You know that lightheaded kind of dizziness you get when you’re holding your breath in some manner or another? My head has felt like that all day, even when I’m not singing. And no, I haven’t been holding my breath. And I haven’t even mentioned that I keep getting these minor but blinding head rushes whenever I stand up. It’s really bad going up stairs.

I felt like I was gonna pass out about 2 hours ago(’round 3:15 to 3:25 PM) because my throat tightened up and my chest started to hurt, and I couldn’t really inhale without it hurting. And then my head started to pound and I got really dizzy. I had to stop rocking and cough and take painfully deep breaths, and none of it really helped. And when I took those ridiculously deep breath, my lungs vibrated. Not rattled like pneumonia; like, vibrated like a phone. In the end, it just went away on its own.

Other than that sensation of lightheadedness, I keep getting these super hot flashes, and they just make me get dizzy. The headache’s been coming and going throughout the day. I haven’t eaten much today because I just haven’t been hungry, and it seems like the coffee I’ve been drinking has been doing the job by itself anyway.

Maybe I’m DYING. -_-

“I can’t wait until you guys are gone/out of here… *snap snarl growl*”

So, I’m sitting at the dinner table today, eating dinner with David and Ricky, and I’m bouncing my leg like I usually do. This really irritates David, but I don’t especially care because I’m just a bitch.

So, eventually, David says this;

“I don’t know if I should be sad or glad when you guys move.”

I am so mad right now, I could blow a fucking gasket. At the same time, I’m really upset. I mean, seriously, David? Since when are you as much of an asshole as Dad?

Fuck it. I won’t have to live with them anyway, and I am in no place to say anything anyway, because David’s not my son, and this isn’t my house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed to all hell at Dad for making this worse than it already is. I really hate him. He should consider DYING.

I spoke with Derik last night. It was a good, fruitful conversation. I learned of several songs that I had never heard of, and I fell in love with a majority of them. It wasn’t until much later in the conversation that we started talking about more interesting topics, though I supposed that the change in language was partially my fault. He asked me why I was upset, because I had posted a status, perhaps, or maybe Devv had told him that I seemed “off”. Not sure, but he asked me what was wrong, and I told him in basic terms. My horrible living situation, my difficulty with school, and my nearly-clinical depression.

Of all the things he could’ve asked, the first thing he wanted to know about was school. He asked me why I was having trouble with it, and I told him that I thought it was the depression. I was having a hard time getting out of bed to go to school, and I had been having that trouble since I returned to my home school.

We talked about it for a little while, and I explained to him that it wasn’t like I didn’t like the people; no, I loved the people (except Mr. Hertzog, he’s an asshole). I had never liked the subjects of math and Social Studies, but I liked the teachers for the most part. So he asked me why it was so hard for me to go somewhere that I enjoyed being.

That was when it hit me, rather like a car into a brick wall. No, it wasn’t the people, or the subjects, or the lunch food.

It was more like the trauma.

You may or may not already know this, but when I was in elementary school, I was a problem child. I was rather dysfunctional in school, whether I was cranky or hyper. I was throwing hissy fits and swearing and screaming at teachers and students alike. I remembered suddenly that, when I had been in the 3rd grade, I had been sat next to a boy I hated; Cody. He picked on me. He didn’t ignore me or try to get me in trouble, so to speak, but he bullied me. He teased me. He made fun of me, and I would tell him to “shut his fucking mouth”, and I would get in trouble, no questions asked. That was when I threw my fits.

Other than that, I was more or less traumatized by those experiences. And I have gone and throw myself back into the place I’ve been cursing and hating my entire life. It’s no wonder I’m having so much trouble functioning in my classrooms. I suppose I still haven’t come to terms with my childhood. It’s probably the same with my father. Until I come to terms with what’s happened between us as a family, I won’t be able to let him go like my mom has.

See? I’m learning.

I’m THE MOST screwed up kid I know, in ways I can’t even tell or describe. How the hell do you expect me to be able to get up every morning with a big fucking smile on my face and say, “Gee, I’m gonna have a great day today,” When I can barely get myself to open my FUCKING EYES.

Every time I start basically screaming at the top of my lungs for some help in my figurative language, I get called a whiny bitch and told that I should stop moaning and maybe do something about it. What the fuck do I do? I don’t know what there is to be done! I don’t know why I’m depressed, why I can’t get myself to stop being depressed… I can’t even always tell you why I haven’t fucking killed myself yet!

It’s clear to me that nobody gets this, but you know, it really SUCKS when nobody can understand that it just hurts.

