Rainbow Warrior

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Nov 16

Journal Entry #2

Something that has been on my mind is the maturity level of people in my age group. A lot of the people that I’ve talked to in my grade lack a basic set of morals and have an insane inablity to distinguish wrong from right - this comparison is between them and what I believe, my morals, etc. I really don’t understand it. Maybe they think if they act the way they do they’ll climb up in social status. Here’s what I think: High school social status does not matter, it’s a big pile of shit. How ever “in” or “out” you are does not matter. I mean, who the hell cares? Well, obviously everyone cares - but why? Why does the kid that sits in front of you fifth period have any effect on your left? Chances are, you’ll never see him/her out of high school.

As a junior in high school, my advice to freshman and anyone who hasn’t realized this yet, ignore the people who tear you down, make you cry, make things harder for you, spread the rumors or make you feel like, or even believe, you are anything less than amazing. You are great, unique and you - that will never change so embrace it. Anything that makes you different makes you human. We are all human. And don’t be one of those people who make others feel less than what they are and who they are. Desreguard race, religion, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, physical appearance and cultural backgrounds because when it all comes down to it, we all are human, we all make mistakes and no one deserves to feel any less than awesome. Try and see the wonderful person infront of you rather than all of the mistakes and negatives that come with them - they’re human, just like you, so you are wonderful and you’ve made mistakes and you have negatives, just like them.

I’ve spent all of middle school and my first two years of high school depressed and caring more about what other people think about me than what I think about myself. I now realize how much time and happiness I’ve wasted.

(And, yes I know, this is all easier said than done. I’m still working on walking my talk. It’s really hard, especially for me, to just think great of your self and ignore third party inputs. I still get depressed, I still cry. But that’s okay. I still know who I am, for the most part. I still know that any one that I don’t love and/or care about doesn’t matter and has no part in changing my course of life.)

Tools you need for high school: tunnel vision. Just look towards the goal, not the sidelines.

High school does not matter. And I can’t tell you how many times it took for people to tell me that for me to actually believe it.

Never let anyone tell you who you are or make you anything less than happy.

Always be happy because if you’re reading this, you’re alive.

Be happy you’re alive.

Don’t waste your life being sad/depressed about what people think. Don’t waste your time even listening to them.

In practicing this method, I’ve grown to feel better about myself, I can finally be me and be happy. I know who I truely am and it’s not who others tell me I am.

Know that no one knows you better than you know you.

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Journal Entry 1 Rainbow Warrior

Nov 16

Journal Entry #1

Luis seriously makes me want to kill myself sometimes…. okay, maybe I just want to kill him. I can’t stand it, being around him, I mean. He’s just a constant reminder of the most significant part in my life - the part that I hate, the part that makes everyone else hate me. The part of my life that is full of evils and compromised morals. The part that I try so hard to forget, the part that I can forget, the part that gets brought back to the surface of my everyday thinking the second I accidentally lay eyes on him. I can’t bare to think of this for one more moment. I’m going to end this and try and forget for a little while…

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Chapter 3 Gray Warrior Rainbow Warrior

Nov 14

Gray Warrior

I associate the gray warrior with my past. More specifically, all of the bad things that have happened and that I’ve done in my past. When I was very young, and it’s amazing that I still remember this, my father was not the best. I thought he was. But I realize now what was going on. He was an abusive drunk. His breath always smelled like beer and he never seemed to make any sense.

The worst thing he’s probably ever done was abuse my mother.

The house we lived in had a good majority of my family in it; both of my aunts, my grandma, my grandpa, myself, my mom and my dad. We all lived there. I guess I used to stand on a stool and introduce myself and sing into my little play microphone to songs from The Sound of Music and Annie.

One time, I remember going down stairs to my mom and dads room, and I tryed knocking on the door to get let in. My mom told me to go away. But I didn’t, I was determined to get into that room. I started crying and banging on the door and dad started screaming at my mom. All of a sudden, there was a loud noise and then silence. Then my dad opened the door and stormed up stairs and left. I went into their room to see my mom crying and holding her wrist - it was broken. You can assume what had happened.

When I was three he left my mom and I. He, being my “dad”. He left us homeless with no car, no anything. He left us for his current wife.

