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I'm watching Good Will Hunting on TV,
and his therapist was asking him what he's passionate about.

& I thought about it a little,
and I can't think of anything that I'm passionate about.
There are some things that I'm good at.
I do well in school.
Aced my AP exams.
I like math, and I like some parts of biology.
But I'm not passionate about them.
I care about animals.
I feel deeply sorry for all those cats in the humane society.
But I'm not passionate about saving them.
The most passion I've found in myself thus far
is for certain TV shows and video games.
& honestly, that's all I've been doing lately.
I don't read. I don't go outside.
I would love to be active again,
and have friends to play tag or capture the flag with or something,
hold on to the child in me.
But I don't even have friends.

And speaking of friends,
there's another kind of passion,
which of course I also don't possess.
A passion with people. Love.
I love my mom, and I love my sister.
I loved my brother, but he's been gone for so long it seems
that sometimes I forget I have a brother.
This movie, Good Will Hunting,
made me realize that maybe I don't really love
all the people I say I love.
His therapist told him that he's never loved anyone more than himself.
And I think that's true for me, too.
To be honest, love easily slips away for me.
I loved my best friend Nichole more than anyone in the world.
But we had to move away from each other.
And there were times where I felt it wouldn't matter if I never saw her again,
'cause the love just slipped away
'cause I never saw her.
But it was years that I hadn't seen her.
& I have seen her recently now,
but only for a day.
But a day isn't enough to bring it back.
I still admire her and love who she is,
but I don't think I love her any more.
With a month with her, I'm sure it would come back.
But how is it that I can love someone and just have it disappear like that?

Now I'm just living each day as it comes.
I don't think much about the future,
just the occasional hope that it'll be great,
that I'll finally have friends for keeps
and maybe my first boyfriend,
and something to make a happy career out of.
Sometimes I think about the past,
how much fun I had with Nichole & Hope back in Meade,
the adventures I had in Arizona,
or how for some reason I don't remember parts of my life
that my younger sister does remember.
Being older, I should be able to remember better, shouldn't I?
But now, I just try to find things to amuse me for an hour or so,
like the TV & video games I mentioned before.

So what am I living for now?
I'm just waiting.
That's all I'm doing with my life.
Waiting.
w
a
i
t
i
n
g
For things to get interesting.
Mostly for college to come.
College is a life changing experience.
& it better change my life.
I don't know how much longer I could live a meaningless life.
I need friends and passion and excitement.
These days, my dad coming home with KitKats for me is exciting.
I need more than this.

Maybe I'm exaggerating.
It is summer, meaning no school to distract me.
But wait.
It would distract me.
From the truth that is.

I do have high hopes, however.
My life is dull now,
but when college rolls around,
I'll have friends.
I'll constantly be around people.
It'll make life more interesting.
College will give me some purpose.
I'll find out what I want to do with my life.
And just maybe I'll fall in love.

I'm doubtful anyone will read this, though I'm hopeful someone will.
I haven't updated it in awhile, so no one should be waiting for a new entry.
And a lot of what I've said is dictated by emotion.
So tomorrow I'll just shrug it off,
looking for the next hour long amusement.
But I'll know deep down that what I've typed is still valid.



The thunder of my father’s voice penetrates the walls of my house, of my bedroom, where I have tried in vain to find peace. I sit on my bed and hug my legs as close to my chest as possible, seeking as much warmth and security as they can provide. My face is stonier and more emotionless than that of a statue as I pretend not to hear my parents argue. My mind is like a thousand car pileup, each thought colliding horrifyingly into the next, changing everything in but an instant, leaving me shocked to paralysis.

What am I living for? When was the last time I was truly happy? When was the last time I actually really cared about something? I am alive simply because I still eat and sleep. I eat simply because it hurts not to. I sleep to escape reality. Occasionally, however, my dreams are worse, presenting to me images of gruesome dismemberment and a horror that wraps around my entire body like a python in a suffocating squeeze.

The last time I was happy and the last time I really cared about something are one in the same. It was certainly an eternity ago yet only four years in the past. I had a best friend: Nichole. I had never admired and idolized someone as I had her. In my mind, she was akin to a goddess. I always imagine her now from above, looking down smiling brightly, her love penetrating my skin and filling me with a warmth like the sun. But our families both moved away, pulling us apart over the years like a bandaid tugging at the hairs as it is slowly removed, each moment in time severing the bond little by little and causing great agony. We tried to keep in touch, but it was not enough to hold our friendship together. I loved her then. I don’t know her now.

These days, I can’t be sure I experience love any more. I say that I love my mother and that I love my sister, but do I? I do appreciate them, but are my feelings as deep as love? Perhaps if love is an ocean, my feelings for my mother and sister are a modest lake. I’m afraid to admit that I might not love my mother. I cannot tell anyone that, especially not her. Everyone loves their mother. Unless she did something terribly wrong. My mother did nothing terrible. But perhaps she could love me a little more. Hugs and kisses are gentle and tender. And they are almost taboo in my house. To receive one is to think, “Are you alright? Why are you in such a good mood?” They are rare, and their rarity makes experiencing them bizarre, almost unwelcome. Imagine a stranger hugging you. It is interesting, and perhaps not uncalled for, for me to relate my family to strangers.