No doting boyfriend.
No courageous knight.
No tall, dark, handsome stranger.
No perfect match.
No cosmic pair.
No prince charming.
No.
No.
No.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
My family members are dying, one by one.
Wraith
Death has extended
his icy hand,
so it would
appear,
a smirk drying his chapped lips
as he singularly taps the
unsuspecting
shoulder of my family
and blows cold breath
onto its cheeks.
With slender,
black
fingers,
Death
penetrates the
spring
chest
of my relatives
and mind,
syrup leaking
into the veins
and trickling
through the circulatory system
before
blood
and
ink
drip out
of our slightly
open
mouths.
"Why?"
"Why us?"
Death's smirk
simply
grows
into a grin
and he shrugs
his
bony
shoulders,
causing a temporal ripple
down his arms
and
lanky
legs.
He's so thin.
My mother escaped.
She clenched her rosy fists
and shook her head,
demanding a doctor's visit,
albeit somewhat unaware
of the feat she'd just mastered.
Death raises
his
mo
las
ses
brow,
tilts
his
languid
head.
"Which would be worse -
to live as a monster
or die as a good man?"
"I'm never watching that again."
"I warned you."
"Yeah, but I'm never watching that movie again."
Yet, for some reason,
the name
Scorsese
reminds me of a
butterfly.
"It was weird."
"Yeah."
"Something's going on."
"Yeah, I agree."
"It's definitely spiritual."
"Yeah."
And I look to my
finger
nails,
wanting
the subject
to
change.
How long
until Death
rights his
silky head,
ends his
curly smirk
and
dips his
tar-
drenched
finger
nail
into
my
mother's
sternum?
Or mine,
for that
matter?
Her cheeks emulate roses.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A Pretty Bad Poem
Violet Transgressions
While I draw within the lines in the confines of my mind, I sip from the chalice of creative malice and consider the callousness of me. I am a simpleton, a ditzy blonde with nothing left to lose, and while I consider this, I also consider you. You seem to me so full of life, insight and trite, but I know your tightly rife hindsight. You smoke with superiority and bottoms-up your individualism while I stand back and compete with witticism and petulance. I am a mood cloud and you are a false one but at least I rain creativity where you reign with insanity.
Conceivably, I pull these words from some recess left untouched, and yet somehow I make them rhyme.
Wringing forth the purple art from my gel-cap brain I stagger north in tripping arcs and leave marks on some Aurora Borealis of my transcendentalist culture. I am a beautiful butterfly that has no feel for algebra or hard work at all really and oh my, this soup's delicious. But still I tiptoe because for some reason it seems more effective. My Mona Lisa has yet to rouse herself from her hazy wonderings of republicans, democrats, and how the Lord giveth but still taketh away. I may be a sorry excuse of a poet, but at least I'm not the best. I see the rest in a soft limelight and though it makes me crave, I still smirk at your oblivious snobbery.
Conceivably, I feel unwanted and surround myself with fluttering negativities, and yet somehow I have the world thanking me for my coarse fingertips.
(Midnight was three minutes ago, but dusty twilight still stuffs my nostrils. As a recovering Ibuprofen addict, consider me relapsed.)
While I draw within the lines in the confines of my mind, I sip from the chalice of creative malice and consider the callousness of me. I am a simpleton, a ditzy blonde with nothing left to lose, and while I consider this, I also consider you. You seem to me so full of life, insight and trite, but I know your tightly rife hindsight. You smoke with superiority and bottoms-up your individualism while I stand back and compete with witticism and petulance. I am a mood cloud and you are a false one but at least I rain creativity where you reign with insanity.
Conceivably, I pull these words from some recess left untouched, and yet somehow I make them rhyme.
Wringing forth the purple art from my gel-cap brain I stagger north in tripping arcs and leave marks on some Aurora Borealis of my transcendentalist culture. I am a beautiful butterfly that has no feel for algebra or hard work at all really and oh my, this soup's delicious. But still I tiptoe because for some reason it seems more effective. My Mona Lisa has yet to rouse herself from her hazy wonderings of republicans, democrats, and how the Lord giveth but still taketh away. I may be a sorry excuse of a poet, but at least I'm not the best. I see the rest in a soft limelight and though it makes me crave, I still smirk at your oblivious snobbery.
Conceivably, I feel unwanted and surround myself with fluttering negativities, and yet somehow I have the world thanking me for my coarse fingertips.
(Midnight was three minutes ago, but dusty twilight still stuffs my nostrils. As a recovering Ibuprofen addict, consider me relapsed.)
In the bear traps of my hometown, I start most sentences with a prepositional phrase and drive with my head out the window. To be a widow is to be severed, I think, and to be so tethered to sociocultural norms is so collectivist, don't you think? So rather than making like a tree, let's all be Socrates and shed some purple to those poor dwellers in the caves with nauseatingly fluorescent lights. Speaking of nausea, I know a little too much about internal infections and how they can kill if left untreated.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Garden of Eden
I had another strange dream.
There was a young, blonde girl there, and somehow I knew that she was Alice from Alice in Wonderland. We were in Wonderland already, and she was showing us around. Us being a young man and maybe me, if I was even there. She brought us to a closed gate that looked more like a wall.
"Do you know the password?" she asked the young man. "I think I might've forgotten."
He seemed puzzled as he scanned the blank wall with only a blue, horizontal line. "No, I don't know."
Alice looked back up to it and thought for a few moments. "Maybe it's The Green Tree, because I know there's a green tree in there somewhere." She picked up a paintbrush and painted the words 'the green tree' onto the wall with green paint that seemed to materialize from the brush itself.
"Now we have to create our own birds," she explained, moving over to the other side of the gate. The paint color in the brush changed based on what you wanted to paint, and she painted a red and orange bird with her small form atop it. "You're not going to be able to ride anything if you don't paint it on here first." With that, she handed the young man a brush. After a few moments of confusion, he too began to paint birds with little miniatures of himself riding them. They both laughed, and as they did, the gate broke apart and opened, and Alice took his hand and led him inside.
She took him to a red table and they sat across from each other. Behind Alice was a large tree. "This is the game. You have a dream of something and it comes true. For instance, I have a dream of a rain shower." Out of nowhere, rain fell onto the young man, despite his protests. "And you have to beat it," Alice continued, watching idly.
The young man looked completely confused, but then started beating away the raindrops somehow, and the rain eventually disappeared.
Alice grinned now. "Too easy. I have a dream of a place to play."
The tree all of a sudden opened up into a garden, and the two of them went inside. It right outside the tree's doorway, there was a smaller tree with bright green leaves and a red fruit hanging from one of the low branches. The two played games for a while before their time was up and they returned to the table outside of the tree.
"My turn?" the young man asked, clearly having fun with this. As she was about to warn him to be careful, he closed his eyes, leaned back, and spoke the words, "I have a dream of another dream, of another Wonderland, that's dark and mysterious."
"That's too much," Alice answered, but the tree opened up and a loud, shrieking, whirling wind came to pull them in, but before it could, I got a glimpse of the new Wonderland the boy had created. It was the same as the garden that Alice had created, but everything looked dead and sinister. The sky was dark red and the trees were black silhouettes against it. Black birds flew out of the thin branches. The small tree now had black branches with no leaves, and the red fruit still hung from a low branch, but now seemed evil rather than juicy.
But, then I woke up.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Killackey's Request:
1. Why am I here?
I'm here right now because I love English. I love everything it has to offer. I love being able to see things not only as they are on the surface, but as they want to be beneath the face-value. The study of English fascinates me - it's abstract and artful, like my own thoughts and ideals - yet it's concrete with strict rules, like grammar, punctuation, syntax, and all those rhetorical devices I learned a few months ago. I'm here simply because I love the rigorous analysis and the emotion that can be revealed if one chooses to look deeply enough into a piece of literature. I want to learn more about the study of artful analysis. In complete honestly, I want to soak up as much as I can so that I can not only apply it to my own writing, but acutely appreciate the works of others - books, movies, or otherwise.
2. What is the point of reading a novel, poem, or short story?
The point is what can be derived from the novel, poem or short story. The thematic statement, the commentary on life and religion, the deep, nameless emotions that can be so accurately described in a literary work. Literature can change the way one views the world, a troubling situation, or even himself. Without literature, we as people would have no gage for what matters and what doesn't. We wouldn't know what to do with our emotions or our burning questions about life, love, and pursuit. Literature artfully shows us our own emotions in a way that brands our minds with images that we never would've seen before otherwise. The point is the inner message that can enable our minds to ingest an idea that may or may not change the roots of our perceptions.
3. What have I brought to this class and how do I intend to use that talent?
I've brought all I can offer - my feeble attention span and burning creativity. I'm always vocal during class discussions and can offer varying perspectives on different topics. I'm also an extremely interrogative person, so beware. I'm rarely satisfied with one answer. I love going into detail on essays, if you can't tell, and, when it comes to English particularly, I push myself until the emotion or point of view I want to convey is successfully revealed. I can promise that I'm an interesting person, for better or worse, and my questions will keep coming. I love talking about English.
4. What will I give up to give my best to academics?
My academic life, to be quite honest, has always been an intense struggle for me, not only because I really can't focus no matter how much I want to or how much I try, but because my life has always been in a state of violent disarray that, I realize now, will never settle. I don't question my intelligence, as narcissistic as that sounds, but I do question my willingness to sit down, shut up, and focus for a minute. I amaze myself with how distracted I am as a person. If I could give up my distractions, I would. Trust me. I've wiped away countless tears of frustration for my academic life that's always been robbed and maimed by my ADD or whatever it might be, (not that it's not my fault or responsibility, because I understand now that it is.) I can promise you that I will do my honest best. It's senior year and no one has any idea how to sick to death I am of falling behind and trying to catch up all semester.
5. Am I willing to daily read 40 to 60 pages of an outside reading and/or class reading and keep an ongoing log or response to what I am reading?
Willing? I give you a resounding yes. Capable? I give you a seemingly although not actually disrespectful maybe, I'll try. Based on my aforementioned array of mental issues, I can't promise a wonder student that will be everything you've ever asked for in a student, as much as it pains me to say it and probably annoys you to hear it. (Hey, you asked for honesty. Here it is.) However, this year, I've finally found what I believe to be the motivation to quiet my forever inanely buzzing mind and focus on school. I am willing. I am capable. It'll be extremely hard for me, but I can do it, and I will definitely try my hardest to do whatever you or Mrs. Vandagriff asks me to do.
6. What is my highest personal accomplishment?
I want to give you a girl scout résumé complete with the maximum amount of merit badges and saving the life of the troop leader by an impromptu CPR session. However, I was only a girl scout for the earlier years of my life, before it went insane, I think, and I have very little, if any, notable achievements that might be considered worthy in the eyes of someone that's only skimming this ridiculously long email. My greatest personal accomplishments include: feeding my cat every day, doing my homework the day it's assigned, cleaning my room before it gets out of hand, and waking up on time. I'm a social retard.
However, I do have a few that transcend the normal you're-really-dumb-if-you-consider-this-an-accomplishment area. For example, I very nearly directed an amazing musical. I say very nearly in the sense that it was never actually performed, because some of the people involved left the production, but we were almost complete, and it was almost a breathtaking show. I'm proud of what it would've been, and I'm proud of the fact that I know, despite that failure, that I'm going to try it again.
I'm proud of some other things that probably wouldn't be tactful to put on here, since they're extremely personal, but know that they're there.
I think my highest personal achievement is becoming the person I am right now. I've been many different people with many different beliefs and attitudes, but the one I am right now is someone who's less fluid a concept and much more flawed, but in a good way. I accept the responsibility of my chipped attention span, and I accept that I have a lot to learn about life, myself, and on a smaller scale, English. But, I want to learn and I want to reign in my rampant mind. This year, the person I am right now is willing to do anything to get off the track that I've been on and move into a direction of structure, something I've always envied. This person, this confident, likable, artistic, inherently flawed person is willing to push and push as far as she can go to obtain the future that will make her happy and then go on to affect the world. I can promise you that, Mr. Killackey and Mrs. Vandagriff. I don't know if you'll like me, but I know I'll like you and I know I'll try my hardest to do right by both the school and myself. It'll be really, really hard, but I think I can do it, and that's the best place to start. Or so I've heard, anyway.
