Teenagers scare the living shit outta me.

I never really liked "My Chemical Romance", but I find their song "Teenagers" to be pretty... erm, catchy. I like it.

I realized the other day, when talking to my Uncle David, that I was going to the public school system right around the time that the policies started to change. Columbine happened when I was in middle school--in fact, I was ON my schools "Columbine List"... I was #3. My Uncle was saying how he and a bunch of guys would carry their pocket knives to school, get in fights after class, that sort of thing. That there was not anything gang related or particularly violent about it--just kids fucking around--and when I told him that not only where pocket knives banned but you couldn't even SAY bad things about someone, nonetheless beat them up, he shook his head and remarked on 'How times change'.

I was thinking that perhaps the reason the kids go to such extremes in violence, as we saw in Columbine and a handful of other schools since then, is because our natural, human, aggression is allowed no outlet.

I've always gotten along with boys best of all, because boys don't play games like girls do. Girls are clever, yes, but there is something to a boy, or a man, that is very simple. When guys start hanging out with guys, they 'beat them up' a lot of the time--whether it be verbal or physical. There's always the traded punches, the "Ya' Old Man", "Asshole", "Punk", "Fucker" slung back and forth.

If women say something like that to other women, it generally goes down in flames.

Now, I'm generalizing, of course, but there are some character differences between men and women that I find extremely disquieting. Women are more likely to hurt through an act of manipulation or some "mental blow". Guys are more likely to hut by... "Lets take this outside" or something to the like. Guys don't mess with heads as much as women do; which is why I've hung out with guy friends and have been able to talk and communicate with guys so much easier then with girls.

It has been generally males that have committed the acts of violence that we now associate with school crime. What I'm wondering is if there has just been too much stifling of a mans natural aggression to where, eventually, the man simply explodes.

My gang of "guy friends" used to do something called Backyard Wrestling. They would get up on one of those enormous trampolines and vault at each other, trying to punch and pin someone down until they were at it again.

I feel it is necessary for men to do physical activity of some sort, whether it be in sports, in home improvement, in fights.... or whatever have you. I feel that too many in charge of the rules and law making have made the mistake of thinking women and men too much alike, or of not remembering their own youth in the case of older gentlemen.

Men feel anger in a more physical form. It burns inside of them, makes them want to DO something, makes them want to pummel and whatnot. With women, it festers in the brain and makes them want to do something as well, but it manifests, as I've said, more mental then physical.

Simply put; I feel less of the really BAD type of violence would occur if boys and men were allowed to scuffle and fight as they really want to. A lot of that nature is bottled up throughout the young years until its ready to burst. If you are reading this and you are a woman; imagine feeling anger and frustration in every limb, in every vein, crawling up your spine. You'd want to go out and just beat the crap out of someone. But if you were not allowed to do so, because that natural aggressive action is viewed as “Too Violent/Destructive/A behavioral problem”, what are you going to do? Keep it inside? Until what? You're handed a gun, or a knife, or an opportunity, and you say; 'well, to hell with this, I've kept my rage bottled up too long'.

I'm generalizing. Not all men snap and start shooting people or stabbing people or just being the shit out of whoever manages to pass by. Not all women feel the need to manipulate in order to exact justice or extent hurt.

But I feel we, as a society, need to realize our own nature; and not to deny it. Yes, we are a civilized culture, but civilization denotes that we not delude ourselves to something that we are not. Humans are not perfect, and we need our constructive outlets.

Yes, I feel like schoolyard fights between boys are girls are constructive. I feel that it helps tap that natural aggressive instinct.

And I'm not saying that this would be perfect; I'm not saying that some boys or girls would not be ganged up on or outnumbered; but if it was more 'socially acceptable' to jump in the middle of a brawl, who would miss that opportunity?

