I always get emotional going though pictures from the past year. I think it's a mix of the tough year and me just seeing everything that's happened good and bad. Even though it was one of my tougher years I don't think I'd change a thing. And with all that happened over this past year I'm thankful for where it brought me because in a weird way (that I couldn't explain with words) I know the greater plan is working everything out.
You know your childhood is over when you and your best friend break a swingset
My favorite kicks
The movie pixels was great
I lost my Grandpop <3
More shoes
One of my favorite nights of this year was in August when we went to the One Direction concert
My camera zoomed all the way in on stage and they just came out of a fist bump
Every Thursday I go to couples therapy with my depression. He
whispers in my ears to stay in bed for another day, presses his palm to
my chest afraid I'm going to escape the covers. After I scrape myself
out of the shower I still smell like him. Like midnight panic attacks,
like first in basis with CBS pharmacist, like I'm not hungry I already
had a Rice Krispies treat today. Our sessions with our therapists are 50
minutes. We spent that time restating the same issues to her. We've
been on again, off gain since high school, but this time it has been a
solid year that got to me into getting serious.
She asks about my
appetite. No, I haven't been eating but he likes me skinny, it makes it
easier for him to be big spoon, it's like I disappear in him, like his
body swallows mine. She asks if I have done anything with my friends
lately. Not in a while, we usually stay-in. My friends aren't that
thrilled when we are out together. That's what happens when you've been
with someone so long. She asks if anything has changed since I started
with the Zoloft. He digs his nails into the chair, grates his teeth, she
asks me again. He gets jealous, but Zoloft treats me well.Takes me to
breakfast in the morning, feeds me French toast. He got mad though;
something like cheating on him, threatening to take out the scissors so I
threatened to see Zoloft even more; all of them. Allat once; I almost
did.
She asks if that was the night took me to the health center.
"Yeah, but it was just one time." And the nurse said no visitors, takes
Zoloft away from me, so we got to spend some quality time as a couple
again. Our therapist thinks I'm only with him because my father called
mother a whore, or because I still sometimes wish I were straight or
because I have never had a serious love life. She doesn't understand
this is the most serious relationship I have ever had. She says time's
up, come back next week. He mutters, “Fine." under my breath, slams the
door on our way out. Our therapist said that there have been
improvements over the past few weeks; that he and I would probably
always be together, but that I'll be more independent soon.
Lately,
I've started thinking more about that. Mornings when I wake up hungry.
My body remembers how to live the matters on its own, feel its arm
shrink from my waist for a few hours, so I can finish a poem. Watch,
"Pats and Rick". Eat a sandwich; make the bed without crawling back in
even when he says that without him I would be a guarded house, scraped
clean, creaking and caving in. Sometimes I still think he's right, but
last week I stepped on to the scale I gained three pounds. It's only
three pounds but it's all me. It's all me.
By - Patrick Roche
While this poem doesn't apply to me it gave me chills. This guys interpretation of depression and the situation shows his talent and brings out my love for therapy.
Today is the first day it started feeling like winter. Where I live the weather has been warm and almost spring feeling. We had dandelions in our front yard. In December. I don't typically like too much snow or cold weather period but my allergies are ridiculous because Mother Nature can't make up her mind.
We have always rescued our animals and this year we decided to adopt again. We weren't planning to adopt another animal we're still grieving over the loss of our border Collie Cooper; that is until we saw the cats at Petco. Mom, Kathleen, and I went to Petco randomly while shopping for dad's Christmas gift. We saw another cat in there that was older and decided to come back with dad later on. We ended up coming back later and not connecting with this cat. So I looked up some shelters in the area and found a shelter near by that was having a holiday special, lowering their cat adoption fees to $5. One thing led to another and Mirabelle is the newest edition to our family in time for Christmas.
On the last day of school Chad and I dressed up in Ugly sweaters
Going with my little poetry theme tonight I decided to shared this last one that I find both hilarious and Haunting. While watching this video I laughed, teared up, and got chills.