I hope I didn't irritate you with the probably excessive length -
- Kate Howell
I'm here right now because I love English. I love everything it has to offer. I love being able to see things not only as they are on the surface, but as they want to be beneath the face-value. The study of English fascinates me - it's abstract and artful, like my own thoughts and ideals - yet it's concrete with strict rules, like grammar, punctuation, syntax, and all those rhetorical devices I learned a few months ago. I'm here simply because I love the rigorous analysis and the emotion that can be revealed if one chooses to look deeply enough into a piece of literature. I want to learn more about the study of artful analysis. In complete honestly, I want to soak up as much as I can so that I can not only apply it to my own writing, but acutely appreciate the works of others - books, movies, or otherwise.
2. What is the point of reading a novel, poem, or short story?
The point is what can be derived from the novel, poem or short story. The thematic statement, the commentary on life and religion, the deep, nameless emotions that can be so accurately described in a literary work. Literature can change the way one views the world, a troubling situation, or even himself. Without literature, we as people would have no gage for what matters and what doesn't. We wouldn't know what to do with our emotions or our burning questions about life, love, and pursuit. Literature artfully shows us our own emotions in a way that brands our minds with images that we never would've seen before otherwise. The point is the inner message that can enable our minds to ingest an idea that may or may not change the roots of our perceptions.
3. What have I brought to this class and how do I intend to use that talent?
I've brought all I can offer - my feeble attention span and burning creativity. I'm always vocal during class discussions and can offer varying perspectives on different topics. I'm also an extremely interrogative person, so beware. I'm rarely satisfied with one answer. I love going into detail on essays, if you can't tell, and, when it comes to English particularly, I push myself until the emotion or point of view I want to convey is successfully revealed. I can promise that I'm an interesting person, for better or worse, and my questions will keep coming. I love talking about English.
4. What will I give up to give my best to academics?
My academic life, to be quite honest, has always been an intense struggle for me, not only because I really can't focus no matter how much I want to or how much I try, but because my life has always been in a state of violent disarray that, I realize now, will never settle. I don't question my intelligence, as narcissistic as that sounds, but I do question my willingness to sit down, shut up, and focus for a minute. I amaze myself with how distracted I am as a person. If I could give up my distractions, I would. Trust me. I've wiped away countless tears of frustration for my academic life that's always been robbed and maimed by my ADD or whatever it might be, (not that it's not my fault or responsibility, because I understand now that it is.) I can promise you that I will do my honest best. It's senior year and no one has any idea how to sick to death I am of falling behind and trying to catch up all semester.
5. Am I willing to daily read 40 to 60 pages of an outside reading and/or class reading and keep an ongoing log or response to what I am reading?
Willing? I give you a resounding yes. Capable? I give you a seemingly although not actually disrespectful maybe, I'll try. Based on my aforementioned array of mental issues, I can't promise a wonder student that will be everything you've ever asked for in a student, as much as it pains me to say it and probably annoys you to hear it. (Hey, you asked for honesty. Here it is.) However, this year, I've finally found what I believe to be the motivation to quiet my forever inanely buzzing mind and focus on school. I am willing. I am capable. It'll be extremely hard for me, but I can do it, and I will definitely try my hardest to do whatever you or Mrs. Vandagriff asks me to do.
6. What is my highest personal accomplishment?
I want to give you a girl scout résumé complete with the maximum amount of merit badges and saving the life of the troop leader by an impromptu CPR session. However, I was only a girl scout for the earlier years of my life, before it went insane, I think, and I have very little, if any, notable achievements that might be considered worthy in the eyes of someone that's only skimming this ridiculously long email. My greatest personal accomplishments include: feeding my cat every day, doing my homework the day it's assigned, cleaning my room before it gets out of hand, and waking up on time. I'm a social retard.
However, I do have a few that transcend the normal you're-really-dumb-if-you-consider-this-an-accomplishment area. For example, I very nearly directed an amazing musical. I say very nearly in the sense that it was never actually performed, because some of the people involved left the production, but we were almost complete, and it was almost a breathtaking show. I'm proud of what it would've been, and I'm proud of the fact that I know, despite that failure, that I'm going to try it again.
I'm proud of some other things that probably wouldn't be tactful to put on here, since they're extremely personal, but know that they're there.
I think my highest personal achievement is becoming the person I am right now. I've been many different people with many different beliefs and attitudes, but the one I am right now is someone who's less fluid a concept and much more flawed, but in a good way. I accept the responsibility of my chipped attention span, and I accept that I have a lot to learn about life, myself, and on a smaller scale, English. But, I want to learn and I want to reign in my rampant mind. This year, the person I am right now is willing to do anything to get off the track that I've been on and move into a direction of structure, something I've always envied. This person, this confident, likable, artistic, inherently flawed person is willing to push and push as far as she can go to obtain the future that will make her happy and then go on to affect the world. I can promise you that, Mr. Killackey and Mrs. Vandagriff. I don't know if you'll like me, but I know I'll like you and I know I'll try my hardest to do right by both the school and myself. It'll be really, really hard, but I think I can do it, and that's the best place to start. Or so I've heard, anyway.
I hope I didn't irritate you with the probably excessive length -
- Kate Howell
Friday, August 13, 2010
Eighteen
Today is my eighteenth birthday.
I have a job, a car and now eighteen years of memories.
I can go to all those doctor visits by myself, sign all the necessary paperwork.
I can move out into my house if I want to do so, and I can do it right now, (assuming money/school weren’t an issue, of course.)
I can register to vote for the president of my country, have my own opinion that may or may not minutely affect the polling system and, ultimately, the choice for who leads the country in which I live.
I can buy a lottery ticket.
I can smoke cigarettes and not be questioned.
I can buy porn.
I can go to jail.
I can stay out past midnight.
I can get married.
It’s a strange, dizzying feeling to realize that I am able right at this moment to do what I want to do, within reason. The world seems so much larger after knowing and evaluating the true weight of these things that I can do. Can, present tense. There is no future tense anymore.
My life as I know it has ended, descending into ashes as a new life ascends, only a meager ember at the moment. With prodding and room to breathe, it will erupt into vivacious flame, and my new life will sprint across the earth, leaving creation in its wake. My new life will be my forever remembered eruption into what can now be called adulthood.
This strange spiraling moment will not last forever, or even a few days, but it will take root in my soul and sprout a blossom of violet creation and inspiration. I am now obligated to make myself happy.
This is a milestone, as they say, and this stretch of mile will be unpredictable. However, I can predict that it will be one of the happiest couple of years of my life, simply because I refuse to ignore the importance of happiness and aesthetics anymore. This is my last year of required schooling, and I am determined to make it the best year possible, not only for myself, but all of those I choose to love and cherish. This year will be unforgettable. It’s time for us to breathe again.
This is it.
I have a job, a car and now eighteen years of memories.
I can go to all those doctor visits by myself, sign all the necessary paperwork.
I can move out into my house if I want to do so, and I can do it right now, (assuming money/school weren’t an issue, of course.)
I can register to vote for the president of my country, have my own opinion that may or may not minutely affect the polling system and, ultimately, the choice for who leads the country in which I live.
I can buy a lottery ticket.
I can smoke cigarettes and not be questioned.
I can buy porn.
I can go to jail.
I can stay out past midnight.
I can get married.
It’s a strange, dizzying feeling to realize that I am able right at this moment to do what I want to do, within reason. The world seems so much larger after knowing and evaluating the true weight of these things that I can do. Can, present tense. There is no future tense anymore.
My life as I know it has ended, descending into ashes as a new life ascends, only a meager ember at the moment. With prodding and room to breathe, it will erupt into vivacious flame, and my new life will sprint across the earth, leaving creation in its wake. My new life will be my forever remembered eruption into what can now be called adulthood.
This strange spiraling moment will not last forever, or even a few days, but it will take root in my soul and sprout a blossom of violet creation and inspiration. I am now obligated to make myself happy.
This is a milestone, as they say, and this stretch of mile will be unpredictable. However, I can predict that it will be one of the happiest couple of years of my life, simply because I refuse to ignore the importance of happiness and aesthetics anymore. This is my last year of required schooling, and I am determined to make it the best year possible, not only for myself, but all of those I choose to love and cherish. This year will be unforgettable. It’s time for us to breathe again.
This is it.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I'm unnecessarily angry right now.
You
are
a
narcissistic
self-involved
life-sucking
drama
queen
that
feeds
off
others'
flaws
to
diminish
your
own
I
can't
believe
I
put
up
with
you
I
eagerly
await
the
day
when
we
go
off
to
different
colleges
and
never
see
each
other
again
Friday, July 23, 2010
Can you believe it?
If your life flashes before your eyes as you die, what does that say about the afterlife?
Do you forget everything once you get over there?
If your life flashes before your eyes and that's the last time that can ever happen, could that mean that the memories are simply streaming from your body, like tears and blood dripping and swirling into a river of nostalgia and past lives?
What if a memory stays with you when you go to the afterlife, like a stubborn insect unable to be shaken from the bottom of a shoe? Would that mean that heaven, hell, the next life, your rebirth, was false, since it wouldn't be a completely fresh slate? Is it possible for your repressed memories to clog up your nacent mind? A gurgling confusion that roils with doubt? Naive questions about life, love, and pursuit, all leading to pointlessness and an overused drainage system?
As my eyes protest any more use and their shields simmer to a close, I consider the necessity of grief and sanity. If peanuts had more protein, we could just eat them instead of cows.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
For a lack of better words.
My hands tingle with laziness.
I don't want to be typing this right now, but I don't want to be doing anything at all right now.
I don't want to adjust my leg even though it's falling asleep.
I don't want to turn music on even though it's uncomfortably silent.
I don't want to go out with friends even though I feel isolated from the world.
I just want to stay right here, with my tingling listlessness and prickling solitude.
I miss you, Nicole. <3
Friday, July 9, 2010
Balloons
by Julia Nunes
Years went by and we got older.
Remember the days when gas was sold
for $1.50 a gallon? Oh, how things have changed,
like those stylish fads
and the look on your face.
When you see me for the first time
in years.
We swore we'd never end up
here.
Well, I won't
be alone.
If it’s gone,
I'll move on.
It’s time to leave, while my eyes are still dry.
It’s time to leave, while my head is held high.
It’s time to bolt, time to bail, time to go.
Where to?
Well, I really don't
know.
I'm gone. So long, see you soon.
Up, up and away, like a rising balloon.
I'm just stupid enough to pack up and leave,
taking all that you have trusted and confided in me.
Hug me now because you might lose your chance.
I am crouched in my sprinting stance.
Time to bolt, time to bail, time to go
'cause I let you get way too close.
I'm gone. So long, see you soon.
Up, up and away, like a rising balloon.
I'm just crazy enough to leave you behind,
though you're like nothing I have found or will find.
Years went by and we got older.
Remember the days when gas was sold
for 1.50 a gallon? Oh, how things have changed,
like those stylish fads
and the look on your face.
When you see me for the first time
in years.
We swore we'd never end up
here.
Well, I won't
be alone.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
I have an awful lot of intense nightmares.
I've had four about my dad trying to kill me.
I'm not quite sure what that says about my view of our relationship.
I'm very much a person that believes in the truth and relevance of dreams and nightmares. I like to take other people's dreams and analyze them to see what they mean.
I had a dream that I almost had sex with Andrew Volpe but told him I couldn't 'cause I had a boyfriend. Andrew Volpe is the lead singer of a band I used to worship, and he's really hot, to me. Basically.
Here's a dream I had the other night that I can't get out of my head:
I was in a college at some fancy function. The scenery was red, gold, brown and black. I was walking aimlessly, and everyone was dressed nicely.
A girl sat on the red-carpeted stairs. She wore all black clothes, and they were mostly tattered and ripped. There was a tall, gold sign next to her that read, "Please leave her alone. Thank you." She was covered in blood. As I approached the stairs, her ovaries/vagina just started pouring more blood onto the stairs. Not just "she needs a pad." Like "she needs to go to a hospital because she's just been stabbed," except no one had stabbed her.
