This is my 700th post. Happy anniversary to me!

Thinking back to the backyard, over-the-bbq, Mean Girls-esque conversation I was having with Claire and Garrett yesterday I remembered...

Kindergarten
I couldn't spell gate.

Played Twinkle, Twinkle in my first piano recital.

Best friends: neighbors Vicki and David.

I don't know what I did, or didn't do, but I was sent to a shrink where she made me draw pictures. I remember thinking, you ain't gonna get nothing out of me. I'm going to draw a happy picture. I drew a picture of me, with a big rainbow and a tree. My parents were (supposedly) told I had a learning disorder. Part of my brain never developed correctly because I wasn't allowed to crawl as a baby. So, among other things, I couldn't read clocks properly. I had to spend time "crawling" to develop that part of my brain. My dad was told to build a little spinning thing for me. I used it to make myself dizzy and sick.

1st Grade
Mrs. Hansen sends home progress report: Talks too much in class. Doesn't do her assigned work. Not working up to potential.

Best friend: neighbor Mike.

3rd Grade
Mikey calls me a bitch. We stop being friends.

Best friend and first crush: neighbor Mike. (I find out ten years later- he's gay.)

4th Grade
Moved out of beloved old house. Gained weight because I didn't have neighborhood friends to run around with. Gained weight because I didn't have a pool to swim in every day. Got sad because school friends were never really friends. Started spending lunch and recess in the corner by the library, reading where no one could see me.

Sarcastic, cynical Nikki develops. Enemies are made. (Cue start of Mean Girls.)

Sr. Cecilia sends me to the principal's office for cussing at her. (Exact words forgotten.)

5th Grade
Mrs. D sends home progress report: Failing math. Almost failing English. Not nearly working up to her potential.

Parents offer bribe: $20 for every A.

Corner by the library now noticed by 8th grade boys. Started spending lunch and recess hiding in Mrs. Hansen's room, by offering to file and take care of the hamsters.

6th Grade
Rolling in the dough, I cheated because I was bored. Ms. Timmons was so big she couldn't get out of her chair to teach. So she never saw the cheat sheet on the floor next to my desk during spelling tests.

Ate dinner in my room every night, with the TV on.

7th Grade
Still rolling in the dough. But the end of the tunnel was finally coming into view. Because that (and the new figure skating lessons) made me happy, I started making pseudo-friends.

From the bitch's mouth, first heard the words "pubic hair".

8th Grade
Pressure finally gone. Looking forward to leaving the hated schoolmates, I started being nice to everyone.

Found a high school where I'd only know one person from the hated elementary school. Yippee!

9th Grade
Got my first of the only two semesters of straight A's in my life. (It helped that there was no more conduct grade on the report card.) Parents had to pay me in installments.

Made friends with a girl my mom didn't like. She was my first best friend since moving out of my beloved house the summer before 4th grade.

Found sophomore friends who introduced me to theater.

10th Grade
Probably the best year of my life since I could remember. Except for that part where my best friend tried to commit suicide. Twice.

Added kung-fu to the skating and piano and theater.

11th Grade
Got the license. Got the car. Got a curfew. Got a job. Got a size 9 dress for winter formal. Got a bf. Lost that. Yeah.

Found out what ASB really did on weekends.

12th Grade
PDA!

Lost touch with the best friend.

Prom with the ex.

13th Grade
BOYS.

Started feeling dirty. Like I was being used. By Samahang leaders.

14th Grade
Piano and skating lose to PCN.

Size 7. People think I'm anorexic.

Stress.

Alcohol.

Jay.

15th Grade
The Apartment.

Cheesecake Factory.

16th Grade
James and the Big Mistake.

17th Grade
Stopped going to class Winter quarter. Still managed to graduate come Spring, although I still don't count that among one of my finer accomplishments in life. I could've done better. Much, much better.

18th Grade and On
Live life knowing I could do better. Much, much better.
posted by Nikki at 11:05 PM

Psychic vampire: A person who sucks all the emotional energy out of you just by being in close proximity.

