby's shirt and cry her eyeliner off onto his shirt, and eventually, Toby hugged her back. She couldn't lose him. She wouldn't lose him. and he must have been stupid to think either of them would let the other one let go.
Their story became one any couple would probably belittle and fear, but somehow, after all of that, they became two very strong people in a very strong relationship. After promises were broken, more were made. More that can't afford to be broken. They're two fucked up kids from two fucked up families, but they've made something beautiful, that no one else can and will ever get between again.
Say what you will, cause you would anyways. We don't care.
We both remember our very first kiss.
We remember being under a blanket in front of my front door.
that night was magical.
:) I love my boyfriend with all my FUCKING heart.
Don't ever ever ever doubt that.