I was tempted to obey the sign, but she started shaking and she sighed, muttering to herself about how "it's starting again" and she needed napkins or something. I found towels and gave them to her, offering to take her to the hospital.
She grinned in embarrassment, and it was probably the most beautiful smile in the dream world. She nodded and stood, taking my hand after cleaning off her own and saying, "Thank you so much. Everyone just kept walking past and I didn't know why."
I had her arm over my shoulders to help her stand, but on the way out we kept running into people that wanted to just stop and talk to me. They seemed completely unfazed that I was assisting a girl covered in blood. I ended up ignoring them and carrying her to my car.
Upon starting the engine and pulling out of my parking spot, I realized I didn't know how to get out of the parking lot. I looked up and saw my dad's Mustang, then I looked to the girl and said, "That's my dad. We'll follow him. He knows the way." And with that, we followed him out of the parking lot over one ridiculously steep hill.
If that isn't one string of metaphors, I don't know what is.
I don't know what it means, though.
I showed Cristin my blog today and she wanted to subscribe to it.
Somehow I doubt she'll ever read it again.
I'm not quite sure what that says about my view of our relationship.
I'm very much a person that believes in the truth and relevance of dreams and nightmares. I like to take other people's dreams and analyze them to see what they mean.
I had a dream that I almost had sex with Andrew Volpe but told him I couldn't 'cause I had a boyfriend. Andrew Volpe is the lead singer of a band I used to worship, and he's really hot, to me. Basically.
Here's a dream I had the other night that I can't get out of my head:
I was in a college at some fancy function. The scenery was red, gold, brown and black. I was walking aimlessly, and everyone was dressed nicely.
A girl sat on the red-carpeted stairs. She wore all black clothes, and they were mostly tattered and ripped. There was a tall, gold sign next to her that read, "Please leave her alone. Thank you." She was covered in blood. As I approached the stairs, her ovaries/vagina just started pouring more blood onto the stairs. Not just "she needs a pad." Like "she needs to go to a hospital because she's just been stabbed," except no one had stabbed her.
I was tempted to obey the sign, but she started shaking and she sighed, muttering to herself about how "it's starting again" and she needed napkins or something. I found towels and gave them to her, offering to take her to the hospital.
She grinned in embarrassment, and it was probably the most beautiful smile in the dream world. She nodded and stood, taking my hand after cleaning off her own and saying, "Thank you so much. Everyone just kept walking past and I didn't know why."
I had her arm over my shoulders to help her stand, but on the way out we kept running into people that wanted to just stop and talk to me. They seemed completely unfazed that I was assisting a girl covered in blood. I ended up ignoring them and carrying her to my car.
Upon starting the engine and pulling out of my parking spot, I realized I didn't know how to get out of the parking lot. I looked up and saw my dad's Mustang, then I looked to the girl and said, "That's my dad. We'll follow him. He knows the way." And with that, we followed him out of the parking lot over one ridiculously steep hill.
If that isn't one string of metaphors, I don't know what is.
I don't know what it means, though.
I showed Cristin my blog today and she wanted to subscribe to it.
Somehow I doubt she'll ever read it again.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
August
by Julia Nunes
Sweet night and our chemistry
make my rapid heart
beat naturally,
and our organic minds -
while the others climb,
we contemplate,
“What is time?”
The night is dark,
and the lights are low,
but the laughter rises,
continues so.
Time flies by.
Sweet night and our chemistry
make my rapid heart
beat naturally,
and our organic minds -
while the others climb,
we contemplate,
“What is time?”
Time flies by.
Yeah, lie on the porch
with my head in your lap -
this is a simple combination
that makes me so happy,
and these could be
the happiest days of my life.
Yeah, lie on the porch
with my head in your lap -
this is a simple combination
that makes me so happy,
and these could be
the happiest days of my life.
(The night is dark,
and the lights are low,
but the laughter rises
and continues so.
Time flies by.
Time flies by.
Time flies by.)
Sweet night and our chemistry
make my rapid heart
beat naturally,
and our organic minds -
while the others climb,
we contemplate,
“What is time?”
Time flies by.
Sweet night…
Monday, June 28, 2010
Kate Howell to Misuchi Sakurai
Kate Howell June 28 at 3:11pm
I've been reading your blog, and I've discovered that I'm a Clairsentient, but I still have a lot of questions on the subject, and since Clairsentients are different than Empaths, I was wondering if I could just ask you directly? :) I love your blog so incredibly much - particularly because I'm a depressed person just by nature and the way you write makes sense to me.
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 3:24pm.
Sure...feel free to ask. ^_^
Kate Howell June 28 at 3:29pm
Okay, I took this test and it told me that I was a Communication Empath, which makes a lot of sense because I feel intense emotion when it comes to colors, fictional characters, music, words, art, etc.
My question, however, is about feeling other people's auras. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had really good instincts when it came to people. I knew who to talk to and who to stay away from. I couldn't ever explain why, especially because there was a guy that all my friends just adored (and still adore) but I really can't be around him. He's disgusting to me - like there's something soulless about him. Lo and behold, he turned out to be a sleaze and a pathological liar.
What is it called when someone can feel a kindred spirit or a very non-kindred spirit?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 5:02pm
Okay lets try and break this down a little bit so you understand it. Clairsentience is part of something called the Clair abilities, which are heightened senses basically. Clairsentience means Clear Feeling and can be broken down into two things called Feeler Clairsentience and Prophetic Clairsentience. In the range of gifts of Feeler Clairsentience are Empathy and Psychometry...and can also range out to things like hands on healing.
Now that I've gotten that all out of the way (lol), what you are talking about sounds like a gift Clear feeling toward this young man. Empathy's scope isn't just about feeling other people's traumas and emotions....it can also range into intent and lies. It can be based on body language and microexpressions, as much as feeling, as well. "Feeling" is the overall sense you receive from your senses about someone...and heightened senses, as well. It's as much that feeling that tells you "ew....sleazy" as it is the feeling of reaching out to help someone.
Feeling colors...inside people...auras...is very natural. It's simply most people don't think in those terms when they look at a human body. Your mind will feel a color like it does an emotion, because colors are often used to express emotion through visual arts. Your entire world is made up of color, in fact.
Does this help a little bit?
Namaste
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 5:54pm
Yeah, that does help a lot, but now I'm wondering whether or not I have Clairsentience or just really awesome observational/analytical skills.
So, basically, everyone "feels" everything the way we do, they just don't process it the same way, or even at all?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 6:03pm
Mmmm...I think its more like this. Everyone is capable of doing what we do. To what extent..what level..differentiates based on the person. And a good portion of them don't process it the same way. But having good observational/analytical skills is part of having clair abilities because you are utilizing your senses ways other people probably aren't.
Let's see...there is a test on emotional intelligence and empathy quotient you could take. They rate your levels. The emotional intelligence quiz has like 100 questions...so its LONG. http://www.queendom.com/tests/access_page/index.htm?idRegTest=1121
And the empathy quotient quiz is really good, as well. http://www.glennrowe.net/BaronCohen/EmpathyQuotient/EmpathyQuotient.aspx
See it's not just about a quiz you take...thats just the beginning. It's about learning all about yourself and what you can do, despite what titles you put on it...Empathy or Clairsentience. ^_^
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 7:00pm
On the first test this was my result:
According to your self-report answers, your emotional intelligence is somewhat poor. People who score like you may at times feel that they have trouble dealing with their own emotions and those of others. They sometimes struggle to overcome difficulties in their lives and they are not always able to control their moods. It may be hard for them to understand how best to motivate themselves to overcome obstacles and reach their goals. In addition, they find social interactions difficult at times, for several reasons. They may have trouble allowing themselves to get close with others, finding it difficult to be vulnerable enough to establish intimacy or perhaps lacking understanding of, or comfort with, social interactions. Perhaps by working on your problem areas, you can become more confident in dealing with your own emotions and those of others.
I am a moody person, and it is hard to get me motivated to reach my goals, but it is not hard for me to get close to others. At all. I guess that was just the "self report" though, and not the ability part. When it comes to me dealing with myself, I am definitely not skilled. I'm moody, I can't focus, I'm always in and out of depression, and I set myself up for failure.
On the second test, I got a 51 out of 80, which is upper average.
I feel like there are three people inside my mind:
There's the me that I want to be, who's charming, healthy, artistic, sensitive, confident, and logical.
There's the me that I could be but I'm fighting to stay away from, who's lazy, insecure, depressed, selfish, overweight, and emotional.
And then there's the me that I am now, who's a mixture of the two but is slipping uncontrollably into the second me.
I try so hard to focus, but I can't force myself to do anything, like other people can. For example, I want to do my homework, but I consciously choose not to even though I know I'll regret the decision.
And now apparently I'm not even very empathic. :/
Do you have any advice?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 7:25pm
Mmm tests only gauge what the person who created them wants them to gauge, and they aren't always accurate. The truth lays in you and what you believe about yourself. Your results aren't bad. They just tell you that there are areas that can be worked on. That's true for all of us, isn't it?
The person you want to be is also the person you are. She will always have flaws as well as beautiful things about her. So instead of trying to be something....see the good in you that is already there. It really is there, you know. ^_^
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 9:22pm
That's so hard to believe sometimes. :/ And I definitely know that you understand that, 'cause I've been reading your blog so much lately.
I mean, I know I'm creative and understanding, but I have practically no confidence in myself as a person, you know? And I really want to be a filmmaker when I get out on my own. I started trying to direct a musical out of thin air, but a lot of people backed down on me when I needed them the most. Now I'm just trying to get it back on its feet, but I feel like only a few people support me.
I want to not have any flaws, because that's the person that everyone can enjoy or at least respect. :/
Thank you so much for your help, Misu. :) Giving advice to a perfect stranger is very generous of you.
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 11:28pm
You know...I'm not perfect. You probably gauged that from my blogs. lol I have been through hell and back, and during those times I wasn't always the nicest person. And I certainly couldn't see anything good in me all to often.
But whether we see it or not, its there. And what other people see, is what we see in ourselves. Respect can be born out of an illusion, but then you are constantly worrying about maintaining that illusion. And you are worth knowing, loving and respecting for who you are. ^_^
Namaste
Misu
Kate Howell June 29 at 12:28am
I feel like I haven't earned it. :/ I want to be someone that other people can come to when they need help or a good time, but I'm not very dependable and I'm insanely emotional. I feel like I need to break free from myself before I can truly become the person I want to be, but I don't know how.
When you were not a nice person, you were going through the hardest times of your life. I don't have a reason to be the way I am. xx My "hard" times involve my parents being divorced when I was five, my dad being a bit of a jerk and my grandfather dying. That's pretty much the extent of it. But, being the big ball of energy and emotion I am, the emotions were so exaggerated in my mind that I just fed off of it and continued manic-depressive cycles all throughout my life.
My mom has me taking antidepressants because nobody can help me. I thought it was normal to feel the way I did (do) but apparently it's really not.
My self-mutilation is the criticism with which I infect myself. The things I tell myself are much worse than anything anyone else has ever told me.
I guess that's really everybody, though, isn't it?
I've been reading your blog, and I've discovered that I'm a Clairsentient, but I still have a lot of questions on the subject, and since Clairsentients are different than Empaths, I was wondering if I could just ask you directly? :) I love your blog so incredibly much - particularly because I'm a depressed person just by nature and the way you write makes sense to me.
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 3:24pm.
Sure...feel free to ask. ^_^
Kate Howell June 28 at 3:29pm
Okay, I took this test and it told me that I was a Communication Empath, which makes a lot of sense because I feel intense emotion when it comes to colors, fictional characters, music, words, art, etc.
My question, however, is about feeling other people's auras. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had really good instincts when it came to people. I knew who to talk to and who to stay away from. I couldn't ever explain why, especially because there was a guy that all my friends just adored (and still adore) but I really can't be around him. He's disgusting to me - like there's something soulless about him. Lo and behold, he turned out to be a sleaze and a pathological liar.
