You know what I really hate?

I hate it when adults use the Oh-I-know-what-you're-going-through-don't-think-I-don't-I-was-young-once-too thing.  Yes, I understand that my mother and my aunt were, at one point, seventeen.  Yes, I understand that my aunt liked science fiction shows and pulling goofy pranks and just being crazy, just like I do.  Yes, I understand that my mother had to deal with a high-maintenance older sister, was very shy, and was clinically depressed, just like me.  Yes, I understand that they had hormones coursing through their veins like white blood cells.  Yes, I get that they were probably just as randy as me, though they'll never admit it.

But they were not, are not, and never will be me.

Yeah, Mom, I get it.  You had two friends all through grade school.  You had to deal with Auntie being selfish and totally self-centered.  You had three younger siblings.  You never wanted to disappoint your parents.  You know how hard it can be.


Yeah, Auntie, I get it.  You were boy-crazy, desperately "in love" with William Shatner and John Wayne and all.  You liked being crazy and annoying the nuns.  You didn't like being tied to the house.  You couldn't wait to leave.  You know how hard it can be.

Tell me, though.  Do you know what it's like to be bi, and not be able to tell your parents?  Do you know what it's like to take care of an eight-year-old Autistic kid who's not even yours?  Do you know what it's like to want so desperately to not be judged by the standard?  Do you know what it's like to have the voices of stories swimming in your head, desperate to be let out?  Do you know what it's like to lose every single friend you have at a time when you need them the most?  Do you know what it's like to have your mind wander during school because of your ADHD, only to fall into crushing self-doubt brought on by your depression about things having to do with your learning disorder?  Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up in this age of technology, with the world at your fingertips, when the only world you know is populated by people who either hate you or don't care about you?

I understand that we're pretty damn similar.  I understand that we have some of the same issues.  I get it; you know what it's like to be a teenager, you've "been around the block."  You don't know what it's like to be me, with my combination of traits from your family and traits from Dad's family and things that are all my own.  You haven't ever been me.

So stop telling me that you know exactly what I'm going through, or that you know for sure that one day I'll stop being so crazy by choice, and be fine with it, when you cannot possibly know.  Our experiences aren't the same.  Our personalities aren't the same.  We aren't the same. 

Stop insulting me by saying that you know how I feel.

It's Official, Kids.

I'm a masochist.  Why? you may ask.  Well, I'll tell you what I have decided to start.  What I have promised to do.

I promised my best friend that, once I finish One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which I'm reading for school, I would begin to read and review the Twilight books.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

...

...

...

We good?  Everyone comprehend?  Okay.

I'll be reading two chapters a day, and posting my notes, starting this weekend.  The paper for Cuckoo's Nest is due Thursday, and I figure I should just finish out the week in quiet, blissful denial, so the first post will probably be Sunday.

Are you ready for this?  I'm not.  Welcome to Hell, kids, welcome to Hell.