My Security Blanket

This weekend was technically, a whirlwind. I've been taking increasingly higher doses of melatonin to help me start getting to sleep at a reasonable time before I have to wake up at five in the morning. Thus, I've been trying not to overdo it. I have a tendency to... how you say... try to overdose on melatonin. It's a stupid idea, I know, like trying to slit your wrists with a bread knife, but I was always keen on the idea of falling asleep and never waking up. So! I've been trying to limit my consumption of these pills. And it has been difficult. My emotions are exceedingly fragile lately. I get lonely at the drop of a hat. I feel desperate and isolated and paranoid that I will never be truly happy, that all my happiness forevermore will be just a phase. And what seems like it's there to take that painsie-pain-pain away? Melatonin. Please don't blame me for having lame suicide choices, it's not my fault that my family is exclusively supplement-positive. Have stress? Here's a supplement. Can't sleep? Here's a supplement. Cry uncontrollably? Here's a supplement. And believe it or not, supplements taste like herbal ass.

Last night, I hit a very low point on the dial. On a scale of one to ten I was at a two, one being lowest and ten being highest. I did not have my cellphone, I did not have my iPod. I was completely alone, because I couldn't talk to my grandma nor grandpa about it. As much as I love them. My grandma would lose her cool if she heard I'd tried to commit suicide, seeing as it's one of God's no-no's, right up there with homosexuality and equality among the races. Nobody was online who I felt I could trust enough to confide in, though I had tried to tell Diantha to call my confidantes, a mishap involving many Away settings. And so I silently commiserated with myself.

Later, my grandma and I talked for a long while about high school and other such things. I love her to bits because she can be very comforting when she wants to be. Just don't question religion. My grandma immediately made me feel better. We didn't talk about the fact that I was so missing my boyfriend that I clutched onto Squishy like he held the last parachute on a crashing plane, but somehow she confirmed that I was loved, and that I wasn't alone. That my nerves about high school were normal, and that whatever happens, I'll still be myself. And somehow, even though she'd told me everyone went through these nerves and insecurities, I didn't feel underclassified. My grandma is so getting a cut of the fortune when I grow up.

My whiteness was confirmed further today. In nine simple steps:

Step One: Dance awkwardly to a Hip-Hop/Rap song.

Step Two: Having named said song Gangsta Symphony by Shit If I Know, decide to find the true name of said song.

Step Three: Ask white emo-band boyfriend whether he knew said song.

Step Four: Reason with white boyfriend that said song might just be by Kanye West.

Step Five: Go on YouTube searching for Kanye West music to compare to said song.

Step Six: Become frustrated.

Step Seven: Input "the rap music" into the YouTube search box.

Step Eight: Give up.

Step Nine: Say to white emo-band boyfriend "this is so going on my blog."