What is it called when someone can feel a kindred spirit or a very non-kindred spirit?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 5:02pm
Okay lets try and break this down a little bit so you understand it. Clairsentience is part of something called the Clair abilities, which are heightened senses basically. Clairsentience means Clear Feeling and can be broken down into two things called Feeler Clairsentience and Prophetic Clairsentience. In the range of gifts of Feeler Clairsentience are Empathy and Psychometry...and can also range out to things like hands on healing.
Now that I've gotten that all out of the way (lol), what you are talking about sounds like a gift Clear feeling toward this young man. Empathy's scope isn't just about feeling other people's traumas and emotions....it can also range into intent and lies. It can be based on body language and microexpressions, as much as feeling, as well. "Feeling" is the overall sense you receive from your senses about someone...and heightened senses, as well. It's as much that feeling that tells you "ew....sleazy" as it is the feeling of reaching out to help someone.
Feeling colors...inside people...auras...is very natural. It's simply most people don't think in those terms when they look at a human body. Your mind will feel a color like it does an emotion, because colors are often used to express emotion through visual arts. Your entire world is made up of color, in fact.
Does this help a little bit?
Namaste
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 5:54pm
Yeah, that does help a lot, but now I'm wondering whether or not I have Clairsentience or just really awesome observational/analytical skills.
So, basically, everyone "feels" everything the way we do, they just don't process it the same way, or even at all?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 6:03pm
Mmmm...I think its more like this. Everyone is capable of doing what we do. To what extent..what level..differentiates based on the person. And a good portion of them don't process it the same way. But having good observational/analytical skills is part of having clair abilities because you are utilizing your senses ways other people probably aren't.
Let's see...there is a test on emotional intelligence and empathy quotient you could take. They rate your levels. The emotional intelligence quiz has like 100 questions...so its LONG. http://www.queendom.com/tests/access_page/index.htm?idRegTest=1121
And the empathy quotient quiz is really good, as well. http://www.glennrowe.net/BaronCohen/EmpathyQuotient/EmpathyQuotient.aspx
See it's not just about a quiz you take...thats just the beginning. It's about learning all about yourself and what you can do, despite what titles you put on it...Empathy or Clairsentience. ^_^
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 7:00pm
On the first test this was my result:
According to your self-report answers, your emotional intelligence is somewhat poor. People who score like you may at times feel that they have trouble dealing with their own emotions and those of others. They sometimes struggle to overcome difficulties in their lives and they are not always able to control their moods. It may be hard for them to understand how best to motivate themselves to overcome obstacles and reach their goals. In addition, they find social interactions difficult at times, for several reasons. They may have trouble allowing themselves to get close with others, finding it difficult to be vulnerable enough to establish intimacy or perhaps lacking understanding of, or comfort with, social interactions. Perhaps by working on your problem areas, you can become more confident in dealing with your own emotions and those of others.
I am a moody person, and it is hard to get me motivated to reach my goals, but it is not hard for me to get close to others. At all. I guess that was just the "self report" though, and not the ability part. When it comes to me dealing with myself, I am definitely not skilled. I'm moody, I can't focus, I'm always in and out of depression, and I set myself up for failure.
On the second test, I got a 51 out of 80, which is upper average.
I feel like there are three people inside my mind:
There's the me that I want to be, who's charming, healthy, artistic, sensitive, confident, and logical.
There's the me that I could be but I'm fighting to stay away from, who's lazy, insecure, depressed, selfish, overweight, and emotional.
And then there's the me that I am now, who's a mixture of the two but is slipping uncontrollably into the second me.
I try so hard to focus, but I can't force myself to do anything, like other people can. For example, I want to do my homework, but I consciously choose not to even though I know I'll regret the decision.
And now apparently I'm not even very empathic. :/
Do you have any advice?
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 7:25pm
Mmm tests only gauge what the person who created them wants them to gauge, and they aren't always accurate. The truth lays in you and what you believe about yourself. Your results aren't bad. They just tell you that there are areas that can be worked on. That's true for all of us, isn't it?
The person you want to be is also the person you are. She will always have flaws as well as beautiful things about her. So instead of trying to be something....see the good in you that is already there. It really is there, you know. ^_^
Misu
Kate Howell June 28 at 9:22pm
That's so hard to believe sometimes. :/ And I definitely know that you understand that, 'cause I've been reading your blog so much lately.
I mean, I know I'm creative and understanding, but I have practically no confidence in myself as a person, you know? And I really want to be a filmmaker when I get out on my own. I started trying to direct a musical out of thin air, but a lot of people backed down on me when I needed them the most. Now I'm just trying to get it back on its feet, but I feel like only a few people support me.
I want to not have any flaws, because that's the person that everyone can enjoy or at least respect. :/
Thank you so much for your help, Misu. :) Giving advice to a perfect stranger is very generous of you.
Misuchi Sakurai June 28 at 11:28pm
You know...I'm not perfect. You probably gauged that from my blogs. lol I have been through hell and back, and during those times I wasn't always the nicest person. And I certainly couldn't see anything good in me all to often.
But whether we see it or not, its there. And what other people see, is what we see in ourselves. Respect can be born out of an illusion, but then you are constantly worrying about maintaining that illusion. And you are worth knowing, loving and respecting for who you are. ^_^
Namaste
Misu
Kate Howell June 29 at 12:28am
I feel like I haven't earned it. :/ I want to be someone that other people can come to when they need help or a good time, but I'm not very dependable and I'm insanely emotional. I feel like I need to break free from myself before I can truly become the person I want to be, but I don't know how.
When you were not a nice person, you were going through the hardest times of your life. I don't have a reason to be the way I am. xx My "hard" times involve my parents being divorced when I was five, my dad being a bit of a jerk and my grandfather dying. That's pretty much the extent of it. But, being the big ball of energy and emotion I am, the emotions were so exaggerated in my mind that I just fed off of it and continued manic-depressive cycles all throughout my life.
My mom has me taking antidepressants because nobody can help me. I thought it was normal to feel the way I did (do) but apparently it's really not.
My self-mutilation is the criticism with which I infect myself. The things I tell myself are much worse than anything anyone else has ever told me.
I guess that's really everybody, though, isn't it?
Friday, June 25, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
An intelligent argument. Thank God they exist.
Hannah Nielesen June 18 at 2:21am
I'm sure you've noticed some resentment from me. I at least owe you an explanation for this.
I don't know how to talk to you anymore.
Even if I did, it doesn't seem as though you really want to talk to me. It doesn't even seem as though you like me. As a person. In general. At all.
And honestly...I miss you, despite how much you really don't seem to miss me.
It's really annoying. The situation. Your depression. Everything in general.
And the most annoying thing is, I tried to help you. I cared. I really did.
And honestly...I still do care.
But you can't even care back. You won't help back.
Despite what you think, friendship IS give and take. So is any relationship, for that matter. A mutual give and take.
It's not JUST mutual acceptance of each other.
And honestly...right now, I DO hate you. Because you don't express much interest in me until you need something. Because our friendship is NOT mutual. Because I'll jump through hoops for you whenever you ask. Narrow, flaming, insanely difficult hoops. But you don't return the favor. You just take, it seems.
Maybe I'm selfish, but that's just how I see our friendship.
And I've been thinking about this for a while. I just didn't know how to say it. As usual. And I thought you should know how I felt.
I owe it to you. Because it wasn't always like this. Because I miss the way we used to be.
Kate Howell June 18 at 5:21pm
And, as always whenever you're mad at me, I have no idea what brought this on. None. At all.
Honestly, Hannah, I don't know how to talk to you either. I've tried and tried and tried and I know that you're not going to believe it when I tell you, but I did. I tried so hard. You will never know how many tears I've had to wipe away because I've tried so hard to figure you out.
I don't express interest because it's clearly too strenuous of me to do so. Whenever I do, something happens, and I just end up getting my heart broken for the nth time. As a result, I've accepted that I can't keep up with the way you think, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Your thoughts jump so fast from one conclusion to the other and, though my thoughts jump too, I am very much a person that has to assess the situation and find the root of everything. I can't even clean my room because I don't know where to start.
Truthfully, it is very, very hard for me to believe that you want to be my friend. Extremely hard. When I talk to you, probably half of what I hear from you is resentment and condescension and the other half is nothing but phenomenal intelligence and creativity.
But, Hannah, I simply can't keep straining my emotional limit with trying to please you. It's not that you're too hard to please - it's that I just don't know how. We're completely different creatures.
First, I hang out with you all the time and everything's wonderful. That was the summer before sophomore year.
Then, everything gets dark and complicated when I try to communicate that you are my best friend, and you respond by saying that that's too much pressure and that I don't know how to be a best friend. I didn't know how to respond to that at all except cry my eyes out for days at a time, and that's no exaggeration.
After that, you tell me that my expectations are too high for you to fill, so you don't want to be my best friend.
Consequently, I lowered my expectations completely so that you wouldn't feel threatened in any way. I stopped trying so hard to talk to you, inviting you to so many things, trying so hard to relate to you, because it was clear that you needed your space and I wanted to give it to you.
And then, this is the kicker, you tell me that the reason you get mad at me so often is because you have expectations of me that are higher than of other people.
I literally cannot keep up with the way you think about things.
Yes, when I was depressed and unable to function in daily life, you were there to pick me up, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, because I really do, more than anything, but to say that I don't jump through hoops for you is... I don't even know what it is. Something is disabling you from seeing what I do for you. I drove you all around Oklahoma City, and though it was about Razia's Shadow (barely), you wanted to get out of the house and that was the reason I picked you up. I thought we had a fantastic time, Hannah, but, clearly, I did something wrong. Again. And that is not the only time we've had a great time together. I thought that's what you wanted from me - a great time. If that's not it, then I don't know what you want.
Seriously, though, to say that I don't like you or am not interested in you as a person is just a straight-up fallacy. You know that I'm interested in you as a person because anytime we're together, I mention how cool you are and how creative you are and how you're the embodiment of art and how I don't want to tame you even if I could because you're a free spirit and I love that about you. I LOVE your soul/personality. It's so raw and beautiful and terrifying. I've learned, like with impressionistic or modern artwork, to just stop and admire from afar because if you get too close, it's hard to tell what it really is.
But yeah, it does offend me when you say my depression annoys you.
I'm pretty sure if anyone is annoyed with it the most, it's me.
Despite popular belief, I don't LIKE feeling helpless and stupid in everyday situations. I don't LIKE admitting that I need help to live. I don't LIKE having panic attacks in the middle of lunch and having to call home so I don't have to deal with so many people at one time. I don't LIKE missing a month of school in one semester and then getting C's and D's as my final grades.
In fact, I HATE it.
So the fact that YOU'RE annoyed with me wanting to kill myself for a straight year just shows me even more that I really did make the right decision by deciding to take a step back.
The reason I may not seem "interested" in our friendship is because when I am "interested," something I do offends you and then you're mad at me and I'm just bawling my eyes out all over again. However, when I take a deep breath and a step back, when I let you be your own person with your own life that doesn't really involve me very much, it's much easier for me to be around you because I'm constantly waving a white flag.
If you need something, you can talk to me about it. I always respond to your text messages, and yet you don't talk to me and then tell me that I don't help you.
It's pretty ironic how this has come full circle, but I really can't be that close to you. And I know because I have tried so hard to be one of your close friends. But, you and I are on totally different wavelengths. Neither one is right and neither one is wrong - they're just different. I can't be close friends with you because it seems that even when you make me mad, I end up apologizing, and when I make you mad, I end up crying and apologizing.
You are a force to be reckoned with. I don't want you to hate me but I can't earn your love, so I sit on the bleachers with a happy medium.
Except apparently that doesn't even make you happy.
Look.
I GIVE UP.
I can't be your best friend because I'm too much pressure, I can't be your close friend because you're too much pressure, and now I can't even be just a friend because I'm not interested in our friendship. I can't be your enemy because that would kill me inside.
