Doesn't have anything to do with hanging out with unintelligent people, just killing lots of brain cells. Why would someone do that?
I guess there are lots of reasons for death sticks and inhaling pounds of:
- tar, used in roads and for countless other construction purposes
- arsenic, a poison
- formaldehyde, which is used to prevent fires in buildings and to preserve corpses
- nickel - a metal that increases lung infection
- fungicides and pesticides - used to kill fungi and insects
- ammonia, a household cleaner
- butane, used in lighter fluid
- lead, used to be used in pencils, for Christ's sake
- carbon monoxide, a poisonous gas
- cyanide, a poison
- cadmium, which is used in batteries
- polonium, which is radioactive
Why would you ever do that, Olivia?
Give me an answer. Stress? To look "cool"? To fulfill a teenage stereotype? To occupy time?
Whatever.
I already have enough health problems. Weight gain and lung cancer would only make it worse. Asthma is bad enough as it is.
On another note.
I realized I'm terrified. Don't get me wrong, I'm still happy, I'm still confident, I'm still trying to be a good person. On the other hand, I'm terrified of things happening again. Last night I had another one of my chasing dreams. I had them during last year's school year and through the summer. In my dreams, I'm running from something, every single time. Last night's was bad. Mykaila and I were driving in what was until recently going to be my first car, a beat up old '97 Ford Taurus that my parents bought when we lived in California. Mykaila was driving, we were driving aimlessly around the Ranch, my old neighborhood. It never occurred to me during my dream that this was exactly what Kay and Preston and I had done only a few weekends before, in Preston's car, which is the same model.
We were driving and driving and driving, never stopping, always laughing. We went up a gravel road, climbing a steep hill until we hit a trail into a thicker forest. The trail wasn't wide enough for the car so we got out and walked down it until we found an open area to sit. There were patches of snow and piles of rocks surrounding us, but we didn't mind. We sat and talked, as we always do.
Sometime between when we sat down and it getting darker, I realized we were being followed. I didn't know by who or what, I just knew as one does in dreams; a dream doesn't need a reason or any specifics. We ran to the car. Hearts speeding, tripping over our feet, stumbling in the dark, falling. Leaping back up.
Mykaila made it to the car before the sun went down. I didn't. I had to crawl on my hands and knees, knowing that this being following me was getting ever closer.
Mykaila was screaming, yelling at me to get in, but I couldn't draw myself to do it. It couldn't get her.
I felt the being, still invisible to my eyes, get closer until I was staring it, or staring at the feeling of its closeness. My heart pounding out of my chest. My body sweating, but freezing. And then I woke up.
I don't know what I'm running from.
I know that I am terrified of people whom I love dying. It has happened too frequently in the past four years; eight people now. The first of this sequence was when I was eleven; I was a little young. The most recent was a near-grandfather last week...one of my closest friend's father the week before.
I know I'm afraid I'm not giving Judi the respect she needed. She would want me to be happy, and I am. But you never realize how much you have until it's gone.
I know that I feel the need to help M. She means so much to me and it hurts to see her like this. She says she'll get better, and I know she will. I worry, as a friend should, but I have faith in her. If I cannot do anything, she has the strength the pull herself out of it.
I know that no matter how bad my most recent relationship was or how badly it ended, I still miss him. I know it's not a good thing; he was not a healthy person. He tried, though. He really did, although cheating twice was enough to make me break it off. I miss the long giggle-filled conversations late into the night where I talked and he listened, mostly because he had nothing to say and claimed to love soaking up my joy. Occasionally there were those where he had things to say, where he would say them and we would discuss them. Books, his father, his mother, Miles, drugs, alcohol, sex, his past, his future, his present. I only wish I could redo it and be his friend instead.
There are several things I wish I could say on here that I would rather send to Postsecret. Or keep to myself.
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