I'm falling apart.

I'm bursting at the seams.

Everything is white.

There is no more brilliance anymore;

I'm a sad impression of what I used to be.

I can't stop the tears, I can't see straight anymore.

A ghost of my past has once again come for my life; come for everything that gives me the drive to get out of my bed in the morning.

Everything has deteriorated inside of me;

I've gone blind.

It's as if my world was dipped in black;

the lights that led me and helped me along the way are being torn away from me.

Then comes the darkness and all the fears that were left behind.

I want to be inspired.

What is inspiration to you?

To me it is the act of being overcome with an urge to throw yourself into the world and give it your best. 

I miss that feeling. I haven't had it in so long, and I want it back. I want to see the beauty that I saw when I was a kid in every small thing again. I want to be able to sit on the grass, feel the sun on my face, smell the dandelions, and just enjoy my life again. It is things like this that inspire me. I feel like I'm on a different planet, in a different galaxy when I do. 

It is as if I am in my own world and perfectly content to simply be.

 

Just to simply float along, in my own bubble of ecstacy, touched by nothing.

I want to be able to enter a room that has white walls, and rather than become depressed at the simplicity of it, I want to see it as a canvas. A canvas where I can throw my emotions at it and turn it into something beautiful. I feel as if I've become empty and have lost my worldliness. 

I suppose I feel this way since I've turned into my own definition of average.

I've always wanted to be extraordinary. I was for a while, and I miss it. I used to not care, I used to bounce along in my own world. I used to see something I enjoyed, whipped out a piece of paper, and drew my version of my emotions. 

I would hear a song, smile, and start to sing along, no matter where I was. 

I was simply weird. 

I was interesting.

I guess I'm just at one of those forks in the road that we call life. 

Which to choose, the one that leads to a superficial world in my head, or the one where I devote myself to conformity?

I hope I will get lucky and another will appear.

"Jakob, I'm scared."

I stood by the stairs, my eyes wide with shock.

"Jakob, I don't feel like it anymore. I can't even eat this. Every time I look at food I just see fat, fat, and more fat. I will get fat I just know it. I guess I just have low self-esteem. Why can't a guy ever roll around my way that I actually like? I think I'm just scared of being hurt. I actually want someone to love me in my life.

Jakob, I'm scared."

In front of me sat one of the most beautiful girls that I know, blowing away every assumption I had about her.

I couldn't form words fast enough to comfort her, to help her calm down.

She slid down the stairs one by one.

I saw the inside of this exquisite girl, and I was absolutely terrified.

She was scared. Scared of her future. Scared of herself. I wanted to pick her up and just hold her until it all disappeared. I felt absolutely hopeless as this girl deteriorated in front of me.

I suppose we all have them. Those tiny thoughts that magnify themselves every time we look in a mirror. I heard people tell me that even the most confident people have periods of self doubt.

This made a lot of things sink in for me.

I don't know if I like them.

I'm scared too.

The Glory Days

"A phrase often used to describe the days one is in Highschool." she droned on while sitting on her couch hosting her petty little talk show.

"These are my glory days? These are the best days of my life? You mean it becomes harder?"he asked himself.

He turned off the TV and wandered to his room pondering the "Glory" that his world contains. On his bed, he grabbed his iPod and hit play. The sweet melody of Fix You by Coldplay drifted into his ears as he rethought his world.

"My world isn't one full of glory." he finally decided.

"Glory days are for those that live without consequences. For those that can run free and lighthearted. It is not for those that deal with situations above their maturity. It is not for those that are forced to grow up faster than nature intended."

Memories sporadically washed through his brain, each new wave filling him with depression. As he lay on his bed curled into a ball wrestling with tears, he decided he didn't want to be grown up anymore.

"I want to be able to live in a world where the troubles of grown ups don't concern me."

This would be his new motto; his new resolve.
He wandered to the window and swore this to the moon hanging in the sky.

It struck him quick and painless. It was childish of him to do this. This was not the life for someone like him; glory was for those that have nothing to lose.

He turned slowly and wandered back to his bed, picking up a studyguide that needed to be completed.

A single tear rolled down his face, which he wiped away along with his freedom, his childhood, and set his mind to that of an adult.
He was not a child anymore, he thought this is how the world works.
The desire to be completely free and normal lingered in his mind, but it was always enclosed by worries of his suicidal friends, of his future, of his fear of being hurt emotionally.
He hoped that one day he could break free of his worries and fears and just enjoy life the way it was meant to be enjoyed.
Sighing, he picked up his chemistry book and flipped through the pages his mind empty and his soul hollow.

