If I said I feel like I can’t feel anymore, would anyone out there really, truly understand? I’m so numbed by anger and self-mutilating frustration that ‘happiness’, defined as a long-term state of joy, just doesn’t seem possible. It’s not like I don’t take delight from things or love anything, because I do in majority…but everything is layered with nostalgia and a sense that I’m not really there, that in a few moments the smile will fade and all that will be left is the remembrance of something that was great, pure: honest. I keep living life as a memory in the time that it is occurring. What am I, eighty years old?! NO! I’M SEVENTEEN, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! I shouldn’t be feeling this way or writing out my life like a story, a play, a video, or a song. I’ve become a fairly decent communicator because I keep looking through everyone else’s eyes but my own. I’ve cried so many tears that were not mine because I’m sick of my own sob story and I don’t know how to rewrite it. I’ve fought so many wars that were not mine, solely because someone needed my help.
And now I ask, with the most absolute sincerity: where’s my help? For all those people I have willingly shared in their pain, how do they take nothing from the experience on the rare occasion that I learn how to speak up? How do they not know how to comfort properly and get something done when the example has been set and the preacher has practiced? Why am I only shown pity?!!! I’ll tell you why: it’s because they think I’m stronger since that’s all that I’ve displayed. I’ve built a detrimental façade for so long that my own family has never gotten through. I don’t have a sorrowful face when I talk to you, because I don’t feel it necessary to make you hurt as I constantly do. I’m a liar, a perfect actress. I use my creativity to deceive the average person into believing that I am an open book, because I will openly discuss how YOU are if YOU want to. I will tell you my likes and dislikes…most of the time, (I don’t want to offend you). I will let you ask me questions if you do so desire, but there are very few who ask the key ones, and even fewer who care to care about the answer. I guess you MIGHT call me a book, but I’m one that, if you are like most people, you won’t want to read every chapter because it’s “too long” or you “don’t understand”. In this way, I’ve kind of created an edited version, a sort of preview where if you really want to understand the whole plotline, you’ll pay with your time and with your mind because it doesn’t matter who you are: I’m GOING to make you think about something. One thing can make someone think forever, even if it only takes a moment to receive the message.
But in this way, I am sick. I am such a whore for disappointment it ain’t even funny. I listen, (holy shit, do I!), and I relate, and I choose my words carefully. I feel like any moment is the moment when I, Amber Geiger, might say something that changes someone’s views or feelings for the better, might make someone see worthiness or a different perspective in the tiniest of molecules. I keep thinking that if I’m that ONE person that reaches out, or is always there for them, they will remember that and they will pass it on and do great things with their lives because someone actually gave a crap. I’ve always been that way, and it’s probably because I think I still need to find my own “ONE person”. This is where the whole being numb thing comes in: I KNOW that I have people who have made enriched my life –my brother, who has forever burdened himself with the role of the father we know we never had; my mother, who has instilled a sense of functionality in a dysfunctional environment that she regrets ever unintentionally bringing us into; a few specific friends who DO realize that my ‘insanity’ is really me being ‘in’ the core of ‘sanity’; and especially my bands, like Disturbed, of course, and Avenged Sevenfold, who inspire me with their need to be who they are despite all the criticism that they take, to showcase that thinking differently and expressing those thoughts in such a way as the beauty of music is what pushes us to live more lively. Even my internet friends – you guys are simply awesome. To trust that I’ll be there for you, (and you know who you are), and know that whatever crazy shit’s going on in your brains I’ll talk to you about it…well, that trust is phenomenal. So you see, I KNOW that I’m surrounded by very special people, and I want you to know that I do love you and I do so full-heartily: I just FEEL like a lying, numb, broken record of problems that I, myself, am emotionally and mentally exhausted with trying to fix when I honestly do NOT know where to turn for change to happen.
In this way, I feel that society has failed me. You read about homeless people being shown some kindness once in a while, the bullying of student being taken care of, or a bad situation that a child was taken out of. It might sound cliché, but the psychologist, Dr. Phil, has helped so many people…and that’s on a freakin’ program where everyone sees what change for the better really is! Sometimes, it makes me wonder if these stories and shows weren’t just made up for entertainment, to sometimes play a sweet little lullaby for those too concerned with their own affairs. Ever hear of Women Services? My mother’s gone to them in the past, when daddy-dear started his physical abuse. But he, in turn, went in and claimed that he was a battered husband. Guess what? I must learn how to lie from the best, because they believed him, and my mom was placed on Prozac and went to a few therapy sessions. I’VE talked to a representative, one of the ones that come to the schools and ‘talks’ to the students about different forms of abuse. That time, she talked about relationship abuse, and I got pumped up with the belief that if I seized that opportunity to relate to that specific about my parents, that SOMETHING would be done. So I talked to her after class. There was too much to say, no time to say it, (because NO BODY has time, duh), and I could, in no way, make it not sound so cliché without giving too much away. She left me with her office number, telling me to call whenever I needed to and I’ve never heard from her again. A shame: she DID seem genuine, seemed to get that I’m an advocate for the need to make change happen, but as usual, I am eluded by any kind of savior-figure. Personally, I thought that my actually breaking down and crying showed that I needed help, but it was hard enough to ask once, and then to pursue just fucking ‘talking’? Yeah…
Where are my neighbors? They see where I live: it’s disgusting and I hate it! Where’re my grandparents, or my aunts, cousins, teachers, peers…WHERE IS THE SOCIETY I HAVE BEEN LED TO BELIEVE CAN RECOGNIZE PROBLEMS THAT COULD NOT BE MORE IN ITS FACE?! There are so many fucking retarded hicks here that they must think we actually like living in a povertic junkyard! Give me just one of those cops who have been called here for a domestic disturbance, let me punch him in the face for joking with the guilty at my mother’s evident pain! If I called C.Y.S. on the ONE person who has kept my siblings and me from having glasses, shoes, licenses, warmth, and at times things like RUNNING WATER, while he had it all, how much of the blame would fall on my mother’s shoulders because she’s been trapped her whole life by her own abusive mother and then an even lower husband? She doesn’t drive, she doesn’t work…and yet, she finds herself paying for household with her own damn gift money. It’s my mom that provides more than my dad ever could or would, because she actually cares about who I am and what I do in life, and that I leave this shithole with my head held high and a good, nay, excellent, reputation in my pocket. She would die before he laid a hand on me…and yet, society cannot recognize her strength, nor will it help her weakness. I feel so useless to my mother, my little sister, my brother who feels so lost and still lives at ‘home’ after achieving a double college major in physics and psychology, and myself. I have failed us all, and I keep doing so because I don’t know where to go.