I’m so sick of living. I’m sick of people, and school, and not being able to sleep, and not wanting to eat, and not being able to function… I’m sick of being awake, and I’m sick of sleeping. I’m going to fucking DIE if I keep treating myself like this, but at this stage in the game I so totally don’t give a shit that I can’t even describe it to you.

I’m tired of this whole “living” bullshit..

It was a Battle of the Sexes, in which I was doing my best, and I mean best impersonation of a female chauvinist sow. Derek was defending the men while I was sullying their image.

I hate men. We know this. I’ve told everyone this many time. I have good reasons for hating men. Very good reasons. No names given, but 95% of the men in my life are total jerks or stuck-up pigs. And then there’s the fact that men are, in general stupid, or at least the 95% of the ones I know are.

I’m not trying to pick a fight, but I’m perfectly willing to fight anyway, if someone wants to.

So, anyway, Derek was telling me exactly what mom’s told me a few times. “Men don’t really know when they’re men, because they don’t have an obvious symbol. Women do. Women bleed.” And he also added his own bit “Men have had everything that they prided themselves in taken away from them.” He used the examples of hunting, fighting, ect. To which I said “I don’t really care. I’m going to get that coffee that I totally forgot about.”

We argued for a bit, he was very defensive because he’s biased against women and think we all suck, generally speaking. I was very much intent on defending my position, however, because all men are assholes and the world would be better off without them. Dad popped into the kitchen to tell me that “it wasn’t worth it”, to which I said, “I’m not fighting with him. Because unlike you, I’m not a spiteful jerk.” Half that sentence was a lie to him under my teeth, though.

My personal opinion, of course, is that men have been dominating society since their fucking creation, and they can do without the power for a few hundred years. It won’t kill them, like they seem the think. If they’d all stop being such pansies and go to fucking school, they wouldn’t have a problem staying up to bat. But no, you men are selfish idiots who seem to think that because of your testosterone, the world should come to you on a silver fucking platter.

Well, sorry, bitches, but that platter is heading for my table, and I’m going to eat it slowly with smirking evilly at you.

I’m sorry Derek, but I cannot feel sympathy for men, for the simple reason that it took us women for-fucking-ever to get out rights in the first fucking place. When America was first formed, women had nothing. We obeyed the orders of our spouses, and that was the end of it. You selfish bastards never gave us anything so we actually worked to get our rights. If you aren’t willing to work to get your stupid “manhood” back, then you don’t fucking deserve it at all.

You filthy pigs deserve a reality check, and if I have to be part of the generation that gives it to you, then so be it. I might even enjoy kicking your asses a little.

I should seriously consider getting rid of all my categories and just putting all my posts under “Stuff.” It’d make my blog and my life a little less messy. :/

So, last night, me, Gina, Brian and a friend of Brian and Gina’s, Joey, went joyriding. Brian was driving. Crazy bastard.
I had already known that something was going to go wrong, somewhere deep in my gut, because Brian was driving the back roads to Oneonta at between 50-70 MPH the whole way. At one point, I remember he got up to 80, maybe 82. I understand that whole teenager thing about driving fast is fun, but I will never EVER drive that fast on a backroad in all my life.

The whole time I was thinking somewhere in the back of my head, “We’re going to spin out, crash head on into someone else…”

And I sure as hell jinxed us.

We had driven to Oneonta and made it there alive, and after turning around in the parking lot at the mall, we were deciding which way to go home. Brian wanted a different back road to drive, so Gina gave him one. Apparently, I think it was something like “Go to Delhi, and then Treadwell, and then hop on some county road and make your way back to Sidney.” Brian and Joey agreed that they could go that way. I was helpless in the back seat. I can’t drive, so how the hell am I supposed to know these routes?

At any rate, Brian continued his assault on the road, and we were heading back home at around 70 mph, give or take 5-10 mph depending on the turns.

So, we were driving up this slight incline, and there are suddenly high beams in our face. Someone was driving towards us on the opposite side of the road, and they didn’t turn down their high beams. So, as a result, we were blinded for just long enough. Before any of us had time to tell Brian “HEY THERE’S A CURVE THAT YOU SHOULD SRSLY SLOW DOWN ON!”, we were upon a junction. The one where 357 goes sort of to the right but mostly straight, and 28 practically turns itself into a knot trying to get away from 357. We hit that curve at 68-70 mph, and the back wheels gave in to inertia and kept going sideways.