Currently, she is basically cheating on him. They are “separated” according to her. But I don’t believe anything that comes from her stupid mouth.

He left us for her. He would rather have a short, fat, whore over his own daughter. You can only imagine the hatred I have towards him for that and more importantly her. You can only imagine how fucked up I am because I didn’t have a father for thirteen out of the sixteen years of my life. I’m sixteen now. I’m sixteen and I’ve realized I don’t need a dad any more than I need a nail in back. And that’s just what he is, a nail in my back.

But for all of those years of never having a father, the question that always, and still, sits like a heavy weight in my concious mind is “Why didn’t he want me? What’s wrong with me?”.

I know I’m better than his wife - whom I don’t call my stepmother for various reasons, most of which already mentioned - so why did he choose her over me?

My only guess is drugs. My mom doesn’t like or allow that stuff, nor do I. And she wouldn’t have let him do drugs. So he went and found someone that did. One good thing that came out of this, I’ve never touched a drug in my life and I never will.

Here’s where my morals are compromised. When I was 15 I got caught in the biggest mistake of my life: cheating. That is something that has only occured once in my life and will never ever even get close to happening again, mark my words. There’s a lot of anger, tension, regret, sadness, self-loathing, guilt and depression at the heart of this topic.

This chapter of my life is one I am not proud of. I hate myself for this. I will never forgive myself. I know that this is not the person I am. I am not a cheater. I. Am. Not. A. Cheater. I’ll start at the beginning, Joel was my boyfriend at the time. We had been dating for about five months. I had been talking to Luis for a while now, my first mistake. I had also grown to like him… a lot, my second mistake. So now I’m a naive virgin with no relationship experience, hopelessly confused and in love with two people, my third mistake.

Luis is a man whore whos profession is getting girls to want to have sex with him. I didn’t know that at the time. He never mentioned anything. The Luis I knew is very different from the Luis I know now.

In march of 2009, I went and spent the day with Luis, my fourth mistake. We walked around for a little while then went to the top of a parking garage, no one ever goes up there, and he pretty much reassured that it would be all right if he and I had sex. It took him a lot of talking me into it but, eventually he got me to agree, fifth mistake. This happened a lot afterwards. He and I would hang out and I started to have a lot more fun and feelings for him than I did Joel, sixth mistake.

Eventually, Joel and I’s relationship started to spoil and we had a lot of mini break ups. I didn’t tell him until the very end, seventh mistake. He, of course, hates me now and wants nothing to do with me. I’ve tried to appologize numerous times. But I’ve given up. The only thing is that I wish he could just forget about what happened and be happy in his life - he deserves that. I know that he does go on alcohol binges and doesn’t make the right choices when it comes to his physical and mental health and he’s extremely depressed - my fault mixed with his habbits from before I met him. Habbits that I didn’t know about until after him and I broke up. Habbits that would have moved my decision towards not dating him in the first place.

My gray warrior is my past, depression, anger, sadness, guilt, regret, tension, hatred.

My gray warrior is my evil warrior.

We all have a gray warrior inside of us. It’s just a matter of defining him.

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Chapter 2 About Me Rainbow Warrior

Nov 14

About Me

I’ll just get straight to the point here. I’m sixteen (already mentioned before) and a junior in high school. I’m in a relationship of almost 11 months. My past consists of self injuring and anorexia, however mild they may have been, bad relationships and utter confusion about who I am and life. In fact, that was all in the span of sixth grade to the beginning of tenth grade. My ‘anorexia’ started in sixth grade when I realized that I’m the chunky one in my group of friends. Compared to the popular girls I mind as well have been that fattest person ever. Why even compare myself to the popular girls? Because they were competition. They were the ones getting all the boys that I liked. Then again, why the hell did I even like those boys? Because in sixth grade you have this mind set of only the popular boys are good boyfriends and that is that. No one ever went near the nerds and if you were lucky, like me, you were right dead in the middle of popular and nerd. I was just a regular kid, with regular glasses and a regular chunky body. Sixth grade was the year I started my punk phase. So, of course I was automatically weird. I didn’t dress like everyone else therefore, I was weird.