Hannah, I will ALWAYS love you as a person. Truthfully, I can't not love you as a person because your unhindered emotion and life force captivates me beyond any other person I've ever met in my life, and I do want to be your friend, but I don't know how to react to you and the things you say to me, the things you think I do but I really don't do at all. Nine times out of ten, I have no earthly idea why you're mad at me. I really don't. I just saw it as having a great time and then you come back to me saying that you have to do everything according to my schedule and that I don't care about you at all. I'm so constantly confused and hurt that I just have to distance myself so that I don't torture myself over it.
I don't see our friendship deteriorating as much as you see it deteriorating. I don't see that I don't do anything for you. I don't see that all I do is take and don't give. I really don't see that I don't care about you.
If I didn't care, I wouldn't have responded. I wouldn't have asked for your help during my depression. I wouldn't have asked you to help with Razia. I wouldn't have distanced myself from you in an attempt to preserve in you a state of mind that you might actually like me. I wouldn't have bawled every time you were mad at me and I didn't know why. I wouldn't have invited you to my mom's career seminar thing. I definitely wouldn't have felt horrible but kept my mouth mostly shut while you were dating the one person I truly hate.
Hannah, I'm a communicational retard.
If you want my help with something - ANYTHING - just ask me. I'm sorry, but you can't expect me to know that you want something from me without telling me first. It's just like sex. It's not great until you tell your man what to do.
Sorry for the dumb analogy, but it's true.
I will always care about you and our friendship. I'm sorry that you consistently think I don't. I will try to fix it if I can, but I need you to try to fix it, too. I need you to talk to me about what you want.
Hannah Nielesen June 18 at 10:25pm
96% of the time, I am not mad at you. You just assume that I'm mad. Even when I tell you I'm NOT mad, you think I'm mad.
HONESTLY, I've been mad at you ONLY 3 times, including now.
I've tried everything you have. Raising, lowering, and abandoning all expectations.
I've been hurt too. Whenever I want to get closer to you, you back away.
But we're not in sync.
I'm annoyed with your depression because I've been just as depressed as you are now.
But, seeing how we're different people and all, I don't talk about it. I don't want to mention it. I ignore it. I drink.
And I just don't understand why you'd want to talk about something so personal.
I do not understand.
It's annoying to me because I think everyone can just deal with it.
And I know it's absurd to think that, I REALLY do, but I can't accept the notion of talking about depression. I can't. It's not how I was brought up.
We're on two separate wavelengths.
And I don't understand you. And that makes me feel as though I don't know who you are. As a person. In general.
So, what I want, what will put us in sync, is for me to know exactly who you are. And I want you to vocalize what you think about my decisions. To tell me why you think I'm mad. To vocalize your feelings without thinking I'm going to be upset.
And I'm getting impatient with myself now because there was so much more that I wanted to say, but I can't come up with the words.
...
I want you to know how I view friendship. I want to explain how serious it is to be best friends with me. I want you to know what it's like with me and Jessica. Because, if there was ever such a thing as soul mates, Jessica would be my best friend/soul mate/sister combo. And I don't think you understand the importance of that kind of friendship. Because if you did, you wouldn't say Katy is you best friend for the soul reason that she said you were HER best friend. Best friends is SO much more than that. It's about loyalty.
God knows I've hurt Jessica's feelings more than ANYONE else in this world, including yourself. But she forgives me, no matter how dumb and mean I am.
I mean, we're in it for the long haul, me and Jessica.
And being friends with me, like true friends, is just the same. And if we're going to work things out, we might as well be the true type of friends.
And that means having confidence in our friendship.
So, what I want is - eventually -your confidence.
Hannah Nielesen June 18 at 10:35pm
Also, I think hearing your side made me feel better. Because I just didn't realize how YOU felt. This type of communication is good.
Kate Howell June 19 at 6:11pm
Well, at least that’s a step up. I’m always afraid to talk to you about stuff like this because I don’t know what will set you off or how to say a lot of it. I know when I say things it tends to be the opposite of what I mean, so I try to keep my mouth shut.
I’ll address everything you’ve said in the order you’ve written them:
I hope you’re liking my long responses. Ha ha. Sorry about that. Once again, I’m someone who has to assess the situation and find the root of everything in order to feel satisfied.
I'm sure you've noticed some resentment from me. I at least owe you an explanation for this.
I don't know how to talk to you anymore.
Even if I did, it doesn't seem as though you really want to talk to me. It doesn't even seem as though you like me. As a person. In general. At all.
And honestly...I miss you, despite how much you really don't seem to miss me.
It's really annoying. The situation. Your depression. Everything in general.
And the most annoying thing is, I tried to help you. I cared. I really did.
And honestly...I still do care.
But you can't even care back. You won't help back.
Despite what you think, friendship IS give and take. So is any relationship, for that matter. A mutual give and take.
It's not JUST mutual acceptance of each other.
And honestly...right now, I DO hate you. Because you don't express much interest in me until you need something. Because our friendship is NOT mutual. Because I'll jump through hoops for you whenever you ask. Narrow, flaming, insanely difficult hoops. But you don't return the favor. You just take, it seems.
Maybe I'm selfish, but that's just how I see our friendship.
And I've been thinking about this for a while. I just didn't know how to say it. As usual. And I thought you should know how I felt.
I owe it to you. Because it wasn't always like this. Because I miss the way we used to be.
Kate Howell June 18 at 5:21pm
And, as always whenever you're mad at me, I have no idea what brought this on. None. At all.
Honestly, Hannah, I don't know how to talk to you either. I've tried and tried and tried and I know that you're not going to believe it when I tell you, but I did. I tried so hard. You will never know how many tears I've had to wipe away because I've tried so hard to figure you out.
I don't express interest because it's clearly too strenuous of me to do so. Whenever I do, something happens, and I just end up getting my heart broken for the nth time. As a result, I've accepted that I can't keep up with the way you think, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Your thoughts jump so fast from one conclusion to the other and, though my thoughts jump too, I am very much a person that has to assess the situation and find the root of everything. I can't even clean my room because I don't know where to start.
Truthfully, it is very, very hard for me to believe that you want to be my friend. Extremely hard. When I talk to you, probably half of what I hear from you is resentment and condescension and the other half is nothing but phenomenal intelligence and creativity.
But, Hannah, I simply can't keep straining my emotional limit with trying to please you. It's not that you're too hard to please - it's that I just don't know how. We're completely different creatures.
First, I hang out with you all the time and everything's wonderful. That was the summer before sophomore year.
Then, everything gets dark and complicated when I try to communicate that you are my best friend, and you respond by saying that that's too much pressure and that I don't know how to be a best friend. I didn't know how to respond to that at all except cry my eyes out for days at a time, and that's no exaggeration.
After that, you tell me that my expectations are too high for you to fill, so you don't want to be my best friend.
Consequently, I lowered my expectations completely so that you wouldn't feel threatened in any way. I stopped trying so hard to talk to you, inviting you to so many things, trying so hard to relate to you, because it was clear that you needed your space and I wanted to give it to you.
And then, this is the kicker, you tell me that the reason you get mad at me so often is because you have expectations of me that are higher than of other people.
I literally cannot keep up with the way you think about things.
Yes, when I was depressed and unable to function in daily life, you were there to pick me up, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, because I really do, more than anything, but to say that I don't jump through hoops for you is... I don't even know what it is. Something is disabling you from seeing what I do for you. I drove you all around Oklahoma City, and though it was about Razia's Shadow (barely), you wanted to get out of the house and that was the reason I picked you up. I thought we had a fantastic time, Hannah, but, clearly, I did something wrong. Again. And that is not the only time we've had a great time together. I thought that's what you wanted from me - a great time. If that's not it, then I don't know what you want.
Seriously, though, to say that I don't like you or am not interested in you as a person is just a straight-up fallacy. You know that I'm interested in you as a person because anytime we're together, I mention how cool you are and how creative you are and how you're the embodiment of art and how I don't want to tame you even if I could because you're a free spirit and I love that about you. I LOVE your soul/personality. It's so raw and beautiful and terrifying. I've learned, like with impressionistic or modern artwork, to just stop and admire from afar because if you get too close, it's hard to tell what it really is.
But yeah, it does offend me when you say my depression annoys you.
I'm pretty sure if anyone is annoyed with it the most, it's me.
Despite popular belief, I don't LIKE feeling helpless and stupid in everyday situations. I don't LIKE admitting that I need help to live. I don't LIKE having panic attacks in the middle of lunch and having to call home so I don't have to deal with so many people at one time. I don't LIKE missing a month of school in one semester and then getting C's and D's as my final grades.
In fact, I HATE it.
So the fact that YOU'RE annoyed with me wanting to kill myself for a straight year just shows me even more that I really did make the right decision by deciding to take a step back.
The reason I may not seem "interested" in our friendship is because when I am "interested," something I do offends you and then you're mad at me and I'm just bawling my eyes out all over again. However, when I take a deep breath and a step back, when I let you be your own person with your own life that doesn't really involve me very much, it's much easier for me to be around you because I'm constantly waving a white flag.
If you need something, you can talk to me about it. I always respond to your text messages, and yet you don't talk to me and then tell me that I don't help you.
It's pretty ironic how this has come full circle, but I really can't be that close to you. And I know because I have tried so hard to be one of your close friends. But, you and I are on totally different wavelengths. Neither one is right and neither one is wrong - they're just different. I can't be close friends with you because it seems that even when you make me mad, I end up apologizing, and when I make you mad, I end up crying and apologizing.
You are a force to be reckoned with. I don't want you to hate me but I can't earn your love, so I sit on the bleachers with a happy medium.
Except apparently that doesn't even make you happy.
Look.
I GIVE UP.
I can't be your best friend because I'm too much pressure, I can't be your close friend because you're too much pressure, and now I can't even be just a friend because I'm not interested in our friendship. I can't be your enemy because that would kill me inside.
Hannah, I will ALWAYS love you as a person. Truthfully, I can't not love you as a person because your unhindered emotion and life force captivates me beyond any other person I've ever met in my life, and I do want to be your friend, but I don't know how to react to you and the things you say to me, the things you think I do but I really don't do at all. Nine times out of ten, I have no earthly idea why you're mad at me. I really don't. I just saw it as having a great time and then you come back to me saying that you have to do everything according to my schedule and that I don't care about you at all. I'm so constantly confused and hurt that I just have to distance myself so that I don't torture myself over it.
I don't see our friendship deteriorating as much as you see it deteriorating. I don't see that I don't do anything for you. I don't see that all I do is take and don't give. I really don't see that I don't care about you.
If I didn't care, I wouldn't have responded. I wouldn't have asked for your help during my depression. I wouldn't have asked you to help with Razia. I wouldn't have distanced myself from you in an attempt to preserve in you a state of mind that you might actually like me. I wouldn't have bawled every time you were mad at me and I didn't know why. I wouldn't have invited you to my mom's career seminar thing. I definitely wouldn't have felt horrible but kept my mouth mostly shut while you were dating the one person I truly hate.
Hannah, I'm a communicational retard.
If you want my help with something - ANYTHING - just ask me. I'm sorry, but you can't expect me to know that you want something from me without telling me first. It's just like sex. It's not great until you tell your man what to do.
Sorry for the dumb analogy, but it's true.
I will always care about you and our friendship. I'm sorry that you consistently think I don't. I will try to fix it if I can, but I need you to try to fix it, too. I need you to talk to me about what you want.
Hannah Nielesen June 18 at 10:25pm
96% of the time, I am not mad at you. You just assume that I'm mad. Even when I tell you I'm NOT mad, you think I'm mad.
HONESTLY, I've been mad at you ONLY 3 times, including now.
I've tried everything you have. Raising, lowering, and abandoning all expectations.
I've been hurt too. Whenever I want to get closer to you, you back away.
But we're not in sync.
I'm annoyed with your depression because I've been just as depressed as you are now.
But, seeing how we're different people and all, I don't talk about it. I don't want to mention it. I ignore it. I drink.
And I just don't understand why you'd want to talk about something so personal.
I do not understand.
It's annoying to me because I think everyone can just deal with it.
And I know it's absurd to think that, I REALLY do, but I can't accept the notion of talking about depression. I can't. It's not how I was brought up.
We're on two separate wavelengths.
And I don't understand you. And that makes me feel as though I don't know who you are. As a person. In general.
