What Is a Friend?

Preface

(Preface)

Blog post #1

CHELSEA AGOURA (March 30, 2013):
     Something hadn't occurred to me 'til now. Chronicling the vacuum that is my life will be my greatest display of self-deprecation, and simultaneously, self-care. When I entertained this concept, I thought maybe I had gone insane, You exchange your dignity for a webpage dedicated to complaining?! It's not something you are adventurous enough to write about! No one wants to hear how unamusing your life is! No. One. Cares!..... But like every pique of interest over a welcome distraction, the nagging voices built up. And I snapped. Why not? Maybe your side of the truth will free you from this frustration. So, here it is, My Way of Saying.
     I had mulled over jotting down my concerns whenever and wherever I go in a journal, but school is where most of my days are spent. And I'm not talking about a regular high school where most students get along and mind their own business. The one I had to settle with has cravers for attention. The all-press-is-good-press type of students. And they swing said attention in the air for as long as they are buzzworthy in the student body's eyes. A diary misplaced within the grasps of these slimeball delinquents will have everyone talking ABOUT me more than they actually want to talk WITH me. Plus, it's safe to say a journal runs the risk of losing its purpose to class notes if I keep it too close to my other notebooks.
     So I subbed with this blog to best suit my writing... err typing... needs. It's safe to say nobody at school would search for me online if they don't bother remembering my name. Really, it's a relief. But rather than hiding from the world, I do want to open myself to people. GOOD people. Perhaps my life could get in touch with someone real again. Who knows? To the lucky one reading this piece of pretend zen, hi, I urge you to cope with me over these next posts.
     All this began when I was finding where to sit at the library yesterday. I flipped through the millionth book from the science shelves, still getting me nowhere on an obscure subject. Everyone in my physics class insisted on hearing my research over ho-hum inertia in electromagnetic induction for our end-of-year project! Frankly, nobody pushed me to take it. I was weeded out as the last pick with every other student tumbling over desks to sign up for the more engaging options. It's ridiculous the teacher determines this presentation as our do-or-die grade for the whole semester and, even worse, I am headed for a meltdown when I get in front of this sea of people. Having to look up, form words that don't make sense, all within seven minutes, in front of a googly-eyed crowd, an unapologetic one at that, which scoffs at everything I do... I am in agony!
     When I picked a random study table to let my head recover from the misinformation overload, one table with a forsaken psychology magazine caught my eyes. The magazine cover had the allure of a conch shell left unharmed by beachcombers. Its headline "I Am Here — Where Are You?" peered from behind a bedazzled crayon drawing of a smiling girl. My head could hear the precious girl say, "Hey, you look like you could use a talk." Whether it was because of marketing genius or the first time in a while I was politely spoken to, she wiped away my serious face. I succumbed to the magazine to give the girl a sincere thank you.
     Inside the issue, an article explaining the social pressures of today's youth magnetized my attention. According to a compiled datasheet from a child psychologist, one out of every 200 high school students develops social anxiety. This is so false. Studies on my behalf show that I am the only one of them among the thousand. Alone. But why did this happen to me?
     Am I supposed to regret something?
     Did I say or do anything to make people think I can never belong?
     Why doesn't anybody try to appreciate someone else in return anymore?
     Why has high school converted into a food chain where the upperclassmen eat up the misery of the lower?
     Why is everyone so damn pigheaded?!
     At the tail end of the article, a youth therapist mentioned how some of her teenage clients kept an interaction log where they recorded who they spoke to and what they talked about. Within weeks, writing helped them overcome their fears of communication. I want to draw on this method to ease into the social scene. However, I am unsure how this will work out with a neighborhood full of lunatics, wannabes, druggies, douches, and downright bullies. I stay true to my boring little self in this strange world and aspire to be loving and happy. But how can I be authentic anymore when I see those kinds of people chewing themselves away only for others to send them solace and praise? Yet, they choose to strand me — a girl who has never smoked, drank, cheated, ganged up against anyone, or acted belligerently to get what I want — in the thick of loneliness. The truth is, who can I trust anymore?