Call Me Crazy If You'd Like.

I refuse to place the blame entirely on Cho Seung-Hui for what he did on Monday.

No, I'm not calling him innocent.
I'm not saying what he did was good.
I'm not saying what he did was right.
I'm not saying what he did was justifiable in any way at all.

But I'm not saying it was totally unprovoked, either.

America, I'm sad to say, has problems. Big ones.

Cho Seung-Hui's family moved to America in search of a better life, as do most immigrants.

What Cho Seung-Hui found, however, was the cruel reality of what American life is really like.

He was, to be quite frank, an outcast. He was quiet, reserved, introverted, a minority, an immigrant, and, when he did speak, was made fun of for his voice and accent.

Classmates can recall him being bullied throughout elementary, middle, and high school.
The American life he found was not the over-glorified 'American Dream' that is so appealing.
He found the harsh life of someone growing up in America.
The childish callousness that is all too common among children today.
The already trying emotional ups and downs of middle school.
The ludicrous politics of high school.
The ridicule, disdain, taunting, jeering, and mockery of his peers.

What if someone, just one person, had really made an effort to reach out to him?
Simply smiling at him in the hall.
A real, genuine smile.
Not a smirk.

Or saying a quick 'hey'.
An actual greeting.
Not a jeer.

Or laughing.
With him.
Not at him.

I just don't understand. I truly, honestly don't.

People confuse me. A lot.

If he had just had someone. Anyone. Someone who would be willing to lend a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.

If he hadn't had to bottle up all of his anger, his fury, his frustration.
His pain.

Could all of this have been avoided?

And once again, I'm not saying he's innocent.

But I know what it's like to bottle something things for so long that you just can't handle it anymore and you just... break.

And, while the result of my breaking point was different than his, there is always a breaking point.

Always.

And you don't know, until you've been there, the difference one person can make.

Maybe one person could have changed everthing. Maybe none of it would have happened.

Maybe.

Here's The Thing.

So, there's a good chance I might not be at South next year.

Well, I would for one class.
(Global Studies 12)

But I think that's it. All of my other classes will be at LBCC.

Although, I'll technically still be a student at South. I'm not graduating early, exactly. I'll still be walking with the rest of my class, and, since I'll still technically still be a student at South, they'll be paying for my classes at LBCC.

So... After this year, that's pretty much it. I think. I still have to fill out a bunch of paperwork and take an acclimation test or something like that, so that they know which classes to put me in. But, yeah.

And The Dirty Truth Comes Out.

Let's just get right to the point, shall we?

I was anorexic.

Key word there would be 'was'.

As in, 'am not anymore.'

As in, 'I don't need you to try and fix me, because I'm not broken. So don't.'

Now you all know "what's going on" and you can stop asking me if I'm okay every five minutes. I'm fine.

This is not a cry for help.

This is a cry for some peace.

I'm tired of skirting around topics and watching you all walk on eggshells when you talk to me.

And if you'd like to continue to call me an 'anorexic freak' now that you know that I really was anorexic, go right on ahead - as long as you use one or the other. You want to call me anorexic? Fine, the truth hurts, hmm? And you want to call me freak? Whatever. You're entitled to your opinion.

But when you call me 'anorexic freak', it's not only insulting me, it's insulting every person on this planet who has ever suffered from an eating disorder. And let me tell you, that's a lot of people. Conservative estimates say one out of every 100 people in America suffers from anorexia, with approximately 95% of them being female. Only America, and only anorexia. And that doesn't count who-knows-how-many-people who won't admit it.

So if you want to call me anorexic, fine. It was, after all, previously true.
If you want to call me freak, fine. Your opinion. I can handle it.

But if you say 'anorexic freak' one more time, I'm going to have to say something for the 2,984,443 people in America who can't say anything for themselves, because you're making a hideous overgeneralization.

And I'm honestly, truly fine. I don't need your sympathy, because nothing is wrong anymore. I don't want to be your community service project or your pity target. At least have the decency to treat me like a human. Like the same girl you've been friends with for however long, because that's who I am. I just hit a rough spot and got a little bruised up.

