I have found more of myself on my friend's website. Here is more proof of her own delusional state, from her history, Silent all these Years, entry entitled, "Twist of Fate" or "How Chris met Adam":
Rebecca in particular was unsympathetic, didn't understand where I was coming from, and didn't seem to want to. She came over once to drag me out to the movies, and found me at the computer, killing time because she is always, always late.
She grabbed my arm and demanded that I go right this instant. She was always fairly pushy, one of several reasons I'd grown to truly not like her very much over the past few months. I had only agreed to go to the movies to get her off my back, I was tired of the constant phone calls and sudden knocks at the door, the lectures and the "go out and do something" attitude. In the midst of summer in this town, there is very little to do, let alone anything that'd be of interest to me. But I agreed, more to shut her up than anything else.
On the drive to the movie theater I tried to talk some sense into her, and she angrily flicked the radio on and said firmly that she wasn't going to hear another word about that stupid Internet stuff. Later, she said that it was past time for me to get back to real life, to stop hiding in a corner with my computer. I tried to reason with her, to no avail. What for me became just another avarage thing, like the books on my shelf and the street outside, to her was some kind of intense psycological problem, something sick and twisted that needed to be treated before it turned me into one of those freaks on TV.
She accused me of running away and of hiding. I demanded to know what, precicley, she thought I was running and hiding from. Besides neglecting her, avoiding her, I couldn't see where I was doing anything that might have given her ideas like this. Of course, Rebecca being Rebecca, she must at all times be the center of attention, everybody's best and closest friend, and the moment she isn't, she throws a fit to put a spoiled young child to shame.
That's what I saw in the summer of '97. My so-called best friend throwing fits because she no longer was the center of the universe, while my mother worked too hard, and everybody else looked at poor Chris who'd just gotten out of the hospital and was now rotting her brain on the computer. Strangly enough, though, the only difference between that summer at its beginning and the previous ones was the modem. I'd always spent my summers in front of the computer, writing up a storm, and that was where I was happiest.
And no one took any exception to that, anybody who cared enough to ask what I was up to was told that I was working on my computer and writing, and it was always remarked that at least I was making good use of my time, unlike so many others my age. How, I wondered in my short-lived nievety, did adding one silly modem change all of that? It didn't, of course, not when you got right down to it, but it was impossible for some of those around me- impossible for Rebecca -to see that.
Okay, I admit that most times I am late (I inherited it from my father), but I was not late on that day, and in fact, yes, she didn't want to go. I just showed up at her house to drag her. See she had just had her appendix taken out and had thought she was going to die. Hello! I was a whole helluva lot closer to death's door than she was. In early spring of '97, I had Mono for the second time in my life, this time a whole lot more severe than the last because we didn't catch it until later and my spleen had already enlarged a great deal. My doctor had informed, no told me not to get out of bed or do anything for a month! Well, me being an active little person that I am, for two weeks would get up in the morning, wait for my friend to deliver my homework and then go curl up on the couch and go back to sleep. That was about the most strenuous exercise I could do without falling asleep. The reason I was told to stay in bed was because if I fell and ruptured my spleen, there was a chance I could bleed to death internally before anyone knew about it. (My mom worked an hour away and my step-dad was a trucker, gone most of the time.)
And if anyone was running from anything it was me. I DID NOT want to be locked up in my house any longer! Hell, after two weeks straight, you know everything that's on television and you sure don't want to spend another minute in that house that you don't have to. Granted, I will give her there's not much to do in that town if you don't like to go to the movies or bowl, but come on. You just have to be a little creative.
Plus, there's something else in my past that I was running from. I have neglected to talk about it here because of the trauma it caused me. I am finally at a point in my life where I feel I could talk about it, but I'll save it for a better time.
Now, yes I know she would spend her summers locked in her room, either reading or on the computer writing and frankly I see nothing wrong with that. I spend countless hours staring at a glowing-in-the-dark monitor writing, mainly papers for school and an occasion short story or poem or two. My best friend Jen is spending more hours than I know what to do with reading romance books. Now granted she has found some nice ideas to "borrow" for our countless fics we write together, but I don't think I could do what she does. Just sit there and read. I see nothing wrong with this, but then again, Jen and I go out and do stuff together ("play" as my mother calls it). We go to Target or Wal-Mart (our two favorite stores), occasionally to the movies, depending on what's playing and definitely to concerts. I have been to more concerts with Jen than I have in my entire life previously.
Like I said in the previous entry, I don't think my ex-best friend has seen the light of day in weeks, if not months. I am always out and about and will spend any time I can away from civilization, conveniently "forgetting" my pager and cell phone. I can survive an entire weekend without my computer, though without music I think I'd probably die.
More from the twisted brain of my friend. Again from her history, this time, the entry entitled, "Stronger":
In the midpoint of my sophomore year of high school, I had a nervous breakdown, or something very close to it. I didn't realize at the time that that's what it was, however. It was a time when I was stretching myself too thin, overloaded and overworked, underappriciated and constantly pressured to do better, constantly compaired to the mathamatical genius I knew I could never beat. I wanted to do everything, be everything. I'm a perfectionist, so it all has to be perfect and flawless, and if it isn't I can beat myself up and rip it to shreds for forever and a day. At the time, I was reaching for perfect grades at a school that swamped and overloaded me with work, obsessivly striving to be the best in my class. I was at times literally bending over backwards (which always did hurt like hell) in spirit-crushing attempts to become a gymnast. I wanted that so badly, all of it, and I was just never quite good enough. I could not be the perfect student, could not be the best, without breaking or shattering myself.
The phrase "mathamatical genius" was linked to my name, so I thought I'd comment on it. Me? A Mathematical Genius? Wow, maybe, I should take it as a compliment? I am by no means a mathematical genius, just smart. And she thinks she had it hard! Ha! This mathematical genius we're talking about got a C in Algebra II! So she thinks she had it hard, well, let me fill you all in on the life of a "state certified gifted student." It sucks! She thinks she's swamped with work in high school as a sophomore? Man, she should try my schedule now, 18 units at a State University, plus 2 part time jobs, plus colorguard. Hello! Someone please tell me my life is simple and that there's a whole helluva lot more I could be doing! And you know what, there was no comparison between her and I. At least I never heard of it. She's taking basic classes; I'm taking AP classes to maybe help me prepare for university.
I am probably happiest when I am in front of my computer working on stories, but nothing compares to the pride I felt when my adviser praised me for basically putting myself through college and doing it in four years. That is something that no one can take away from me. The feeling that I have accomplished something, something that even I had doubts of doing. And when I graduate next spring, as part of the class of 2002, no one will be able to take that moment away from me. This "mathamatical genius" put herself through school in four years and did it with very high marks.
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