The Wallet and the Angel

"Give me something to believe, because I am living just to breathe" - The Bravery

My father and mother.
Rather I should say guardians, since a father and mother are someone you love and can care for.

I just can't anymore.

I realized something today.

My parents are not dear to me.

I perceive my parents as just what it says in the title. A wallet. An Angel.

Now before you write me off as being ungrateful, I want to tell you that I have a reason before this.


I perceive my father this way since this is the way he perceives himself.
My father is a quiet, sadistic introvert.
Everything this family says to him is a destructive, hurtful phrase.

One word is all it takes.

So in this my father shrinks further and further into himself taking every single bit of his personality, love, and joy with him. When I speak to him I'm not speaking to a person, but a wall of agony that worries about himself.

He doesn't love me.

When this happened around the time I was 8, he was no longer my father, but the wallet.
He gives us money to feed and clothe ourselves but nothing more.

Not one genuine smile, not one genuine word.

Then there is my mother.
The Angel.

I've always loved my mom, but I suppose it hasn't really been more than a love for something that protects you.

We haven't always gotten along and we never will, I've come to accept that.
She loves me I know but I don't think I could ever love her as much as she does me.
My mother can be an extraordinary thing.
She is like my guardian angel and when our family hurts she can spread out her wings and wrap us in them, thus comforting us and shielding the world from the truth.

The problem is, since I was 13 I haven't taken anymore comfort from her. She cared and she knew I hurt but she couldn't fix it.

So after my thirteenth birthday I grew numb, and my mom became the Angel. Nothing more, nothing less.

She is overbearing, and can be so annoying, and sometimes even the Angel cracks. Then once it does I receive the excess. I get yelled at for studying an hour and a half for a test instead of two, I become the target when my clothes don't look right, when I answer no to a yes question.
It all lands on me since I am the only one she can unload on, the only one she still has control over.

It's hard to explain how I feel about them.
The Wallet can be mean and the Angel overbearing.

The sad thing is that people perceive us as the wonderful family.
The hard working father, the caring mother, the adorable children who make good grades and don't cause trouble.

If only some knew half of the shit that is incredibly wrong with this family.
My family should just become actors.
We're already so good at it.

Thank you.

I just wanted to say thank you for everyone reading my blog and commenting.

I really do appreciate your feedback.

I wanted to make this post taking into consideration all your comments on the previous post.

I see where all of you are coming from. Different parents have different ways of saying things.
Some strive to be the best and that is a very good motive. However I was more referring to those who were forced to do this. I have to say that I didn't intend the post to offend anyone and I was just saying some parents I know do that.

I use this blog to attempt to make people see things in a different light.

Once again thank you for all the feedback.
I hope to become inspired again soon.

Can this still be called living?

Something disturbing has been racing through my mind these last few days.

I'm disgusted with the "lives" of all the Southside IB-ers.

I realize this is a strong statement, but I do feel this way.

We came to the IB for one of two reasons:

1. Our Parents wanted us to.
2. It's the "best" school system.

Our Parents.

The driving force behind all our studying.

The people that want the "best" for us.

The prideful souls that want us to "shine".

The source of the bruises on our body.

Sometimes I wonder if they have hearts. Sometimes I wonder if we can even call them parents, if not dictators. We live in "respect" of them, which basically translates to fear.
We are on a chopping block constantly.
We are bred to please them, to give them happiness.
We are abused when we don't achieve perfection.

Are we children or are we animals?

I can't tell anymore.
Even if we deliver "perfection", most get a grunt of approval, no, acknowledgment.
We cast away all other necessities to "better" ourselves, and to receive their approval.
We give up our weekends, our friends, hell, we even give up our souls sometimes to study our lives away.

All for what?
So they don't hit us?
So they don't yell at us?
So they finally acknowledge us for the human beings we are?

Is this healthy?

Can this be considered a life?

We give up so much.
We give up sleep.
We give up looks.
We give up comfort.
We give up friends.
We give up freedom.
We give up so much, just to appease our parents.







Do we even exist outside of these "lives"?





I have come to realize these things the past few days after sitting back and watching us.

I suppose we are ants.

We work, work, work.

I feel bad for ourselves.

All of this just to be able to check the box on our college applications that reads

[ ] IB Diploma Candidate

I'm disgusted.