This was inspired by two things. One was a Tyra Show episode on transvestites. A girl became a guy by injecting male hormones and made the remark, “...feeling anger more physically then mentally” when asked how the hormones had changed how she felt as a woman. Two was; yesterday at the bus stop I watched a large man in gang colors start hitting on a woman sitting alone on a bus bench. She was obviously uninterested and he kept on, enjoying every moment of it, grinning and whatnot.

Which leads me to a minor rant: What gives men the idea that that is OK? That they can just go up to a woman and start sneering at her and asking her for her number, or asking her out for lunch; and when she says 'no' or gives other indications that she's not interested he just KEEPS ON?? I mean, get a clue. I know these men are generally undereducated and under civilized human beings, but they simply disgust me. You don't go and try to PRESSURE a woman into going on a date with you... and this guy was just so pleased with himself, swaggering away with a big stupid grin on his face.

The thing is, I was also sitting along at the bus station, and as a woman approaching a man to tell him off about hitting on another woman (especially when he was wearing gang colors)... I was afraid of getting shot. But the fact, especially in cities, that this has become such a socially acceptable occurrence is absolutely sickening to me. That everyone passed by this poor woman with some interested glances but no interference. Someone helping out someone else when they're in a situation like that can make all the difference in the world. And maybe you're not as alone as you think during broad daylight with so many people on the street, for surely if you talk loud enough someone else will come up and help you out or whatnot.

But these things have started to really upset me. Several times in the last few months I have been hit on by some repulsive figures, all of which I've threatened in some physical manner; because I've had quite enough of being a victim. Every one of these men has backed off as soon as I pull out my mace, or my little 'pocket knife', because they know I'm not to be fucked with at that point. But these women that go around and are simply trying to GET SOMEWHERE or just take a walk, or just be outside, that are harassed by these bastards... eventually it goes from simple harassment to some other, higher crime.

And the thing is; my pocket knife is illegal. It is illegal for reasons that I can understand, because it is easy to conceal and whatnot, but it is the best protection I have. It is a good blade and it does not show when I wear tight pants. The ultimate defense protection! So many are afraid to use it, however, because of that illegality. Simply put; I'll feign surprise if I ever get caught by a officer of the peace by defending myself or whatever. Especially if I've managed to ward off an otherwise lethal or potentially harmful attack.

I am tired of being the victim, and I'm especially tired of seeing other women LET themselves be a victim.

Meh. Done with that rant.

Yesterday I went up to the community college for the third time this week to fill out the financial aide paperwork and register and whatnot. The financial aide is still going to take some time to sort out.

I'm apparently a 'strange circumstance' because I'm under 24 and not living with my parents. The fact that “one kicked me out and the other is homeless” is what is under review right now. I cannot put down my father as a supporting person because;
A. He has not paid taxes in twenty years, so I cannot provide any tax information
B. He lives in a non-residential neighborhood and does not want to attract any attention to that
C. Half the time I was supporting him

However, there's a good chance that not only will I be able to get my classes paid for, but that I will receive financial support for my books, transportation, food and housing costs as well. From what I can understand, an Independent at my age is quite a strange thing; especially one that is ready and willing to receive a higher education.

I sincerely hope that I can go to class for the fall semester, but if this financial aide stuff does not sort itself out I may be looking at spring, which would kind of bite the big one. College would give me a bigger sense of accomplishment right now; and I'm about ready to get my life in gear and get moving on. I pretty much spent these last thirteen months in California recuperating from numerous losses of financial, family, possessions and friends type; not to mention some sever changes in my diet and my living situation.

Thank god that I'm actually in a more stable place right now. That I have a shower and a kitchen and a fridge 1/3 full of food and a pretty good paying job. My anxiety attacks have gone from about once or twice a day to about once a week or so. Next week I'll be going to a counselor for the first time in a long time. It will help me work out some of these problems I've been having quite hopefully.

Just for the record: I really, really detest my mother right now. I don't think it'll go away anytime soon...

Vous offrir au revoir et bonne nuit,

-Lady Teigra-

On a volcano's edge...

Alright, alright.

