The Drugs Can Have My Mind

"One of my friends used to say, "You live. You die. Why is that so complicated?" I wonder that a lot."
-A Boy With Wisdom Beyond his Years

I woke up this morning and realized I don't remember becoming friends with most of the people I would consider friends.

The act of friendship is a funny thing. What really separates friend from friendly acquaintance? I often hear people saying, "So I was talking to my friend Jim, well he's not really my friend, but you get the point." How odd of a thing that is. I guess I'm just one of those people who will be friends with just about anybody and even people I don't necessarily like I am at least cordial towards them. So it strikes me as odd when people say they only have two friends.

Then again, I've been there too. I've been in moments where I felt like I didn't have any friends, yet, every day there were people I'd pleasantly converse with. So how could that be true? Maybe people just don't like to consider people who they haven't known very long good friends.

Anyways, back to the crisis at hand. I'm lying there in bed and I realize most of my friends, I can't remember becoming friends with. So I get out my laptop and I check myspace and I look over all these people in my friend list, trying to remember how they became my friend or at least how I met them.

-Nichole Fiore, met in second grade, became friends the normal grade school way, reintroduced in seventh grade, hated her, loved her, hated her, repeat.
-Helen Rose, met at freshman orientation, became my good friend when we went ice skating, became my best friend somewhere along the lines of our daily walks to Byington.
-Sarah Craft, met in first grade, became best friends, lost touch, met again in seventh grade, became friends through a nerdy love for Star Wars, and the fact that technology classes are super boring.
-Cortnee Ruthann, met this year at lunch, friends with Emily, really funny, a good deadpan humor to combat Emily Boling's crazy humor.
-Savannah Taylor, friends with Stacey Padilla, was in my Visual Communications class, we shared similar tastes in music, movies, books.
-Jaclyn Rogers, my cousin. Been friends since I can remember.
-Ryan Clark, heard about him and his music through Emily, met at sophomore orientation, befriended because he's the nicest guy I know.
-Kasey Lee, met on the way up to Toledo, befriended at Cedar Point, but even with her, the memory's slipping, I can't remember how she went from an awkward acquaintance to probably one of my closest friends who can make me laugh no matter how bad of a mood I'm in.
-Thomas O'Connor, met through middle school youth group, thought he was the biggest prick ever, realized he was a decent guy on the pope trip, we both love Say Anything and he's pretty damn funny.
-Kayla Dean, the bus, basically adopted as my apprentice. We go through the same phases at the same times. When I was an angsty eighth-grader, she was an angsty sixth-grader. When I was a stupid freshman, she was a stupid seventh-grader. I'm a hyper sophomore, and she's a hyper eighth-grader.
-Sierra and Allison, the English class I'm currently in. I let them copy off my homework, help them cheat on tests, do their projects for them. They don't think I'm the craziest human being ever.

The descriptions get quieter and quieter as I realize I don't know most of these people. Or worse, we were once better friends than we are now. That's what scares me more than anything.

No, that's not true. What scares me more than anything is I can't remember how I became friends with Skylar Childress, Stacey Padilla, Laura Dalton, Emily Boling, Cassie and Taylor, Megan Gerlach, the list goes on.

Then I realize a trend in these people. All of them I met in middle school. That's when I realize I can no longer remember middle school. Okay I do. I remember rejecting pop-culture. I remember being hated. I remember a kickball to the face. I remember a fist fight between Slade McGuire and Kate Brownell in which Kate kicked his ass. I remember my first C. I remember my first D. I remember my first day of public middle school. I remember an obsession with Lord of the Rings. I remember every crush I ever had. I remember singing the cookie song on the bus. I remember my first failed class. I remember feeling isolated, but I always feel isolated. I remember Ben, but even I often forget that we "dated" or whatever you want to call it. I remember Fall Out Boy, Hot Topic, black eyeliner, and refusing to be labeled as an "emo". I remember suicide threats. I remember jealousy. I remember singing John Cougar Mellancamp's "Hurt So Good". I remember being sunburnt. I remember my last day in eighth grade.

I remember the things. I don't remember the people.

I've finally forgotten it. I always did say I wanted to forget who I was back then. Now I'm realizing though middle school Rhiannon was annoyingly stupid, she was still a part of me and my history. With everything I forget, I'm losing myself.

Then my mind turns to Rhiannon from August to November of 2007. That stupid, slutty, hypocritical bitch. That liar and that fake. That thing that makes me ashamed to even think I could have ever been so retarded. Really that's not fair. She was split into two. Probably the closest I've ever been to actually having a mental condition. One side was Rhiannon the way she's always been, awkward, angry, and giggly. The other side was this fake, lying whore that was born out of a need to stop living in somebody else's shadow.

Do I really want to forget her?

What's worse is I've already forgetting the normal Rhiannon of that time. I remember moments, but I've forgotten myself, except for her. That stupid blonde bitch. I make jokes that I'm a redheaded whore, but redhead Rhiannon hasn't ever done anything nearly as awful as blonde Rhiannon did. Hell, redhead Rhiannon actually had the balls to stand up for herself in a way that blonde Rhiannon never could. That's not fair, after her parents found out about a couple things that were going on, the freshman version of myself ended somethings, but only after they had already gotten to the point where there isn't a day that goes by where I don't want to travel back in time to the day of freshman orientation and just slap her in the face.

I hate her.

But she's a part of me.

I can't go back in time. It's all been done. I'd like to think I'm a better person for it, but I'm not. I'm still awkward Rhiannon who doesn't understand volume control and says all the wrong things at all the wrong moments. I guess I'm okay with that now. I can deal with it. I don't feel this need to be somebody other than who I am. Because of it, I'm less jealous, less angry, less miserable, and less likely to do something stupid for a guy. It's not that I'm a better person. I'm just more okay with who I am. Some of us are born to be cool. Some people will go through their entire lives happy. I know it helps some people to believe that the kids who are cool now will be miserable later in life. I know I've done it before. But what kind of thing is that to wish upon a person? It's petty.

Because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter how many or how little friends you have, how good or bad your grades are, how cool your clothes are whether they be from Hot Topic or Abercrombie, how much you do or don't conform to society, or whether you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. The only thing that matters is whether you are okay with who you are. We forget that the things around us do not define us as individuals. I am not Rhiannon McHugh who wears scarves and hangs out with Nichole Fiore, Emily Boling, Skylar Childress, and Helen Rose. I'm Rhiannon who is.

I am.