That's all I have to say. And people might talk. People probably will talk. Gossip spreads fast.

But guess what?
Go right on ahead.

I'll show you what it means to turn the other cheek.

I Apologize.

Right now, I sort of hate the entire male gender.

And I know even as I say that that it's not true. But guys can be such total morons sometimes.

To all you great guys out there:
I apologize for the hiddeous overgeneralizations I'm making right now. And I apologize for your idiotic brothers. And I apologize for not having the nerve to go up and punch some of them right square in their big, loud, moronic, cocky, egotistical mouths.

To all you idiots out there:
I apologize for "ignoring you" when you yell at me from across a gym. I suppose I just don't know how to respond to that kind of flattery. I apologize for not being overwhelmed with attraction when you objectify me. I guess I'm just not really into that. Crazy, I know. I apologize for rolling my eyes at you and biting my tongue so that I don't say something I'll regret later. I apologize for walking away from your stupid comments. I apologize for your lack of intelligence. I apologize for your lack of manners. And I apologize for the fact that any girl who will ever see anything good at all in you will either be just as stupid as you are, or will be so desparate that she just won't care.

To all you girls out there:
I apologize on the behalf of the brainless, deficient, dense, half-witted, imbecilic, inane, meaningless, mindless, simple-minded, thickheaded, trivial, unintelligent, witless troglodytes out there who aren't going to apologize for themselves because they're too busy honking a horn or yelling profanity to care. I hope you realize that there are a few good men out there. You just have to look really hard.


Dang. A girl can't even go to the YMCA without being harassed.

Welcome to America.

And that's all I have to say.

Welllllll....

I don't really know what to post.

Uhmmmm. Well. This is exciting so far. I think my blog has kind of officially died. My journal is suffering as well.

Snap. I feel so braindead. I woke up at five this morning to prepare for a debate that I would've had first period if school hadn't been canceled. Yeah, I got lucky. I'm kind of starting to hate American History. Someone remind me that, when I'm in college and I'm a history minor, I really should not take any American history classes. I don't think I'd go. And chemistry is basically the devil reincarnate, I have decided. At the moment, it's even worse than Pre Cal. And that's saying something, coming from me.

English, however, is the highlight of my day. Or, school day, at any rate.

Only, now I don't know whether I'm going to major in English or Creative Writing. A double major in those two would be a lot of writing. Who knows.

It's really sad that this is my first post in who knows how long, and I'm talking about school.

Ew.

Something else.... hmm...

I'm trying to learn how to knit. It's a lot harder than it looks, when you're trying to teach yourself. And incredibly frustrating. But I'm bound and determined to learn. Eventually... I hope.

And the needles make me think of big metal chopsticks. Because I'm just so Asian.

I went to the library today. Because there was no school. And I found four books. That I am very excited to read. Because Bleak House, by Charles Dickens, lost my attention after talking about fog for a page and a half. Maybe I'll read it someday when I'm stranded on a deserted island, and that's the only book I have with me, and I'm so hot that I would love to read about fog for a page and a half. But until then, I'll be avoiding it. For now, I have A Great And Terrible Beauty, by Libba Bray (I've heard it's very good.) ; Girl With A Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier (She looks like me. I have to read the book.) ; Bread And Roses, Too, by Katherine Paterson (About a women's strike in 1912 - My history teacher would be proud); and The Hidden Diary Of Marie Antoinette, by Carolly Erickson (It just happened to catch my eye. I'm excited to read it.).

I was excited last night after buying thirty new songs with my lovely iTunes giftcards. That was fun. I felt so technologically advanced. The iPod, though, will be a bit slow in coming. Maybe I'm just a bit too impulsive. Or maybe I'm just a bit too contemplative. Maybe it was just a bit of Christmas cheer leftover. Who knows. It'll come eventually though - I think. Unless something better catches my attention. In which case, I'll just have to keep waiting.

I think I've said enough for now.

And this whole 'label' thing makes me laugh. Haha.