So, what I want, what will put us in sync, is for me to know exactly who you are. And I want you to vocalize what you think about my decisions. To tell me why you think I'm mad. To vocalize your feelings without thinking I'm going to be upset.
And I'm getting impatient with myself now because there was so much more that I wanted to say, but I can't come up with the words.
...
I want you to know how I view friendship. I want to explain how serious it is to be best friends with me. I want you to know what it's like with me and Jessica. Because, if there was ever such a thing as soul mates, Jessica would be my best friend/soul mate/sister combo. And I don't think you understand the importance of that kind of friendship. Because if you did, you wouldn't say Katy is you best friend for the soul reason that she said you were HER best friend. Best friends is SO much more than that. It's about loyalty.
God knows I've hurt Jessica's feelings more than ANYONE else in this world, including yourself. But she forgives me, no matter how dumb and mean I am.
I mean, we're in it for the long haul, me and Jessica.
And being friends with me, like true friends, is just the same. And if we're going to work things out, we might as well be the true type of friends.
And that means having confidence in our friendship.
So, what I want is - eventually -your confidence.
Hannah Nielesen June 18 at 10:35pm
Also, I think hearing your side made me feel better. Because I just didn't realize how YOU felt. This type of communication is good.
Kate Howell June 19 at 6:11pm
Well, at least that’s a step up. I’m always afraid to talk to you about stuff like this because I don’t know what will set you off or how to say a lot of it. I know when I say things it tends to be the opposite of what I mean, so I try to keep my mouth shut.
I’ll address everything you’ve said in the order you’ve written them:
- Clearly, your definition of the word “mad” differs greatly from mine. When I say “mad” I mean any negative emotion that might spur a tense confrontation or really any tense irritation at all. Apparently, though, your definition of the word implies something much more intense than that. Your version of mad is my version of inflamed fury that burns your face red with how affronted you are. That’s my definition of unbelievably enraged. So, know that when I say that you’re “mad” at me, I mean that you have tense but maybe somewhat mild frustration toward me. I’m a very empathic person. I literally feel others’ tension toward me if they’re around me. Brian gets so pissed because anytime he’s mad about something at work and he’s just thinking about it, I can feel his anger and because I feel it so strongly, I assume that I did something wrong.
- I would like to point out my aforementioned assessment of us as people – we’re on completely different strings of consciousness. Neither one is right and neither one is wrong. We’re just different. You deal with your depression by pushing it quietly aside and drinking. You deal with depression alone because you were brought up that way. I, however, was brought up oppositely. I was raised to believe that talking about your feelings when you’re depressed is the healthiest way to cope with it. I deal with things better by having others understand the way I feel so that I know I’m not alone. I talk about how I feel because I really can’t bottle it up without lashing out at people and being violently emotional to everyone that I care about. I really CAN’T just suck it up and deal with it. I’m not that kind of person. When I fall, I fall hard, and I can’t pull myself up without help. You and I are opposites in that way. Just because I’m different doesn’t mean I’m unorthodox or nonsensical. It just means I need certain things that you don’t need, like understanding and comfort, and you need certain things that I don’t need, like alcohol and solitude. It’s all balanced out.
- I also have a disquieted fear of rejection/abandonment. I don’t want the people I really care about to know fully who I am for fear that they’ll reject me and move on with their lives. I hide myself from you particularly because you’re such a raw, enigmatic person that I don’t know how you’ll react to half the things I say, so I try to play safe. It makes a lot more sense to me now that I need to communicate with you better, though. I really don’t think you understand how awed and terrified I am of you at the same time. When I say you’re water, you really are in every sense of the word – you’re beautiful, calming, and really fun to play with on good days, but on bad days, you’re a raging typhoon that could swallow people alive as you roar into the storm. I don’t want to get in your way, and I don’t mean that to sound negative. I mean with whatever you do, be it art or romance or anger, I don’t want to be in your path for fear of disturbing what beauty may arise out of it or getting the backlash. That’s probably why you feel like you don’t know me – because I feel like a spectator of your life.
- Okay, yes, I will wholeheartedly admit that it was an AWFUL, AWFUL mistake to call Katy my best friend. I didn’t see how terrible it was at the time. She just told me everything that I’d ever wanted to hear from anybody in the world and I was blinded by all the compliments she gave me and how much she told me she needed me in her life. However, now that I realize that it’s all bullshit and she was just trying to get me to shut up, basically, (and that hurt a hell of a lot, too), I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t have a best friend. And I probably never will. Even though that’s the only thing I wanted out of high school. I have a very severe case of only-child syndrome, in which most people learn their friendship etiquette from their relationships with their siblings. However, if one doesn’t have siblings, when they try to make friends, they don’t really know how to treat them. My expectations of a best friend are too high. You were right about that. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I realize how right you were. I mainly wanted a replacement sibling that would always love me no matter what happened. I’m so happy and yet jealous that you have that with Jessica. That kind of relationship is the only one that I ever wanted, besides the romantic relationship that I have with Brian. I used to have it with Nicole, but then I got competitive with Emily because I want to have MY best friend. It’s got to be MY best friend, not anyone else’s. I don’t want to share. Yes, I know I’m stupid and crazy, but it’s how I feel and it comes from deep-seeded emotional problems that are too deep to fix now. The closest thing I have to a best friend is Raychel, mainly because we’ve always been there for each other when we needed each other, even though she just seemed at the back of my mind until this year, even despite that she and I have been friends longer than anyone else we know. I just felt so much more mature than she was and so much more… I don’t even know what I was thinking. But then I realized that, in many ways, she’s way more mature than I am and that she still put up with me through all of my insanity. That’s a true friend, and I want to be that way for her, but after all that shit, I don’t even think I deserve her best friendship. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to tie her down to me, either. Raychel’s not that kind of person, and I acknowledged that pretty much from the moment we met. That’s probably why she was always at the back of my mind. I do believe that she and I were fated to be friends, though, and I know for a fact that she and I will be friends until the day we die.
- Call me weak, call me sensitive, whatever, but I’m not a person that can handle much abuse. You say you’ve hurt Jessica more than anyone else but she still forgives you. That is fantastic and she must be an amazing person, but I’m just not like that. If somebody hurts me, be it on purpose or accident, I torture myself. I am an EXTREMELY masochistic person. I cut myself because I like the pain. I like knowing that I can feel things. Sometimes I get so caught up in feeling what other people feel that I forget how I really feel about the world. I’m a chameleon in every situation. That’s pretty much why Zac creeped me out since the first day I met him in fifth grade. I never wanted to be friends with him. I never wanted to date him after we became “friends.” He always freaked the hell out of me because when I’m around him, I feel a weird, black emptiness that overwhelms my every pore. The boy has intense problems that he hides very, very well. But he’s kinda letting them slip out now, and that’s actually a relief because I’m sure that he has many redeemable qualities, but that black slime disables me from seeing them. But anyway, when someone’s pissed at me, I just torture myself over and over again because I don’t know what I did wrong. I change the way I act, the way I think, the way I speak until it fits that person just right. (Not drastically, I might add. Just little mannerisms that might set people on edge.) You, however, I can’t figure out. It works with everyone but you. Probably because you live your life according to true emotion and you’re repulsed by the fact that I morph to fit what’s going on around me. It’s more of a survival instinct than anything, because I’m sick of beating myself up over everything. Trust me, when you’re mad at me, the things I say to myself are a lot worse than anything you could say to me.
I hope you’re liking my long responses. Ha ha. Sorry about that. Once again, I’m someone who has to assess the situation and find the root of everything in order to feel satisfied.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
My Heart Screams
Stars
singeing in furious
frenzy and singing of shackles
wrapped around my swollen wrists to declare
me an example.
Symphonies
screaming of all the beauty
masked and swimming with crescents
encased in watery coronas to explode
in flawless matrimony.
My sunken bones
know what’s inside
despite the envious and illusional
flame of disillusion.
And I think it's about God.
singeing in furious
frenzy and singing of shackles
wrapped around my swollen wrists to declare
me an example.
Symphonies
screaming of all the beauty
masked and swimming with crescents
encased in watery coronas to explode
in flawless matrimony.
My sunken bones
know what’s inside
despite the envious and illusional
flame of disillusion.
And I think it's about God.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Dear Dad,
I hear you're reading this blog.
Well, that really makes me happy. :) And I was really mad when I wrote that other thing down there so... sorry. :D
We had a wonderful dinner together today. I was so excited when I left the restaurant. No offense, but it's one of the only times that we could legitimately stand each other for more than a few minutes without trying to solve the world's problems together.
I think we should make it a weekly happening. Or maybe two-weeks-at-a-time-ly. But either way, we should definitely do it more often.
God, I had so much stuff planned out in my head about what to write and now I can't remember it at all and I'm just blathering incessantly. XD
It was like we were best buds again. As much as I rant and rave about your misgivings and faults, my ignorant anger blinds my memories of our fun times together. Going for drives around Lake Hefner, playing baseball in the courtyard, making videos, riding bikes, watching Anne of Green Gables, seeing your face in the audience at every performance. The list goes on. We were quite pair. It's sad that it's been dismantled for now, but I know that the awesome connection between us won't ever be shut away.
You're awesome, Dad. :)
I love you.
Well, that really makes me happy. :) And I was really mad when I wrote that other thing down there so... sorry. :D
We had a wonderful dinner together today. I was so excited when I left the restaurant. No offense, but it's one of the only times that we could legitimately stand each other for more than a few minutes without trying to solve the world's problems together.
I think we should make it a weekly happening. Or maybe two-weeks-at-a-time-ly. But either way, we should definitely do it more often.
God, I had so much stuff planned out in my head about what to write and now I can't remember it at all and I'm just blathering incessantly. XD
It was like we were best buds again. As much as I rant and rave about your misgivings and faults, my ignorant anger blinds my memories of our fun times together. Going for drives around Lake Hefner, playing baseball in the courtyard, making videos, riding bikes, watching Anne of Green Gables, seeing your face in the audience at every performance. The list goes on. We were quite pair. It's sad that it's been dismantled for now, but I know that the awesome connection between us won't ever be shut away.
You're awesome, Dad. :)
I love you.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Great Lion is Dead
My grandpa died on Monday, February 8th, 2010 in Mercy Hospital.
When Conner ran into the lobby to wake me, he told me that his breathing had dropped to zero, so I needed to hurry. I did, and I ran down to the ICU room.
There, Ronnie and Sarah sat beside my motionless grandfather. His heart monitor was still off the charts, though, but his breathing rate had, indeed, fallen to zero.
I sat in the chair beside him. I watched him.
The nurse ran in and switched the heart monitor to the 'private' setting, which means we don't see anything happening internally. Then she ran out.
I still watched him.
And I watched as he morphed into a lifeless, inhuman form.
The peaceful lapse into unconsciousness you see in the movies is a lighthearted, playful version of death. That's the stupidest thought, but it's what I was thinking.
The being that used to be my grandfather, my warm, honest, sturdy, musky-scented grandfather transformed into something alien and wrong before my eyes.
It was alien. It was inhuman. It was not supposed to be.
I watched him briefly resemble my peacefully sleeping grandfather.
And then I watched him melt into a soulless monster, an inanimate creature that wasn't supposed to exist.
He looked empty. Like a coffee cup filled with everything that mattered had suddenly been dumped out into a hellish abyss and all you wanted to do was rescue it. And all that's left is the cup. The empty, ugly cup.
His son entered the room. His son tried to close the empty vessel's mouth. It didn't work. His son pushed the lifeless alien onto its side, and I watched as this thing that mildly resembled my grandfather sank like a ragdoll under his son's touch.
Sarah whimpered and turned my face away. I squeezed eyes shut, but it's burned into my head.
I told her I needed to leave. She came with me and had her arms around me for about the next hour. She saw it too. She saw the monstrous, empty shell. She and I, and also Ronnie, will never speak of this experience, but we will always have the connection. We saw it happen.
Conner saw it too, but I think he saw it a different way. He doesn't understand how disturbed we are.
I'm now taking a healthy dose of Zoloft every day, so it's easier to push aside. I do have panic attacks every morning before school. But that's what the Zoloft is for, I suppose.