I've sat down... a lot... and thought about what I wrote about earlier today. There's nothing that I said there that I would un-say; I merely wish to say...

I'm in a great mood.

That blurb helped me out, a lot, and though many people may find it morose or cynical or a majority of other depressive names; I find it relieving. I really enjoyed writing it, and reading it, and thinking about it for part of the day. I said it at the beginning of the last entry—it had been a long time since I have written anything, anywhere. I kept looking at 'my little black book'; my paper diary that I keep my utmost thoughts and revelations in, but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the pen.

I've been drinking a bit tonight. My Uncle made a wonderful shrimp and mushroom dish with a white wine sauce. I, uh... made the rice. Of course I don't believe in using a wine in cooking that you would not drink, so I selected at the grocery store a wine that I'm particularly fond of—though don't ask me the name because I never remember names. It's the one with the cyclist on the front. Yes, it's an under $10 bottle (le gasp!), you wine freaks; but we're on a budget here.

...I've always been on a budget.

Still the wine is now sitting nice and warm in my belly, though there is not near enough to make me tipsy, or a little drunk or anything. Just warm and wanting to write a lot. OK, maybe a little tipsy.

I have to keep it under control since I've got work early tomorrow morning. Erm... early for me.

I've spent the day reading Christopher Paolini's 'Eragon', something I've avoided since I hate young published writers with a vengeance. It's an entertaining story, but as I'm only a third of the way through I'll reserve my final judgment... and then watch the movie to see how true it is to the book (though I've heard 'not very').

This is not a book I would have chosen for myself; my little sister forced me into it. Blame her!

... I finished reading Gaston Leroux's “Phantom of the Opera” day before yesterday. It took much longer to read then I expected, but it was pretty good. A few parts gave me goosebumps, which is hard to do since I'm generally calm when it comes to reading. I'm getting more and more into the stories with age, I figure. Next is that book 'Civilization', though I cannot recall what the authors name is and am too hooked at this computer (LAZY) to go and find it.

But today was a good day. I got a well amount of work finished (4.5/hrs=$90!) and tomorrow I'll be heading to the local community college to figure out the financial aide paperwork. I do hope I'll be able to do a part-time school schedule, since I'm not living at home anymore. I think full time would kill me. Scratch that. I KNOW full time would kill me.

Cheerio.

-Lady Teigra-

Diamonds are a girls....

It's been a long time since I sat down to write anything, anywhere.

Sure, I've written some notes—some pages in the newest version of the novel Dark Wings—and generally held a pen in my hand just because I love the feel of it. It's just been a particularly hectic time, emotionally more then anything else, and I've found that there is SO MUCH to write about that I was afraid to start.

One of the things that I'm sure my counselor will advice to me is that 'writing down your problems helps you solve them'. Sometimes I don't need to write about my problems, I simply need to write. Just seeing these words form themselves across the computer screen is soothing in so many ways. I guess that's the mingled gift/curse of one who works with words; that writing is the ultimate release of ones soul—as I've so often quoted—and yet sometimes the soul and the heart and the hand feel so hurt and heavy that the words just do not come.

I feel I've reached a point that, if I prolong my writing stasis for much longer, I will figuratively explode from the inside out if I do not get some things down.
I had a dream this morning in the fifteen minutes between the first assault from my alarm clock and the second. Snooze buttons are a marvelous thing but, as I'm well aware, I'm more prone to dreams in that ¾ asleep, somewhat awake phase. And I have extremely vivid dreams.

The dream was short, but there was Eddie, and he was 'coming home' to my condo. The second bedroom, instead of my office, was his bedroom, with a photon bed like my own. There was a moment when I saw him in the hall upstairs and he saw me of extreme awkwardness, quite realistic. We both eyed each other cautiously, then said 'Hello'. He pulled a bag of marijuana from his backpack and looked at it like 'what's this doing here?', shrugged and went into the second bedroom. I followed him, avidly wondering what he was doing in my home. He was sitting on the photon with his legs stretched out in front of him and I asked, simply to sound casual, 'Do you mind if I smoke with you?'. He shrugged and said, 'Just a bowl'.