I've known a few psychic vampires in my life, although I didn't know what to call them at the time. And lately I think I've become one myself. It's the only reason to explain why I haven't had anyone to spend time with recently. I think the more I spend time with myself the more needy I become when actually spending time with people. Which of course drives them away. Just like I do. But I don't always drive them away. Sometimes I run, too.

Eh, fuck the psychobabble. I'm just sad. Inexplicably sad. More often than I should be, which is more often than not, it seems.
posted by Nikki at 12:01 AM

One thing about me... I like to talk. To myself. About myself. Occasionally, to others. Occasionally, to others about myself. I guess that's why I like having an online journal. It allows me to do all of the above at the same time. How efficiently lazy of me. The only thing is, I don't like talking about myself. Really, I don't. I just don't know what else to talk about. Sometimes, I admit, I don't even notice I'm doing it. And when I finally do I have two choices: stop or keep going. If I stop I have no clue what else to talk about, unless I just stop speaking completely. At which point the person I'm talking to is really thinking What a bitch. If I kept going then they'd be thinking God, she's stuck up. Of course, I've admitted time and time again that I am a selfish, spoiled, bratty, bitch. Yes, that's my honest opinion of me. I also think I'm slightly above average smart, sometimes cute but usually not, overweight with the vaguest hints of my past athleticism, naive but unwilling to admit it, and have sensitive emotions that are compensated for via cattiness and sarcasm. Witness the high self-esteem I'm displaying here? (I told you I'm sarcastic.)

Tonight, though, I want to be honest. Besides, aren't you supposed to be honest in a journal? (Disregarding the fact that this journal is available to just about everyone and their mom to read.) So in my honesty I will admit:

I like my job, but am afraid of it. I like the traveling and free stuff perks, I like the posh office setting, I like the high company I keep, and I like (most of) what I get to do. I'm afraid I won't leave when the time comes. I'm afraid people don't like me or what I do. I'm afraid of not doing the job justice. And I'm afraid of moving. Really, I'm afraid of moving and finding things to be dirty. (Yes, literally, physically, dirty.) I'm afraid it won't be as posh anymore and the job will lose it's glamour. I'm slightly less afraid I won't be able to afford it. Or that I won't "make it" on my own. Or that I'll feel even more lonely than I do now, surrounded by the family and friends I grew up with.

Which brings me to my next honest point. I think I have a slight problem with depression. Of course, it's a normal teen thing to happen, right? Except I'm not a teen anymore. Some days it's worse than other days. And some days it's so bad I scare myself. A few days it's been so bad that I was pushed to that brink of asking for help. I even tried once. And then I chickened out. Then there are other days that I'm happy and I wonder why I ever thought there was a problem. And this will go on in cycles, over and over. It's been going on in cycles ever since the fourth or fifth grade, which was when I started eating dinner in my room alone every night, while sitting in the dark watching TV until I fell asleep. Repeat ad inifinitum until I started figure skating in the seventh grade and you see how it started. How it remained, though, is what makes me think it's a problem. Because it shouldn't have. I moved on, got a life, made friends, lived on my own, yet it was still there. Not as bad as before, although a few times it came back like a tsunami, but it never completely went away. And now it just seems normal to me. Until I get these moments of clarity when I think It shouldn't be normal to be sad so often.

Which makes me wonder if I do it to myself by thinking about myself too much. I do the things I don't want to do. And it makes me sad. I can't honestly say whether I haven't stopped because I don't know how or whether I haven't stopped because I don't want to. I really don't know. But I do know I want to be someone I don't see myself to be. Of course, I've learned to cover it up. I've got a different personality for the office, for work functions, for family functions, for the different groups of friends, and for myself. I don't know which, or if any, of the above are real or not. No, wait. I know the work functions one isn't real, because every time I put on that suit it's like climbing inside a movie character. I know the part well. I know their motives, their characteristics and I can play them without fault. So at least I can cross one off, but I do love playing the part. Anyway, I haven't wrapped up this thought, but since it's my journal I can do what I want, which is to move on.

