Phase One: Isolation

So I haven't finished "The Beginning of the End" post yet, but I'll do so soon.

I'm titling this blog entry as "Phase One: Isolation" because I believe there are certain phases one must endure to recuperate from the death of a loved one.

The purpose of this blog isn't to bash my high school sweetheart, but where else can I go to vent all my "rage" out. And leave it up to Fionna Apple to release the wrath of every bitchy hormone in the female body. Her twisted mind lets out the anguish of my subconscious, making me feel like a liberated woman! Ha, I amuse myself (thanks jkim, blogging really does make me feel better).
It's hard to fully understand the end without taking a look at how things worked from the get-go. Just thinking about this ignites the warm fuzzy feelings one gets from puppy love. Which is odd in my case, since I'm now a sadistic motherfucker. Before my first day of high school, I guess you could say I had a "degrassi" life. Self-mutilation, diet problems, teenage anguish, interracial relationships, therapy, the works basically. But the most important thing that really screwed me over was my trust issue. It was hard to trust anyone, coming from a family of insensitive oriental parents. I was young and confused. I remember asking myself so many questions, "Why was it that all my friends had friends as their parents? Am I weird? Was I too weird to be my parents' friends? Of course I was, who would want to be friends with me..." (Only now, as an adult-yes, I'm referring to myself as somewhat of an adult-, I realize that my questions were lacking the criteria that would fall under 'adult questions', thinking of others. I was so obsessed with thinking of myself, and in depression you need to open to others to help you get through it.) Unfortunately, I took this negative attitude with me to middle school. Being a hopeless romantic, I heaved my sack-load of problems on one boy. It ended up that he screwed me over, and my emo scene turned into an epidemic in the Maspeth-Elmhurst region. Go figure.
Basically, I felt miserable and pathetic to revolve everything around myself. . I was approaching high school and I wanted to leave the melodramatic adventures of 8th grade behind. Actually, I wanted to toss all of 8th grade in the garbage, burn it, and dance around it's ashes. So, over the summer, too start over I had to get a make-over (no pun intended). I lost weight the fast, albeit unhealthy, way and I lost the fishnet sleeves and smeared eyeliner. I befriended a fahsionista from my grade, that was just as brusque as me. By the time the Taufan's went on our annual back-to-school shopping spree at Staples, I was a chic teenager straight from Seventeen. I actually felt great going into Francis Lewis High School. I didn't know anybody and boy was I excited to meet some new people.