Exes: Can't Live With Them, Can Live Without Them

What is it about exes that always gets on our nerves? Is it the obsession with reconnecting, the grief of losing a relationship, or the loss of a companion? Whatever it is, it can be very hard to live with. My ex contacted me a few weeks ago, and we were supposed to get together for lunch. But then I discovered that he had lied to his mom because she wouldn't let him see me. When she found out that we were dating a month and a half into our relationship, she spent the rest of the time of our relationship not trying to get to know me or even just being happy for us. No, she didn't like me because I'm not Salvadorean and I'm not skinny. She began to badmouth me, and was trying to convince him to break up with me. He's the youngest of three, and a momma's boy. He eventually was persuaded by her, and he began to treat me horribly. She would call me names and insult me, and in his way of trying to break up with me, he would repeat them. I eventually got fed up with it, and I broke it off. Now, he's trying to get back with me. My answer is simple, straight, and to the point: NO WAY!!!

Self-Injury: A Growing Teen Epidemic

Self-injury is a problem that's sweeping our nation, and the world. People do it in all different ways. The most common are cutting, burning, biting, and picking at scabs so injuries don't heal. I myself have succumbed to this epidemic, and I tend to cut or bite myself. There are times when I even think of going all the way with injury and mutilation, but I never follow through with it. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, depression, and OCD when I was 12, and I've been on pills for it since then. Even the smallest insult, embarassment, or rejection has the potential to push me over the edge. Normally, those alone can't do it, but when added to all the other stress and emotions of life, it can become unbearable. When people see my scars, they automatically label me as emo or goth, sometimes even freak. Rejection always hurts, but to someone with bipolar depression, it's unbearable. That's when I get the urge to self-injure. There are many ways, but I prefer cutting and biting. The biting is only visible temporarily until the blood recedes, but the cutting leaves scars for life. It's a way of dealing with emotional pain by creating physical pain to distract myself. It's also a form of self-punishment. I'm working with people to stop, and my friends check my arms every week.

Confusing Times at Van Nuys High

High school is so confusing sometimes. My older brothers have warned me about the whirlwind of activities for seniors, but I didn't think that there were this many. Senior breakfast, senior kickoff, homecoming court, homecoming game, homecoming dance, senior spirit week, senior superlatives, prom, graduation, just to name a few! All the performances I have to do for band and Vocal Ensemble, my computer class, my Honors Government and Advanced Lit classes, drawing, and dance all take time and hard work also! Especially all the rehearsals and dance routine tests! And of course, who can forget the class ring and prom dress? This year's going to be a very expensive one.

Friends: Angels In Disguise

My best friends are the best anyone could ever ask for. They always know how to help me through tough times, and they're always there when I need them. My friend Aria is the greatest, sweetest person I've ever met. He always knows exactly how I feel, and he can always make me laugh. There are times when it even seems like he knows me better than I know myself. My best friends are amazing also. I can always tell Lupe anything, and she's a shoulder to cry on. Suzi is an amazing person, and she knows everything about me. We tell each other everything, and there are no secrets. We talk about everything ranging from guys to music to books. I'm so lucky to have friends like them, and I don't know what I've done to deserve them. I know that we'll be friends for a long time to come.

School Is So Unfair!!!

It's true. School is unfair. I was 10 seconds late because I tripped and had to chase my paper possessions all around, but my teacher wouldn't let me in. I get to school at 7 every day, and I go to the ROTC room every morning to meet a friend. My teacher had just closed the door, and I sprinted the 15 feet to the door. Out of breath, I knocked on the door. He opened the door, and told me that I had to go to the tardy lockout. I've had a perfect non-tardy record since preschool, and with one unfortunate move of my clumsy extremities, that record has been broken. I tried to explain to the dean as well as my teacher what happened, and both were indifferent to my explanation. Tears were running down my face, but both people were oblivious. To make matters worse, my mom got mad at me because she told me to carry things in my backpack, but the items I had in my arms were things I need for 1st period! I asked her to call the Dean's office and verify that I had arrived at school at 7 this morning, but she blamed me for my clumsiness. She said repeatedly, "This wouldn't have happened if you had listened to me." Thankfully, most of the deans and administrators at this school know me, and they are well aware of my meticulously clean attendance record. All I have to do is explain to them what happened, and I can only hope for the best to happen. I still haven't stopped crying, and my teacher is oblivious to the rivers of tears streaming down my face. My friends have tried to prove my innocence, but the teacher doesn't care. He only goes by what he thinks, and since he's the teacher, what he says, goes. I just wish there was some way to prove my innocence and reinstate my perfect record.