Fifth grade was the year that I discovered my sexuality. I little earlier than most, I’m assuming. Sexuality: bisexual. I never admitted it, not even to myself. What was just experimenting with my girl friend turned into something that was a little more frequent than something that can be easily labeled “experimenting”. I loved it, she loved it. So we continued to make out and finger each other until she moved. It was definitely more top secret than Area 51. I worked so hard at not telling anyone that I’ve pushed it into the deepest, darkest, farthest back spot of my sub concience and locked it up so that it may never escape until I found the key. I found the key recently, when I told my boyfriend about it. He’s the second person I’ve told. The first was myself. I have the uncanny ability to just completely erase things from my concious mind. This ability is also very selective, anything that I want to forget and store in the most untravelled spot in my mind, I can and will. The process is a slow one, but sooner or later - depending on how big of a deal it is - it will be erased from my every day thinking. Just be warned: If I want to forget you, I will. However long it may take does not matter because eventually I will. The only bug in the system is that eventually I do remember and when I do, it hits my like a ton of bricks.

Seventh grade was my personality defining year. I’m pretty much the same freaky, weird person that I was back in seventh grade with the same ability to get everyone to like me and want to, at least, be my aquaintence. Not much happened that year. Seventh grade was also the year that I became best friends with Mariella. Her and I were almost inseparable, conjoined at the hip, exactly a like in every way, and would be for a few years.

Eighth grade was the year I started the whole ‘scene’ look. That was the year that I wanted to be different and weird. I wanted people to look at me and be like “what the fuck?”. In a sense, I wanted attention. Eighth grade was the year of great depression and self injuring. I was constantly depressed and angry at everything. I was angry at the world, at everyone in my life, at myself and most of all, at my father and his wife. He left me and she wrecked my home - I was three. Who the hell wouldn’t want to just scream at them and make them feel like the worthless crack whores that they are? Until this day, I have not forgiven them and I havent talked to them in almost a year. Good ridance. Fuck them and their five kids.

My cutting wasn’t extreme, but even then, cutting is an extreme way of dealing with emotions. No one ever taught me how to deal with my emotions so they were all packed into this small little bottle and the only way to release some of the pressure, I thought, was to release some of my blood - some of my life. I didn’t want to live that year. I wanted to die. I wanted to die even though I am afraid of death. So I released a little bit of my life two cuts at a time, once every two weeks or so. It was never every day. It was never more than two at a time.

Why did I cut? I can tell you this, I have no idea. The only thing I can tell you is everything that made me depressed in the first place is most likely at fault. When I’m depressed, I turn into someone else. Meaning, I can’t remember what I was thinking at the time all I can remember is my actions. It’s like I’m in some alternate universe when I’m self injuring. That’s why it became so addicting at one point. It became a ritual. Cut, cry, fall asleep. Cut, cry, fall asleep. Until my mom found out and threatened to put me into a mental institution. That scared me into stopping, for a while…

Ninth grade was the year I started up the cutting again. More descretly this time. Hiding things from my mom was, is, the equivalent of hiding things from a blind person - never will they see anything. My front was so well played out and put up that even my mom never saw through it. This is the year that I started eating dinner. The year before the most I ate through out the day was a couple snacks, sometimes lunch so that my friends never suspected my anorexic tendensies. I wanted more than anything to be the image that is “beautiful” that has been set forth by the media. I would never admit it, not even to myself. My heart knows what it wants though, and it has more control over me than I would like sometimes.

Ninth grade I got my first real relationship. Finally. After years of being turned down and, ultimately, made fun of by guy after guy, I get my first boyfriend. His name was Joel.

Ninth grade was also the year that I started coming out and started supporting the gay community.

Tenth grade I switch schools and became a lot more mature and also a lot more of a slut than I would like or admit. I didn’t know anything about guys and dating. I had no idea about anything related to the topic. I was probably the most naive fifteen year old girl you would ever meet in your life. And guys knew that and guys took advantage of that…

The most notorious of which was Luis.

I’ve never had a girlfriend. I probably never will. There are no girls that I would concider dating. All of the lesbian/bisexual girls fit the stereotypical assumption about bi and lesbian teenage girls - sluts. I swear “Girls just want to have fun” is their moto - if it isn’t, it should be because that’s all they want; sex, parties and fun. None of them want a relationship and half of them are just pretended because it’s the new cool thing.

