Hello everyone,





FRIENDS ONLY



    Like my old journal, lumenlupin, I have decided to make this friends only. So, like always, please comment to be added to my friends list.



 Thanks, Caitlind.

I truly think that Derek is the only stable person, friendship, thing – whatever you want to call him, in my life. He is the one person I can count on to be there for me unconditionally, no matter what I do or through anything that happens in my life. Even through his own grieving period, he was willing to pull through at an accelerated pace just for me. He knew I had too many people around me that were emotional wrecks and I didn’t need another distraction. I didn’t ask for him, or what he does -- he was made for me. I was blessed with him. He understands.

I say this because of recent events in my home, at school, and hell – even Derek’s home. My Dad just had his cancer surgery last Tuesday. He’s getting depressed; he hates the scar on his face and the uncertainty that it is all gone. He’ll be back in on the 15th to check for more, but his sadness concerns me. It seems as if my mother doesn’t care, she thinks of him as an evil man. I know he isn’t. He pours himself into his alcohol because he can’t feel her love anymore. I know this because I can’t feel it myself.

Not that this should be any of your business at all, but here are the school instances. I’ll lay it all down on the table. My best friend, one person who I have known since grade six and still talk to religiously, is an emotional wreck. She cuts, she starves herself, and she punishes herself. All over one boy – one boy who broke up with her for the one thing she promised she would never do again. After finding out she cut herself, he asked her to stop or he would break up with her, and she did it again thinking he was bluffing. Needless to say, he wasn’t. Now she’s worse, and I’ve tried to help all I can but she just won’t take it. She doesn’t want help, which leads me to believe she’s pleading for the attention.

It seems as if all of my days are full of relationship issues – issues that shouldn’t even concern half of my fellow student body. Until they can safely say that they have talked, gotten to know without sexual interaction, gotten to know, and are with one another through everything (even wrong decisions) can they say they truly loved someone. When you are in love, it hits you like a train. You don’t move on so quickly. It definitely isn’t something that makes you upset to the point of abusing yourself, or punishing your body.

I’m done with it. I’m done with it all. When I’m in Ireland, it seems like I’m free to breathe. I have life again. I’m unconditionally happy and nothing can bring me down. I am walking on clouds, and as cliché as this sounds, I’m in love. I will be away from everyone’s petty lives and starvation routines (and I don’t just mean the person mentioned above – I mean multitudes of people). In a year, I’ll be working on a medical degree. In a year, I will be happy ALL of the time. In a year I will be living in a house with Derek, going to school, working – having my perfect little world.

I just hope it all falls into place.

English Genius You scored 100% Beginner, 92% Intermediate, 100% Advanced, and 100% Expert!

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go! Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it! For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Beginner You scored higher than 99% on Intermediate You scored higher than 99% on Advanced You scored higher than 99% on Expert

Link: The Commonly Confused Words Test written by shortredhead78 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

:o Yay

I know I do a lot of bitching when I DO post on this effing thing. Although, I do need, and I want to stress that NEED to get this point across to the idiots that will not listen to me.

Do you want to KNOW the horrifying truth about eating disorders? Where they get you in life? How they hurt other people, and make the fucking ED patients realize that they've not only screwed up their life, but their whole families?

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT DOES TO YOU, my so-called friends from school? (I'm not even going to MENTION how many times I've told you that I can't take another eating disordered person in my life.)

Prolonged cases of self-starvation can result in hair loss, decreased bone density, osteoporosis, low blood pressure, loss of menstruation in females, irregular heartbeat and cardiac arrest (You know what happens around the time you go into cardiac arrest? Hmm? Well, guess what? More likely than not, you'll die.). Purging can result in stomach and mouth ulcers, tears of the oesophagus and eroded teeth and gums. IN OTHER FUCKING WORDS, THE MORE YOU WORK TO BE " PERFECT " AND SKINNY, you'll grow UGLY and obcene.

Eating disorders of all types are one of the LEADING CAUSES OF DEATH in America.

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I'm behind in school. My mind is warped, and I struggle with body image too. But I fight it. I've seen what dieting can do to people. My sister has no life. She alienated her friends, just so she could focus on her best friend " Anna " (Anorexia). She's 22 and will never have a career. She'll never be allowed to have a driver's license. She's died 3 times, and heen revived. She'll never have her old life back, because she'll always have the voices in the back of her head telling her that she's too fat.

When Eden was paralyzed because her body was starved, and had resorted to eating muscle and organs for nourishment -- she still thought she was fat. I remember, distinctly, in her fourty pound state when I lifted her to the car as she was dying, apologising to me because she was heavy. Her heart was barely beating, and the doctors were going mental. They didn't know what to do. That night, in the CCU, Eden was officially sent to limbo. She couldn't open her eyes, her liver, kidneys, and heart were failing. Every passing person stared, and whispered, "Is that a skeleton in the bed?" as the machines sounded. People have no shame. I was crying, I couldn't help her, and the nurses -- the bitches, were telling her to let go and be with God. How could she, and how could THEY let her die? I need her.

I cried for days. I was losing one of my best friends to something that was preventable.

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You can lose weight healthily, and be HEALTHY, by following Canada's food guide and excersising. You don't even need to do that MUCH, a half an hour of walking is enough for one day to burn ALL THREE MEALS AND SNACKS YOU'VE CONSUMED throughout the day.

Give me a fucking break, and help people gain a better view of themselves and you.

I'm planning on making my closet door a " wall " that all my friends can sign when they visit, with a message and date, so I can always remember them. I stole this from just_sleeping  ... ( I am also planning on using the title [Silhouette of a Generation] on my door, too. Thanks to Nur, who inspired it with Shadow of time. :D:D)

SIGN IT, people! (   http://www.piclibs.com/graffiti.php?id=753 )

( Silhouette of a Generation (image, with Nur's signature) )

Birth Order predictor.

( Click )

I found this on someone's journal, I can't remember who, but it was beautiful and I have decided to make it a public entry for all to read.

Ode to the Nice Girls
This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped.





I've read the tribute to the nice guys; this is my response.

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)


By Jessica Leigh Griffith
jlg421@psu.edu