Note; I stopped smoking marijuana some three months ago—and quit smoking cigarettes about two months ago.

There was silence and he handed me some funky home-made pipe, which took me a second to figure out before I took a hit. Then, handing it back to him and staring out the little windows into the parking lot and street outside I said, 'Eddie, can we please talk?'. He shrugged again and then looked up at me and asked, 'How are you?'. I laughed and said, 'Oh, just fine. I feel like there's a big hole in my chest and I want to punch you—and you know I'm not a violent person against anyone... except my mom.' As I said this he looked distressed and rolled onto his side, hiding his face. 'What I want to know,' I said, 'Is what Dave (Note: My mothers new husband and Eddie's Uncle) talked to you about. You said he spoke to you and this influenced your decision to break up with me, he told me he talked to you, but not about it. Can't I defend myself, if he said something about me? Can you tell me what it was?'

Then my alarm blasted again, and I forced myself into wakefulness. There was no way I wanted to go back to sleep with that as a preemptive. I wrapped myself up in a green robe, fed my cat, and padded downstairs in bare feet. There I leaned up against a counter and stared into the garden—if a weed-infested patch of dirt is what you'd call a garden—and for twenty minutes let my mind linger on this dream, and cried just a little bit, and decided again, with conviction, that I'm going to stay single for a long time.

I'm afraid if I get into another relationship right now I'm simply too young and too vulnerable to really deal with things. I want to give it a while, though I cannot put a time table on it. A few months, a few years? I don't know. Whatever feels right.

I feel betrayed and I hate feeling that way, because in so many ways it reminds me of how my mother views her old relationships. Not only that, but betrayal is a strong word—period. During my morning think; I concluded that I feel things quite strongly. When I fell in love with Eddie, I really fell for him. I still feel strongly for him, though the feeling is not nearly as clear as it was before, and intermingled with grief and hurt.

If it were up to me, I would simply erase Eddie and I's relationship from that time in our lives and move it into the future, when we're both older and more experienced in 'affairs of the heart'. I kept thinking that this morning; that we were too young to be messing around with each others hearts. Though I honestly wonder now how long Eddie really felt for me. He reassured me that he loved me up until a month before our breakup, and then the words of David somehow, really, set things in motion that were not reversed... I don't know. There's so many unknowns because now I've cut off communication with all of those people. Eddie said both, 'This is a recent feeling' and 'This is a long time coming' in terms of our break-up. Confusing? I think so.

I sent an e-mail to Eddie not a few days after the break-up call. I told him, 'I'm not really angry, I just need time to think about things. Give it a few years and, when you're older and in the world as I am, if you still want to be friends... you know how to contact me.'

The sneaking around really hurt me, though. That there was another girl the entire time that he told me he loved. Yeah, I slept around with some other guys, but there really was nothing but sex there, no love, though there was some affection here and there. I was lonely. While I had no one to comfort and no one to comfort me he was off... fucking Roz. Reading on his MySpace that they 'Rang in the new year quite nicely'... when the New Year was Eddie and I's anniversary. These things really hurt, but I did not tell him, because I didn't want to appear in bittered, I did not want to be the 'tight ass' girlfriend. Now I wish I had let him know how things were affecting me; perhaps we could have come to an end that I would be a little less confused about.

And, above all, Eddie has always had his family so near at hand. Though they have their quirks, they're still his family and they love him. My family is practically nonexistent. I have my father, who is so desperate that he has become manipulative. My mother who, in so many words, is a psychopathic evil manipulative conniving bitch. My grandmother, who's suicidally depressed. My grandfather, who's get-rich-quick schemes have occupied a majority of his time—plus he lives in Panama. My sister, who is too young to be much comfort in things, though I do draw comfort from her. My 'adopted family'--my sisters family—who honestly have their children to worry about more then I and so, as much as they care, they're not... there. Not in the way I want family to be there. My Uncle Dave, he's a good one, but he's dealing with a divorce, a full-time job, a mother in an assisted living facility who is always calling him. Eddie's never had that family. He doesn't know what it's like to be thrown out and mowed down and generally in the gutter. He doesn't know what it means to be OUT ON YOUR OWN.