I want to melt into a puddle of water and curl up on the ground, just so I can sleep forever.
When Conner ran into the lobby to wake me, he told me that his breathing had dropped to zero, so I needed to hurry. I did, and I ran down to the ICU room.
There, Ronnie and Sarah sat beside my motionless grandfather. His heart monitor was still off the charts, though, but his breathing rate had, indeed, fallen to zero.
I sat in the chair beside him. I watched him.
The nurse ran in and switched the heart monitor to the 'private' setting, which means we don't see anything happening internally. Then she ran out.
I still watched him.
And I watched as he morphed into a lifeless, inhuman form.
The peaceful lapse into unconsciousness you see in the movies is a lighthearted, playful version of death. That's the stupidest thought, but it's what I was thinking.
The being that used to be my grandfather, my warm, honest, sturdy, musky-scented grandfather transformed into something alien and wrong before my eyes.
It was alien. It was inhuman. It was not supposed to be.
I watched him briefly resemble my peacefully sleeping grandfather.
And then I watched him melt into a soulless monster, an inanimate creature that wasn't supposed to exist.
He looked empty. Like a coffee cup filled with everything that mattered had suddenly been dumped out into a hellish abyss and all you wanted to do was rescue it. And all that's left is the cup. The empty, ugly cup.
His son entered the room. His son tried to close the empty vessel's mouth. It didn't work. His son pushed the lifeless alien onto its side, and I watched as this thing that mildly resembled my grandfather sank like a ragdoll under his son's touch.
Sarah whimpered and turned my face away. I squeezed eyes shut, but it's burned into my head.
I told her I needed to leave. She came with me and had her arms around me for about the next hour. She saw it too. She saw the monstrous, empty shell. She and I, and also Ronnie, will never speak of this experience, but we will always have the connection. We saw it happen.
Conner saw it too, but I think he saw it a different way. He doesn't understand how disturbed we are.
I'm now taking a healthy dose of Zoloft every day, so it's easier to push aside. I do have panic attacks every morning before school. But that's what the Zoloft is for, I suppose.
I want to melt into a puddle of water and curl up on the ground, just so I can sleep forever.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
He's not gonna make it.
My grandpa is slowly dying and there's nothing we can do about it.
We watch as his organs shut down and his body functions begin to disintegrate and he drowns in his own body fluid because we can't stop it from filling his lungs.
They say the morphine blocks out the pain of drowning, the pain of hunger, the pain of thirst, but there's no real way to tell, is there? Unless they really give him too much and guarantee that there's a lack of pain.
I'm still just a kid to them. I'm still just little old Katie, too young to understand the gravity of the situation. Here I am, just little old Katie, sitting in a chair, wondering in a clueless, innocent fashion what is going on.
Uncle Ron takes over. Uncle Ron knows what's best. He assumes the authoritative position and decides everything. He assumes we agree with what he says. He doesn't even bother to assume if I agree, though, because my opinion doesn't matter anyway. I'm just a kid. I don't know what's going on.
We are ALL going through a hard time. We all know how important and influential Grandpa was. We all have our own special connections with him. We all have a voice in how this should be handled. We all know that Grandpa is going to die. And we all know that we all have to watch. Why should it matter who the fucking LEADER is?
I am seventeen years old. I am six months away from being eighteen. I know that that's still young, but I will not be categorized as one of "the kids" and just thrown into whatever position is open. I refuse. And I don't give a flying fuck what Uncle Ron thinks about it.
I love my grandpa. I love him so much. He created this family. He made it into what it is. He kept us all together. He kept the peace.
I'm probably just overreacting and taking all this out on my uncle because I'm having a hard time dealing with all this, but I was never looked at as being more than a kid, even before this happened. And now, no matter how much effort I spend trying to take care of everyone else, trying to assure that everyone else is okay, trying to make sure everyone has what they need, I'm still going to be another kid, another dependent, another one to be pushed to the side with a lack of knowledge, a lack of understanding, a lack of importance.
I'm not important to this family.
We watch as his organs shut down and his body functions begin to disintegrate and he drowns in his own body fluid because we can't stop it from filling his lungs.
They say the morphine blocks out the pain of drowning, the pain of hunger, the pain of thirst, but there's no real way to tell, is there? Unless they really give him too much and guarantee that there's a lack of pain.
I'm still just a kid to them. I'm still just little old Katie, too young to understand the gravity of the situation. Here I am, just little old Katie, sitting in a chair, wondering in a clueless, innocent fashion what is going on.
Uncle Ron takes over. Uncle Ron knows what's best. He assumes the authoritative position and decides everything. He assumes we agree with what he says. He doesn't even bother to assume if I agree, though, because my opinion doesn't matter anyway. I'm just a kid. I don't know what's going on.
We are ALL going through a hard time. We all know how important and influential Grandpa was. We all have our own special connections with him. We all have a voice in how this should be handled. We all know that Grandpa is going to die. And we all know that we all have to watch. Why should it matter who the fucking LEADER is?
I am seventeen years old. I am six months away from being eighteen. I know that that's still young, but I will not be categorized as one of "the kids" and just thrown into whatever position is open. I refuse. And I don't give a flying fuck what Uncle Ron thinks about it.
I love my grandpa. I love him so much. He created this family. He made it into what it is. He kept us all together. He kept the peace.
I'm probably just overreacting and taking all this out on my uncle because I'm having a hard time dealing with all this, but I was never looked at as being more than a kid, even before this happened. And now, no matter how much effort I spend trying to take care of everyone else, trying to assure that everyone else is okay, trying to make sure everyone has what they need, I'm still going to be another kid, another dependent, another one to be pushed to the side with a lack of knowledge, a lack of understanding, a lack of importance.
I'm not important to this family.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
When it just seemed to be getting better
My grandpa had a massive stroke.
He's okay. I mean, okay as he can be. He can't talk and his right side is paralyzed, but he's awake and cognizant of what's going on around him, and I'm pretty sure he knows who we are and what we're saying to him. I'm just so grateful that he isn't in a coma. Or dead. There's always that too.
The last thing my grandpa said to me was about my depression. I live pretty much right next to where he works, and he was taking a walk as I was exiting my neighborhood, so I pulled up next to him to talk to him.
He said that I shouldn't let it get me down and move on. I was frustrated because I was not only having a bad day, but I'd also had similar lectures from different people, so I just sort of brushed him off. I told him thanks and I'd try, and then I drove off. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw him.
It's interesting, I guess. Thinking about it.
Right now, I'm at Mercy hospital and I'm staying the night here. And I'm skipping school tomorrow. I guess I can't catch a break when it comes to school attendance. Consider my exemptions kissed goodbye.
I look around at all the people in the waiting room outside of the ICU and it's a really eclectic group. Well, as eclectic as they come in a Catholic hospital. I wonder what happened to their loved ones and why they're here. There's one guy that has a gray and black beard sitting not too far from me and he's all by himself. Is it his wife in there? His estranged child? A sibling? Maybe just a close friend?
There's a family here and I just overheard that their loved one has stage 4 melanoma, which is the most dangerous type of skin cancer. Stage 4 is the worst stage and can't be cured by surgery alone.
It's just interesting to me, I guess, seeing all these people that support other people and would give up a planned weekend to be there for them.
I have a birthday party, a writing workshop, and a nine-hour rehearsal that I have to cancel. :/ I mean, not that I mind, but I was really excited.
I love my grandpa. He's the one person in my family that is invincible. And yet now, I guess it's pretty much proven that he isn't, and that's so heart-breaking.
He's the heart and soul to this family. He is what keeps everyone together. He is Mercer, you know? I dunno. I guess that sounds strange.
It's so sad to see him like this.
At the same time, though, I'm feeling sort of numb to it all. I don't even mean like I'm trying to numb the pain; I just mean that I don't really feel much. I feel upset that he's incapacitated, but most of my sadness stems from watching everyone else react.
Not that I don't love my grandpa, because I do. He's an amazingly unique person and has had a huge impact on my life. I could never forget my grandpa.
But right now, I feel just sort of mutely sad for everyone else. I got blankets and pillows and food and everything to take care of everyone else.
I especially ache for Cristin. She's taking this so hard. Grandpa is her rock, the only man in her life that really understood her and kept his word on everything he said. She just keeps crying.
Mom, too. Mom's hiding it right now, but I know she's gonna break down sooner or later.
It makes me think about my dad and what I would do if something happened to him. I don't know if I could take it. As much as I hate some things about him, I still love him unconditionally. It's just hard to get over the pride and the awkwardness sometimes.
I love being a part of a loving, supportive, close-knit family.
He's okay. I mean, okay as he can be. He can't talk and his right side is paralyzed, but he's awake and cognizant of what's going on around him, and I'm pretty sure he knows who we are and what we're saying to him. I'm just so grateful that he isn't in a coma. Or dead. There's always that too.
The last thing my grandpa said to me was about my depression. I live pretty much right next to where he works, and he was taking a walk as I was exiting my neighborhood, so I pulled up next to him to talk to him.
He said that I shouldn't let it get me down and move on. I was frustrated because I was not only having a bad day, but I'd also had similar lectures from different people, so I just sort of brushed him off. I told him thanks and I'd try, and then I drove off. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw him.
It's interesting, I guess. Thinking about it.
Right now, I'm at Mercy hospital and I'm staying the night here. And I'm skipping school tomorrow. I guess I can't catch a break when it comes to school attendance. Consider my exemptions kissed goodbye.
I look around at all the people in the waiting room outside of the ICU and it's a really eclectic group. Well, as eclectic as they come in a Catholic hospital. I wonder what happened to their loved ones and why they're here. There's one guy that has a gray and black beard sitting not too far from me and he's all by himself. Is it his wife in there? His estranged child? A sibling? Maybe just a close friend?
There's a family here and I just overheard that their loved one has stage 4 melanoma, which is the most dangerous type of skin cancer. Stage 4 is the worst stage and can't be cured by surgery alone.
It's just interesting to me, I guess, seeing all these people that support other people and would give up a planned weekend to be there for them.
I have a birthday party, a writing workshop, and a nine-hour rehearsal that I have to cancel. :/ I mean, not that I mind, but I was really excited.
I love my grandpa. He's the one person in my family that is invincible. And yet now, I guess it's pretty much proven that he isn't, and that's so heart-breaking.
He's the heart and soul to this family. He is what keeps everyone together. He is Mercer, you know? I dunno. I guess that sounds strange.
It's so sad to see him like this.
At the same time, though, I'm feeling sort of numb to it all. I don't even mean like I'm trying to numb the pain; I just mean that I don't really feel much. I feel upset that he's incapacitated, but most of my sadness stems from watching everyone else react.
Not that I don't love my grandpa, because I do. He's an amazingly unique person and has had a huge impact on my life. I could never forget my grandpa.
But right now, I feel just sort of mutely sad for everyone else. I got blankets and pillows and food and everything to take care of everyone else.
I especially ache for Cristin. She's taking this so hard. Grandpa is her rock, the only man in her life that really understood her and kept his word on everything he said. She just keeps crying.
Mom, too. Mom's hiding it right now, but I know she's gonna break down sooner or later.
It makes me think about my dad and what I would do if something happened to him. I don't know if I could take it. As much as I hate some things about him, I still love him unconditionally. It's just hard to get over the pride and the awkwardness sometimes.
I love being a part of a loving, supportive, close-knit family.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's like a constant, throbbing nausea that you know would go away with sleep but it keeps you awake at night.
This is how I feel right now.
I stayed home from school yesterday. I'm staying home today, too.
My head hurts. So. Bad.
In reality, when does it NOT hurt?
I can't even function anymore. You wanna know how many times I threw up bile yesterday?
Five.
Five times I staggered to a toilet, vomited myself to near unconscious, staggered back to the couch, and collapsed while the sensitive fabric absorbed my cold sweat.
Except one of those five times was outside in the grass because my mom still had to come home and take me to my psychologist appointment, and she had to take me because I obviously couldn't drive myself. Oh, and the appointment is next week.