At that point, I don’t really remember when I saw; everything was happening so fast and so loudly, my brain couldn’t register it fast enough, so most of it is a total blur. Not to mention, I closed my eyes for a few seconds whenever he hit a particularly hard “bump”. I know what happened, but I don’t remember it. We went over a slight bank, down an incline and across 357 into some conveniently place trees. Or something like that.

All I really remember is feeling my body jerking around with the cars movements, and bracing myself for the most amount of pain I would ever experience. And Gina screaming Brian’s name over and over, which was probably the scariest thing. I’ve never seen Gina lose her cool like that in such a situation. The closest I ever came to that was when she hit that deer on the way to Binghamton. She had shrieked mostly in horror and surprise, but she hadn’t panicked and freaked out like last night.

The impact on the tree was devastating mainly to the car and Brain, but not so much the tree. We hit it at a hard-to-describe-angle. To put it simply, the left corner of the hood of the car completely slammed into the tree, crushing a lot of it into pulp and metal. The smell of twisting hot metal was nauseating, and scary.

And then Gina started to panic again. The first thing she said when we stopped moving was “Brain?!”, probably because she was afraid that he’d died. I’m pretty sure he managed to garble out something like, “Is everyone okay?” but no one really heard him, I don’t think. The next thing I found out was that Gina’s foot was stuck, which scared the crap out of me, mainly because of how she worded it.

“M-my foots stuck!” Brain was trying to move, and free himself, but Gina continued with something along the lines of, “Brain don’t move the seat, my foots stuck!!” She scared me, because I thought she meant “I can’t move my foot, it’s numb/broken.”

Oh, wait, I’m forgetting something. No, the first thing Gina said when we firs timpacted wasn’t “My foots stuck”. It was “Oh God, my leg, my legs gone!”

I don’t know if she remembers saying that, but I sure as hell do. That was why I initially panicked internally. I kept calm, though, thankfully,(don’t really know how I managed THAT, but whatever) and I looked at Brian, who was stirring. Not looking around; stirring, as if he had lost consciousness for a brief second or so. I glanced at Joey, and he seemed to be looking at Brian to see if he was okay.

Then, I looked to Gina. All of this glancing around happened in mere seconds. I didn’t think I was the type to so easily relax and assess when I’m the one in the goddamn accident. Maybe I should become an ER surgeon.

Anyway, Gina had freed most of her leg by that point, and she was in the process of worrying about her foot. I think I recall saying something like, “Gina, what’s wrong with your foot?” to which she hysterically replied, “It’s stuck!”

She managed to wrench her foot free, of course. She later told me that she had been terrified that the car was going to explode and she’d be trapped inside it.

I don’t blame her.

Joey pulled himself out of the car first; Brain followed, despite his half-consciousness and lack of memory. I followed and made sure to check that Gina would be okay. She rejecte dmy assistance completely, but I just wanted to make sure that she could walk. Told her to avoid the huge branch that was right outside our car door, which she did. She was able to walk fine. By the time we got out of the car, Brian was sitting on the trunk, looking like a mess. His arm was bleeding, but it wasn’t arterial; it just looked gross. A bunch of people where there before we’d even gotten out of the car. It started out as a married couple(or so I assumed) and it turned into a freaking mob.

The woman called 911, and Gina went over to check on Brian and make sure he was okay. Apparently, from what I heard, he was extremely groggy and an emotional wreck. He kept apologizing to Gina when she went over to check on him, telling her that he screwed up and stuff. I wasn’t there to hear him, as I had lended Gina my sandal to walk through the dirt and rocks and stuff.

I vaguely remember getting my vitals checked, and I recall the state trooper who stole Gina’s license and has yet to give it back to her. I remember Gina telling the story of how we almost died to 50 million people, because they couldn’t just tell each other, they had to ask us 50 million times with 50 million different people. I remember the ambulance ride. They had to put me in the stretcher, mainly because I was a minor. I felt fine, so I’m still not sure why I was the one getting completely babied.

Mom met us at the hospital, as Gina had used the nice lady-who-called-the-911′s phone to call home. We spent fore er in the ER, getting checked and not checked. I got to clean the nasty smeared blood off my legs, and I also got and x-ray of my sternum and chest, because my sternum was hurting, and the pain was going all the way through to my spine.

In the end, Brian’s okay, I’m okay, Gina’s okay, and Joey’s okay. Everybody lived, and Brian has probably learned a good, nurturing lesson from this experience.

At this point, my chest and back still hurt, and I’ve got this really nasty seat belt bruise on my shoulder, and another on my left hip. And I have a ton of “abrasions’ and “contusions” all over my legs, not to mention the awesome rug burn on my ASS CHEEK + the long cut up my OTHER ASS CHEEK.