I have a sister that I barely know because my mother took me away from her. Eddie has shared the same room with his and, even though they annoy him sometimes, they are his family.

He doesn't know. There's no explaining. There is no way I can really do that. Family is important to him while family has done near to nothing for me. My mother may have been an intelligent person, and taught me some things that I still hold true, and my father may be close to me, but he's too entirely self-righteous. I cannot explain these things. There's too much to say and after a while I just seem like a bitter, complaining, angry person. I'm not. I've come to terms with the fact that this is my life.

I had thought, stupidly, that Eddie understood. But I was wrong. I hate being wrong, but it's a fact of life. I learn from it.

I want a family, but I make my own family. I have close friends that I consider family. I'm trying to reach out to a lot of them right now because I feel so lonely. I want my Matthew back, I want the comfort of Jackie, and maybe even that ninny, Casey.

Sometimes the words just go away with you. This isn't really what I had planned to write, though there was no particular planning to this writing. I just wanted to write to get things off my chest and quickly, before I got to work...

What do I expect out my family and my friends? Companionship; the same thing that I ask for in any relationship. I don't want to rely on anyone, I don't want anyone to rely on me. I just want people around that can be together, love each other. Love me. Because one of the things that I've felt very recently that I've never really felt before... well, no, that needs more explaining.

I've always felt unloved, but through the assurances of others I have allowed myself to feel loved. The only time that I have felt loved and really allowed it is in relation to my very best friends; Matthew and Jackie especially. My mother, I was always falling in and out of love with her—she loved me when I acted like the 'perfect daughter'... someone who wasn't me. When I acted like myself, she had big problems with me, hence the getting kicked out—and that was just for standing up for what I believed in. Her second husband, the one who molested me, kept telling me he loved me. That was bullocks. I feel love for Bill, my stepbrother through that marriage and someone who I still consider my brother, though I've had little contact with him recently.

The point is, I feel as alone and unloved now as I've always felt, but never let myself feel for the assurances of others. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really capable of having that pretty, life-long love that everyone talks about. I really thought I had that with Eddie, but through the manipulations of other people—by him LETTING others manipulate him—it was shattered. I cannot trust him again, thereby I cannot love him again.

I don't trust a lot of people and, like I've mentioned before, there is no love without trust. I learned very early in life to depend only on myself. I love me because I trust in me.

This may sound so very cynical, but they are simply observations. It's not that I don't believe love exists, it's that I'm looking for a love STRONG ENOUGH to really work. Everyone is afraid of love. I am not. I feel like I bathe in it every day—that everybody does. Do they realize it? Hardly ever. Love changes, love fades, yet I trust in it because it is very, very real.

I feel I know the kind of love I'm looking for, but it is very special, very abnormal. Nothing like the love that is often offered to me. Even though those who offer may feel it, I do not. Not strong enough. Too weak, too young, too naïve in the ways of the heart. I will not trust myself to these people again, no mater what they promise.

And I'm speaking now of several men—some four in number—that are currently trying to win my affections through confessing their 'undying love'. I don't trust any of them. I don't want any of them. Again, it may sound cynical, but what do they have to offer me? None of them know what they are to do with their lives; none of them can genuinely hear where I'm coming from and respond in kind with knowledge and wisdom of their own. They have fallen for my body, or my words, but not with me.

I've been proposed to a lot. I've rejected many. The one man I really wanted rejected me. I'm a little cynical... but I'm also, I feel, growing stronger.

These words have helped, I feel like that hard knot in my chest has loosened a little. Perhaps I'll write more soon but, as always, no promises.

Vous offrir au revoir et bonne nuit,

-Lady Teigra-