Why???

Why do people always treat me differently than they would anyone else? They treat me like I'm a weirdo, and they avoid sitting next to me. It's the norm every day, and even though it happens every day and I should be used to it, the hurt never goes away. It stings just as much today as it did five years ago. Maybe it's because of my perkiness all the time, or maybe because they're afraid that they'll pick up the "fat disease", seeing as I'm not the skinniest person. I may not be the most popular or prettiest, but I'm a nice person and care about others. I just wish people would be more understanding of others and not judge them just by what they see. People know that my parents divorced when I was 10, and they see the scars on my arm from when life got unbearable. Once that sight meets their eyes, most decide to avoid me at all costs. There are a few who don't, and those are my only friends, one of them being my best friend. I'm always alone at lunch, except for my friend Deb and my other best friend, Lupe. I do have some friends, and they know about me (my deep secrets), and they understand and like me for who I am. I just wish more people could be like them. I wish my best friend would come home for a while from UC Berkeley, although I know he needs to be there.

Asthma: Not Silent, Not Painless, But Definitely Deadly

I've had asthma for as long as I can remember. It's always plagued me, and it pops up whenever I least expect it. Well, I kind of know when it's coming on because I start to feel dizzy. I always have my inhaler with me, but sometimes I can't get to it in time. A few times, my brothers, my mom, or my friends have had to get it for me because I've passed out. I was first diagnosed with exercise induced asthma, then, as I grew older, it was changed to adult asthma. I almost died when I was a toddler because a negligent doctor gave me the wrong dosage of a medicine for allergies. I was supposed to have 4 milligrams of Prednisone, but they gave me 12 milligrams instead. An hour later, I started to wheeze, whine, and cough like I was choking. My mom took me to the emergency room, and they diagnosed it as a severe asthma attack. After they diagnosed me and told my mom, I went limp in her arms, passed out. First, they gave me a shot to open my airways a little so I could breathe, then they put me on a nebulizer treatment. Being 2, naturally, I was terrified. I refused to let them put the clear tube with steam coming out the end in my mouth, so they tried other things. Nothing worked, so they eventually resorted to a mask that went over my nose and mouth. My mom had to tickle me to get me to breathe in the medicine, and once I did start to breathe it in, I gradually started to breathe easier. They kept me for a few hours, just for observation, and I fell asleep there. My dad met us there (he was a teacher, and was working at the time) right as they were giving me the shot, and he followed the sound of my mom yelling for something to work fast. When they let me go, my dad carried me out like he did when I was a baby, cradled in his arms. They put me on bed rest for two days after that, but being the rambunctious two year old that I was, it was hard for my parents to keep me there. The attacks continued throughout my childhood, and still occur today. Two years ago, when I was in class, someone decided that they were going to spray perfume all over the room. That caused me to start to feel lightheaded, and I knew that I was going to have an attack. My friends who sat in my group (the teacher had the desks arranged in groups of four) knew about my asthma, and we had a signal for when one was happening. I would cough, and tap my desk. Then I got my inhaler out of my pocket, and started to shake it. My hand was trembling so badly, I couldn't even get the cover off the mouthpiece. My friend noticed that, and she went and told my teacher. They came back over to me, and she helped me to the door because I was shaking so badly, I could barely stand. I got outside, sat down on one of the steps, and used my inhaler. She had grabbed my water bottle before we went outside, and I drank a little bit of it. I stayed outside for a while, got some fresh air, and I was okay. My teacher spent the rest of the period lecturing about how some people are asthmatic, and that they couldn't go around the room and spray perfume or anything like that. Later, I heard that I had turned purple because I couldn't breathe. Now I make sure that I have two inhalers: one for home, one for when I go out. A person can never be too careful when it comes to their life.