Another confession: I've smoked out. Yes. Just once. Although I will admit that I don't know whether that just once was also the last time. God knows I get tempted to go for it again, even if it wasn't the best experience I've ever had. Of course, that may have had something to do with the copius amounts of alcohol I had before inhaling, holding, then exhaling as the nice stranger boy told me to do. I do know, though, that as much as I enjoyed the mind altering substances I played with back in college (namely, alcohol) I don't like it so much now. I just wasn't made for needing outside substances to alter my mind, seeing as I already believe I'm quite messed up as it is. I can close my eyes and start thinking and be more fucked up than taking three hits and drinking an entire bottle of 1800 will make me.

And another confession: I'm not a virgin. If you're my parents you're having a heart attack right now. If you're not my parents you're thinking Big fucking deal. I don't regret anything I've done in the past. I will admit I've had some scares. And I will admit that it would have been nice to wait for "the right one" and see what that will be like. But I made my choices and I'm not going to beat myself up for them. I will admit I'd rather the next one be "the right one", although I also admit that I don't think it will. (Because I'm about 80% convinced I'll never meet that person.)

I'm also ambivalent about growing up. (Yeah yeah. Everyone is, I know. Spare me.) I don't want to grow up. I don't want to always HAVE to be responsible for my life. I don't want to lose that wonder that comes with experiencing something new by having done everything there is to do (which is why I'm such an experience junkie). But I also want to grow up, so I can see what else is in store for me. Although, here I'll stop for an aside.

As I was driving home on the 5 freeway this evening, just around the Disneyland area, I had this sort of vision. Or something. I don't want to call it a premonition and it wasn't a real vision because it's not like I couldn't see what was going on in front of me. But I just FELT that this car came out of nowhere, out of control, and hit my car on the back passenger side so hard that it dented the back passenger door all the way in to where I was sitting. Then nothing. It was a freaky feeling. Nothing that's occurred in the last few days, weeks even, that I can think of would or should have spurred a thought like this. Which is why it was even more freaky. And, I will admit because I'm being honest tonight, I've always believed I have the ability to kind of know what's going to happen in the future. Not in the way like I know what you're going to do after you finish reading this, but more like I think I hear the phone ring and then it actually does. Or like I'll see something happen and know that I've seen it happen in one of my dreams before. And since it's been happening to me ever since I was a kid it doesn't seem weird. I just don't talk about it to anyone. So anyway, this thought is another reason why what happened (or didn't happen) on the freeway today freaked me out. Let's just hope I'm wrong.

Which brings me to yet another point I'd like to make about myself (because talking about myself is my favorite subject.) I don't care so much if I die. I mean, yeah, it's a sad thought. But if I die, then I die. What am I gonna do about it? I care more about leaving behind my parents and my cousins and my friends. I don't want to make them sad. (I'm assuming they'll be sad.) I do care, though, about how I die. This is the only thing I'm afraid of. I don't want it to be anything tragic. I don't want to be a statistic. And I don't want to hurt. That's it. Otherwise, if I die, then I get the answer to some of life's biggest questions, don't I?

Anyway, so here is the oxymoron- I'd like to see what's in store for me, but if I die I won't really care.

This also has something to do with my whole moving situation. When I move I'll be leaving behind my parents (which I am actually sad about, although we all know it had to happen eventually), my cousins (which I'm not too sad about considering that I think of them as family, but am not emotionally that close to them), and my friends (of which I feel I only have a few good ones left, anyway, so... yeah. Okay, I'll admit that I already feel like I've lost most of my friends so this one is almost like whatever to me. Sad, huh?) So I feel like I've got almost nothing to leave behind or stay for.

And after all this I also have to be honest about one last thing: relationship status. I'm single. Have been since James and I broke up. I'll admit that was a mistake (the relationship, not the break up). So was Jerry and so was Tony, although I did learn something from each of them. I will admit that I'm afraid I've given up every chance I've had to have a real relationship. I will admit I think I'm arrogantly too picky and self centered to attract the kind of guy I'm looking for. I will admit I'm afraid I'll never be in a real relationship. I will admit I don't think I'm emotionally capable (ie. mature enough) of being in a real relationship. And I'll admit that I still like someone I shouldn't like, although I don't know if I like the real him or the person I made up.

