My Strange Brew

Tomorrow, Kyler and I are set to hang out at his house after school until he has to go to work, and I have to go make it look like I've been home the whole time. The only problem is that I overanalyze things. I overanalyze the fact that he hasn't really been texting as eagerly as he has in the past. I overanalyze the fact that he doesn't ask me to come out smoking with him anymore, even if I don't partake in the nico-fixing. And of course, I'm starting to want to believe all the things Dobbl has said about him.

To be perfectly honest with you, I don't trust Dobbl's word. For a certain reason. It's not because "OMG I LUV KYLUR SO MUCH" or anything like that, I don't think she's jealous. The real reason I don't trust her word is because I know how she acted on the first day of school. She was uncomfortable and snappish and couldn't seem to get past the fact that, hello, she's a freshman now, and freshmen are treated like dirt wherever one attends. I think another defining factor in her current social standings at Best Hollow Food is the fact that she expected to be welcomed as a God. She expected everyone to think she was cool, and when they didn't, it got to her. Thus, she wasn't exactly... um... carefree and outgoing? So I can understand why Kyler wouldn't want to talk to her in the halls. Who wants to talk to the girl who's screaming at her friends?

Dobbl bases her mistrust of Kyler on these points:

1. He's sixteen.

2. He lives in Sandy, which she claims is too far for her comfort.

3. He "doesn't talk to freshmen."

4. He's popular, or so she claims. She doesn't trust his popularity because he told me he was too shy to talk to me on the bus.

5. He doesn't look the same style as he did when we "knew" him.

I could go on for fifteen minutes attacking each of these points, all in italics with occasional BURSTS OF CAPITALIZATION, but I won't, because I love Dobbl. I respect her opinion, even though it conflicts with my own wishes in increasing frequency.

The point is, though, that I trust Kyler. I really do, but I can't help but harbor that tiny mouse-like fear in the back of my mind. It keeps squeaking, "Maybe he is a bad person, did you think of that?" "What if he doesn't like you anymore?" "You shouldn't have kissed him like that on the first date, now he's bored with you." "He's very bored with you!" "You say stupid things, of course he doesn't like you anymore." "Hey, do you like Cream? I think you're starting to like Cream." "Eric Clapton's voice is giving you chills, isn't it?" "Kyler doesn't like you like that anymore." "Kyler's as bad of a person as Dobbl thinks."

I really do like him, and I want things to be going really well between him and I. I wish I didn't have so much time to think about all this shit. I'm singlehandedly ruining this relationship because my head is taking Kyler's loving hand and running, fast, so that the sweet boy I know is becoming a monster. My brain does this, it turns Diantha into a lying, controlling, bitch. It turns Emily into a slut. It turns Jason into a cruel person, and that is something I am not okay with.

It doesn't help in the slightest that I'm feeling depressed again. Not because of Kyler, essentially, but because I complain, and I feel like I have no grounds or license to complain. I feel like a horrible person simply because I am not Ugandan. Why can't I complain in freedom? Because I have no reason to, because I'll only be labeled as "emo" if I tell the Creative Writing class that I've tried to kill myself so people will know they made me feel bad. And would you like to know a dirty little secret? My mom yelled at me after I told her I tried to kill myself, for the EXACT reasons of which I'm talking about here. She said I had no right to attempt suicide, ALL BECAUSE I AM NOT STARVING OR RETARDED. Since when was it wrong... shit. I can't even bring myself to say what I believe on my own blog, for fear of disappointing everyone. You all don't need to know how much of a bourgeois pig I am, and I apologize.

I'm anxious and I'm depressed. I want to go home, to somewhere that isn't here, and I want to sleep for a very long time. I want to lie in my own filth until the smell of society starts to bug me. And even then, I don't want to get up. I want to listen to more Cream. I want to sleep next to Jim Morrison. I want to kiss Kyler with no regrets and no concerns, and I want to be able to tell the Internet everything.