One final thought on my mind: I’ve realized that I’m scared to be in a dating relationship. I think that I might be a great person, but I don’t see anyone quite seeing what I see in myself. I’m normally pretty confident, (or am I lying?), I’m creative, and I know what I want in life. But I’m a thinker, and that, combined with being averagely attractive, is a problem. I don’t want my heart broken on purpose, for I have already learned to deal with it being done so on accident or with ignorance. I won’t just “date a few thugs” for the experience because that’s just stupid: I’m not going to walk into a minefield knowing that it’s going to blow up anyway. I’m better than that, and I know it. If you’re going to love me, I want you to tell me why. WHAT is it that makes me different? I know what it is half the time, but then again, maybe I don’t. TELL ME! I’ve been asked out before by a couple guys, but the one is trash and the other too keen on merely filling a void. I may have to settle for a lot of things, (A LOT of things), but here I have absolute control, and I will NOT settle for anyone just to appease them. My mom did that because she felt sympathy, and look where it got all of us. Maybe one day I’ll get the balls to actually tell certain people just how I am and how I feel, (and WHY), but in that department, I’m not a risk-taker. Sure, I can flirt, but I will spend forever waiting for the other person. (Waiting, waiting…I am ALWAYS waiting on someone. Girl, when are you going to start waiting on yourself once and a while?!) I hate being a teenager, I honestly do. Those younger are so naïve and beautiful, those the same age bend to the stereotypes that were set long ago and are just stupid, and those older are too preoccupied and mourning over what they could have done –always bitching and bitching about what they’d like to do with life, but they’re “too old” (B.S.). I’m seventy, not seventeen…and the thing that numbs me is that I’ve been this way since I can remember my very first thought.

So I know all of you have problems out there too, and I just want you to know that yes, you CAN talk to me, because yes, I do give more than a damn, and YES, I DO understand. (It’s kind of hard not to.) Excuse me; I’ve gotta go play make-believe again.
I love you all most sincerely,
-your Satan Maiden \m/

“One more goddamn day when I know what I want and my want will be considered tonight…People can no longer cover their eyes! If this disturbs you, then walk away. You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of TEN THOUSAND FISTS IN THE AIR!!!”
“Don’t you know the war is far from over now?"