And as for friends... like I said, I feel like I've already lost most of them. I have friends I talk to, some more than others, some I tell a lot more than others. But I just don't feel like I have a friend to fill that emotional gap of "best friend(s)". And the thought makes me lonely. It also forces me to dig myself deeper into my cave. Instead of going out to meet people I stay in and sleep. Or I wander the Huntington Beach pier by myself at 10pm on a Saturday night. I will admit that I want to call my friends and ask them to hang out, but that I feel like I'm bothering them. I will admit that I know I'm usually in a bad mood and don't want to subject my friends to it, thus I don't call anyone to hang out with. And thus I'm responsible for my own sadness and loneliness.

And lastly, I will admit that I want someone to read this. I want someone to understand me better than I understand me and explain me to me. Because if you or my parents think you're confused by me, think about how confused I am about myself. I want that person to be someone I can build an emotional bond with. And if it's the right person, I want them to be someone I can feel safe with. Someone I can hug. And someone I can kiss. And someone who makes me feel like I'm being the real me when I'm around them. Because I've tried finding me by myself and after 24 years it hasn't happened. So, in true drama-queen fashion, I will say that I'm just about ready to give up. And the day those words become settled in the stone that is my heart is the last day I will have to worry about any of this stuff. Because yes, if I actually take those words to heart (I mean, completely believe in them) that is the day I'll cave in to every suicidal thought I've ever had.
posted by Nikki at 1:38 AM

I'm still wiggin over this dream I had last night. And it's been over four hours since I woke up. Why??

My mom heated up one of those pannido sandwiches from Jack in the Crack this morning. Then she threw it in her brand new Coach purse to eat while we were at a movie. All the while I kept thinking, "I can't eat that, it's not healthy. Can't I just bring a banana instead? Why do we never have any good fruit in this house?" And as I was eating it, with every bite, I said "If I eat this I'm going to do at least an hour on the eliptical trainer today." God, what the hell have I turned into?

Anyway. There was more but I can't remember it. I'm off to the gym.
posted by Nikki at 2:26 PM

Skipped dinner last night. Forgot. Skipped dinner tonight. Didn't wanna make the effort. Really, though, even though I'm not doing it on purpose, I was thinking the other day how I missed those days of second year where I only had time to eat one meal a day.

I don't know why, but I just don't feel like spending time with people. I guess I should say certain people. The thought of it just gets on my nerves. It's weird though, because it's not like there's a reason for it. One person in particular... I keep wondering why. I've known the person for a long time. But in all that time we never really hung out. Unless there was a big group of us. I just don't think we have much in common. And sometimes the things they do and say annoy me. But they're still my friend. I just don't want to hang out with them right now. And no, it's not you.

The thought of putting effort into seeming happy to hang out with people is a heavy one right now. It's not what I want to do. Of course, I don't have to make the effort to seem happy when I'm with certain people, but with most people I do. It's just me. I'm not a normally "weee I'm happy to be here with you" type of person. I'm more a "okay I'm here now what" type of person.

It's funny, though, because I usually try to put so much energy into being all smiley and stuff around people. They think it's unusual for me to be serious. Even people who thought they were my best friend at one time don't know this. They think I'm this sort of airheaded person who never thinks about things that really matter. It's just easier to give out that persona than the real one. Because then there's no need for explanation. If you don't look like you're having a good time, someone will inevitably ask you what's wrong. And if you tell them nothing's wrong, that it's normal for you to be like that, they won't believe it. They'll think you're hiding something from them. Which, I guess, you are. But really, the only thing you're hiding is the real you. It's not like you're hiding some deep, dark secret from them. You're trying to protect them. You think.

I wish I had better analytical skills. But maybe I don't analyze things well because I think it's all bullshit. Theories are crap, I say. If you say it in fifteen words when it only takes five, you're dumb. Just get it out and be on with it already. I was never good at writing papers because my teachers felt I never explained things well enough. Well, I figured I gave them enough. I didn't have to spell it all out for them, did I? Besides, why try to read into something and make up some shit when the only person who really knows what it means is the person who wrote/created it. I'm not one to put words in another's mouth.
posted by Nikki at 10:39 PM