At 7:45 a.m., I open the doors to a buildingdedicated to building, yet only breaks me down.I march down hallways cleaned up after me every dayby regular janitors,but I never have the decency to honor their names.Lockers left open like teenage boys' mouthswhen teenage girls wear clothes that coverstheir insecurities but exposes everything else.Masculinity mimicked by men who grew up with no fathers,camouflage worn by bullies who are dangerously armedbut need hugs.Teachers paid less than what it costs them to be here.Oceans of adolescents come here to receive lessonsbut never learn to swim,part like the Red Sea when the bell rings.
This is a training ground.My high school is Chicago,diverse and segregated on purpose.Social lines are barbed wire.Labels like "Regulars" and "Honors" resonate.I am an Honors but go home with Regular studentswho are soldiers in territory that owns them.This is a training ground to sort out the Regularsfrom the Honors, a reoccurring cyclebuilt to recycle the trash of this system.
Trained at a young age to capitalize,letters taught now that capitalism raises youbut you have to step on someone else to get there.This is a training ground where one groupis taught to lead and the other is made to follow.No wonder so many of my people spit bars,because the truth is hard to swallow.The need for degrees has left so many people frozen.
Homework is stressful,but when you go home every day and your home is work,you don't want to pick up any assignments.Reading textbooks is stressful,but reading does not matter when you feelyour story is already written,either dead or getting booked.Taking tests is stressful,but bubbling in a Scantron does not stopbullets from bursting.
I hear education systems are failing,but I believe they're succeeding at what they're built to do --to train you, to keep you on track,to track down an American dream that has failedso many of us all. -Malcolm London
I don't live in Chicago but this poem still means a lot to me and I assume my fellow teenagers everywhere all over the 50 states and possibly even across the world. I felt the need to share this with everyone because I walk through the "Red Sea" 5/7 days out of the week and see kids who need to be reminded that they aren't alone.
You were like a monkey bar and I held on.
It was fun at first
my feet dangling high above the ground,
but then blisters formed,
and my pale hands,
they started to sweat;
I started to slip
but kept my grip
refusing to look down.
I adjusted my hands
trying to hold on
to something that was holding back.
- Written by me of corse
I don't know how much I love this one but it just kinda came to me so why not write it out?
Hugs from Hayley
Recently I had a dream about my friend dying. It started when I was in school, my cell phone kept ringing and after the 5th call I picked up. It was my friends mom and I tried to tell Mrs. Tara I couldn't talk right now because I was in class. She started to cry and said no Hayley it was Breanne... and that she was dead. I exited the room my teacher frantically yelling after me telling me to stop. I started to screaming "No" my screams echoing down the halls. I started punching the lockers before I sank to my knees crying. Scenes changed and I stood on a podium giving a speech to the people around me. Everyone dressed in black and the color sucked out of every person in the room. Scenes changed yet again and now I sat in school bags under my eyes and my cheeks red and puffy.
There wasn't much more to the dream and I actually put it on the back burner for a week. So why am I telling you about this now or at all?
I was sitting at the kitchen table a few days back drowning in homework when mom called me. She first asked me what street my friend Breanne lived on; after giving her the address she asked me to call her panicked. As I dialed her number mom told me That there had been a toxic waste explosion on her street blowing up a whole house. Breanne's street goes on for several blocks but this still made me panic. As the phone rang the dream came flooding back and I started to cry as four calls went to voicemail. I called her mom then tried her cell again. This time she picked up right away.
The amusing and reliving part is she was completely oblivious that an explosion had even happened; while I'm 7-8 hours away and I know what's happening a few doors down from her.
She was fine and only one man was injured in the explosion but it was still too close for my liking.
I don't know about you but I personally couldn't live without my best friend;
And as much as she knows I love her and as much as I know I love her the explosion proved that you don't know what tomorrow could bring or what it could take away.
What's wrong with my eye???
If you're reading this Breanne, please stay in my life forever because you're one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
Not all my videos are going to end up being about antiques but these are the first videos I came up with. Expect an introductory video and a beauty tip video in the near future :)
Hia and Welcome to my Blog!
This is a place where I can share my photographs and thoughts. Thank you for visiting, hugs from Hayley