I don’t believe in gender or race. Lets just get that straight right now. That’s why I concider myself bisexual. My definition of my sexuality is: I give everyone an equal chance to get my love, I don’t care what’s in between their legs or the color of their skin, all I want is their heart. If it happens to be a woman, then so be it. The same goes for if it’s a man. I hope you understand that, because that’s the best I can explain it. I don’t like girls because I think guys will think it’s hot. I don’t like girls because of whatever attention it will bring or because I’m a slut. I like girls because I just do, because they are human and a potential, wonderful relationship. I don’t like guys because it’s the more widely accepted choice. I like guys because they are human and because they are a potential, wonderful relationship. That’s it. There’s no possible way to twist this, so don’t even try. The words you just processed in your mind are the exact definition of my sexuality, and only those words.

I am a vegetarian, more specifically a pescetarian. What does that mean? I only eat vegetables, fruits, anything that is a plant and not meat and fish. That’s it. I have my reasons for being a vegetarian which I don’t feel are important. All you need to know is that I am a vegetarian and that you can assume what ever you’d like on the matter.

I live with my mother, I don’t live with my father and I don’t plan on it either. I have one brother and one sister. We live off of food stamps, section 8, and about $80.00 - $100.00 a week from my moms part time job. How does eighty to one hundred bucks support a family of four? Simple: It doesn’t or it just barely does. In that sense, life is hard but it’s better than most.

I am going to college. I don’t care how I get there, I’m going. And I’m not going to a fucking community college - fuck that. I want a degree from an actual college where it counts for something, like Harvard University or the University of Massachusetts Amherst. I really want to go to Amherst. And I have a feeling that I’m not getting into Harvard because I don’t have a 3.7 - 4.0 GPA and I’m not rich. My GPA is more like a 3.5.

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Introduction Chapter 1 Alexis Rainbow Warrior

Nov 14

Introduction

I’m going to start writing about my life. I’m a teenage girl and everything that you’d expect me to be, most likely, I am. I’m 16 years old and a junior in high school.

You will never know what my real identity is, nor will you know the identities of the people in my life. Everything you will read is 100% reality, everyone involved is 100% a real person but none of these names and places are real in relation to my life.

Mainly, I’m doing this because I need some form of venting and saying how I feel and just pour absolutely everything out in some way without being judged directly or being having anyone know who I am. This is mainly therapeutic and I hope that you, the reader, can get something out of this.

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Alexis

My name is Alexis, I’m sixteen and the happiest person you will ever meet - on the outside. If you didn’t understand what I was saying: The inside of me is a dark depressing war between what I like to call ‘all the colors that make up who I really am’ - my rainbow warriors. Like every other teenager in the world, I think my life sucks. Yes, I know that there are people everywhere in the world that would rather be me than be in the position that they are currently in and maybe even have been for their whole life. I know that. I am not stupid. But like every other teenage girl, I am a self loathing hot mess. I think I am ugly, fat, worthless. And these words haunt my every moment, waking AND sleeping, every single day. But like most other teenage girls, my profession is hiding my true feelings. And any word that any anonymous person on the internet has ever called me - I believe it. No matter how much I lie to them or my self on how much I don’t believe what they say to me, I really do. I really do believe everything they say. Whore. Slut. Bitch. Fat, flat-chested, four-eyed, stupid, slutty, bitch. Not necessarily in that order, but there was I time where I would sign on to my social networking accounts to see those wonderful (sarcasm heavily intended) words sitting on my computer screen from an anonymous source. Why? I really don’t know. I never understood why anyone would want to hurt me. Excuses aside, it was uncalled for.

But that’s high school. You either deal with it or kill yourself. Adults always wonder why so many kids are killing themselves. Well, I guess now they know and they’ve labeled it “bullying”. I’ve labeled it “survival of the fittest”. In high school you either put up a front or get the fuck out. No one gives a fuck if you cry yourself to sleep every single night because all of a sudden your friends have turned on you and you don’t know why. You do know why, you’re not cool enough - you’re dragging them down on the high school food chain. All you can do is get over it and find friends that are on your link in the chain or cry yourself to sleep every night. Most people cry themselves to sleep because if there’s anything that everyone wants in high school, to be popular - the top of the food chain - is desired beyond comprehension.

Enough about other people. More about me, this is my story after all.