And another one of those five times was in my mom's car, in a huge water bottle she has in there. I had to hide it in a stray bag so my mom wouldn't get grossed out.
Yeah. This is something serious. Dad.
This is way more serious than skipping some fucking school to see my boyfriend.
Every time I have an emotional meltdown, I have a thoroughly incapacitating migraine the next morning.
And it lasts all day.
And all night.
And apparently, even into the next day.
Because that's where I am right now.
My head still hurts. And I'm still nauseous. And it's been a good twenty-four hours, if not more.
And it's REALLY a bitch because I'm so fucking depressed right now, I have emotional meltdowns about once a week.
I'm so tired.
But I can't sleep because of the intense pain jarring all senses.
Some people just have to face misery. Not that I'm saying I go through more misery than anyone else. God, I know that much.
But some people just have to go through shit just because it happens.
Maybe I do deserve it.
I don't really know what I did wrong to deserve it. I mean, I do stupid teenage stuff, but so do all stupid teenagers. I've never done anything really tremendously terrible.
Oh, yeah. So Dad. I hope you read this.
I hope you read this because I don't lie on here. I may lie to your face, but I won't lie to my own personal journal.
I have never. Ever. Skipped. School.
I think maybe I did once.
When I was eight.
And it was because it was my birthday. Or something of that nature.
I have never drank.
I have never even seen pot.
I've never smoked a cigarette.
Never injected any addictive toxin into my bloodstream.
I guess you do have me pinned on the sex thing. With my boyfriend who I've been dating for a year and a half almost. Gosh. Ya caught me.
I. Have. Never. Skipped. School.
When I stay home, it's because I'm like this. Throwing up five times a day. On average. One time it reached seven. And then there was another time when I was throwing up once about every twenty minutes, so my mom took me to the ER.
But you remember that.
That was when you sat there and antagonized me as I choked on my own stomach acid.
"Maybe you can take your finals in summer school since you obviously don't have enough credit to pass your sophomore year."
Yes. You said that.
You probably won't remember saying it, but I remember hearing it.
I've come to discover that despite the fact that you are a good man and you love me, something about verbal abuse gets you off.
Well, Dad.
I hope you don't take out your anger on Shelley, now that I'm gone. Because she can leave you too. But she won't feel the need to come back like I do.
The truth? I really miss you guys.
I really, really do.
But I can't live with you.
Apparently I can't even visit because the last time I spent with you, you just stressed me out into tears after you left.
"No, this medical absence might come in handy if you have to go to summer school."
I hate that part of you, Dad. The part that has to say mean things to people.
Oh. And yesterday wasn't a Tuesday. By the way.
AND BRIAN DIDN'T COME OVER.
He doesn't even have enough money to come over that often. If you recall, he's paying his way through college without any help from his parents.
If my depression is this bad, I don't even want to know how you feel all the time. At least I don't feel compelled to talk to my own flesh and blood family members like they don't matter. At least I'm nice to people.
I've thought of suicide, but I don't think I could ever actually do it. I have too many people that care about me. Plus Razia's Shadow. I have to see it through.
But those are the only two things stopping me from losing it.
This is no cry for sympathy from some washed-out emo.
This is the truth.
And I can only pray to whatever deity is up there that you see that.
I stayed home from school yesterday. I'm staying home today, too.
My head hurts. So. Bad.
In reality, when does it NOT hurt?
I can't even function anymore. You wanna know how many times I threw up bile yesterday?
Five.
Five times I staggered to a toilet, vomited myself to near unconscious, staggered back to the couch, and collapsed while the sensitive fabric absorbed my cold sweat.
Except one of those five times was outside in the grass because my mom still had to come home and take me to my psychologist appointment, and she had to take me because I obviously couldn't drive myself. Oh, and the appointment is next week.
And another one of those five times was in my mom's car, in a huge water bottle she has in there. I had to hide it in a stray bag so my mom wouldn't get grossed out.
Yeah. This is something serious. Dad.
This is way more serious than skipping some fucking school to see my boyfriend.
Every time I have an emotional meltdown, I have a thoroughly incapacitating migraine the next morning.
And it lasts all day.
And all night.
And apparently, even into the next day.
Because that's where I am right now.
My head still hurts. And I'm still nauseous. And it's been a good twenty-four hours, if not more.
And it's REALLY a bitch because I'm so fucking depressed right now, I have emotional meltdowns about once a week.
I'm so tired.
But I can't sleep because of the intense pain jarring all senses.
Some people just have to face misery. Not that I'm saying I go through more misery than anyone else. God, I know that much.
But some people just have to go through shit just because it happens.
Maybe I do deserve it.
I don't really know what I did wrong to deserve it. I mean, I do stupid teenage stuff, but so do all stupid teenagers. I've never done anything really tremendously terrible.
Oh, yeah. So Dad. I hope you read this.
I hope you read this because I don't lie on here. I may lie to your face, but I won't lie to my own personal journal.
I have never. Ever. Skipped. School.
I think maybe I did once.
When I was eight.
And it was because it was my birthday. Or something of that nature.
I have never drank.
I have never even seen pot.
I've never smoked a cigarette.
Never injected any addictive toxin into my bloodstream.
I guess you do have me pinned on the sex thing. With my boyfriend who I've been dating for a year and a half almost. Gosh. Ya caught me.
I. Have. Never. Skipped. School.
When I stay home, it's because I'm like this. Throwing up five times a day. On average. One time it reached seven. And then there was another time when I was throwing up once about every twenty minutes, so my mom took me to the ER.
But you remember that.
That was when you sat there and antagonized me as I choked on my own stomach acid.
"Maybe you can take your finals in summer school since you obviously don't have enough credit to pass your sophomore year."
Yes. You said that.
You probably won't remember saying it, but I remember hearing it.
I've come to discover that despite the fact that you are a good man and you love me, something about verbal abuse gets you off.
Well, Dad.
I hope you don't take out your anger on Shelley, now that I'm gone. Because she can leave you too. But she won't feel the need to come back like I do.
The truth? I really miss you guys.
I really, really do.
But I can't live with you.
Apparently I can't even visit because the last time I spent with you, you just stressed me out into tears after you left.
"No, this medical absence might come in handy if you have to go to summer school."
I hate that part of you, Dad. The part that has to say mean things to people.
Oh. And yesterday wasn't a Tuesday. By the way.
AND BRIAN DIDN'T COME OVER.
He doesn't even have enough money to come over that often. If you recall, he's paying his way through college without any help from his parents.
If my depression is this bad, I don't even want to know how you feel all the time. At least I don't feel compelled to talk to my own flesh and blood family members like they don't matter. At least I'm nice to people.
I've thought of suicide, but I don't think I could ever actually do it. I have too many people that care about me. Plus Razia's Shadow. I have to see it through.
But those are the only two things stopping me from losing it.
This is no cry for sympathy from some washed-out emo.
This is the truth.
And I can only pray to whatever deity is up there that you see that.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The hardest button to button
When all you do is your best and people still get pissed at you, what's the point?
I am 91 centimeters away from myself.
I am 91 centimeters away from myself.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Okonkwo had it right
Things do fall apart.
I moved in with my mom yesterday. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be, but I do feel bad about sort of sneaking out and never coming back. My dad tried calling me but I didn't answer. Not on purpose or anything - my phone was on silent - but I didn't call him back. I just texted him. I think he feels like I really don't like him.
To an extent, that's sort of true. Right now, I really just don't like him all that much. I still love him, but I can't be around him.
We had a three-hour discussion that included me, my step-mom, and my dad. Three hours, we sat and talked. I opened up to them and revealed my fear of the future, my heavy depression, my caution and sensibility with Brian, and I thought that they really understood me after that.
But then, the next morning, I had an intense migraine - one of the worst I've ever had - and said I was staying home from school, to which my dad's first response was, "Is Brian coming over?"
So that's it. At least for now. I need some time away from them. My mind is so screwed up right now and I just can't deal with all of his shit, too.
I moved in with my mom yesterday. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be, but I do feel bad about sort of sneaking out and never coming back. My dad tried calling me but I didn't answer. Not on purpose or anything - my phone was on silent - but I didn't call him back. I just texted him. I think he feels like I really don't like him.
To an extent, that's sort of true. Right now, I really just don't like him all that much. I still love him, but I can't be around him.
We had a three-hour discussion that included me, my step-mom, and my dad. Three hours, we sat and talked. I opened up to them and revealed my fear of the future, my heavy depression, my caution and sensibility with Brian, and I thought that they really understood me after that.
But then, the next morning, I had an intense migraine - one of the worst I've ever had - and said I was staying home from school, to which my dad's first response was, "Is Brian coming over?"
So that's it. At least for now. I need some time away from them. My mind is so screwed up right now and I just can't deal with all of his shit, too.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Gonna try this again. Maybe.
I'm starting a new blog about Razia's Shadow and it's probably a good idea to delete this one but I still don't think I'm going to. xx
I've been having a lot of emotional breakdowns recently. A lot. I'm semi-debating to move in with my mom permanently, but I don't know about that yet.
I really think I want to be a director, but I don't know. It's a hard industry. I don't know if I could face the rejection if I didn't make it to the top. I really love showbusiness, though. But acting is just too demanding. xx I want to be the one demanding and calling the shots. I'm good at it, as anyone can tell you. I'm definitely bossy by nature. I've been trying to work on that. :/
Brian and I have been dating for a year and three months. :) I love him completely.
I'm pretty much bombing all my classes. No F's but still pretty low grades. :/ Dad's pissed. I can't bring myself to tell him that they're not gonna get better until next semester, which starts in a week. He's just gonna be pissed and we're just gonna fight over and over and over again and I'm gonna dread coming home and feel like a failure. Again. Like every day I'm at his house. He'll probably read this and say it's my fault, which, yeah, it pretty much is. But sometimes it's just too much. And it's just too much right now.
On a happier note, I've discovered that Alive with the Glory of Love by Say Anything is my new favorite song. What's better than a song about sex, love, and the Holocaust? Actually, though, it's my favorite because of the music. The tune going on behind Max's vocals is really nice and contrasts perfectly with his voice. :) It gave me a new respect for the band. It's so funny because I've loved this song for years but only just now did I listen to it closely enough to discover that it's awesome in a different way than I originally thought.
I've started paying attention to the directors of my favorite movies:
David Fincher - Fight Club
Goran Dukic - Wristcutters: A Love Story
Stanley Kubrick - The Shining
Jon Turteltaub - National Treasure (1 & 2)
James Cameron - Avatar
Sam Mendes - American Beauty
American Beauty was the first sign to me that I wanted to direct. That movie is amazingly directed and written. It's just an incredibly powerful movie. That was the first time I looked at directing movies and plays as an artform.
And Fight Club's just the best movie ever. Ever. EVER. -spoiler!-
You think Marla's the crazy one the whole movie. And then it turns out that she's the only one that knows what's going on. It's genius.
I feel like pretty much none of my friends want to be my friends.
It's a crappy feeling. :/
When you see happy pictures of friends with friends and none of you with friends and you hear about what fun they had at that one thing you didn't hear about. And when it continues for a long time. :/ Maybe it's my inner emo droning and moaning about the woes and misfortunes of life, but hey. It doesn't make it any less real.
I'm gonna start writing a play.
I've been having a lot of emotional breakdowns recently. A lot. I'm semi-debating to move in with my mom permanently, but I don't know about that yet.
I really think I want to be a director, but I don't know. It's a hard industry. I don't know if I could face the rejection if I didn't make it to the top. I really love showbusiness, though. But acting is just too demanding. xx I want to be the one demanding and calling the shots. I'm good at it, as anyone can tell you. I'm definitely bossy by nature. I've been trying to work on that. :/
Brian and I have been dating for a year and three months. :) I love him completely.
I'm pretty much bombing all my classes. No F's but still pretty low grades. :/ Dad's pissed. I can't bring myself to tell him that they're not gonna get better until next semester, which starts in a week. He's just gonna be pissed and we're just gonna fight over and over and over again and I'm gonna dread coming home and feel like a failure. Again. Like every day I'm at his house. He'll probably read this and say it's my fault, which, yeah, it pretty much is. But sometimes it's just too much. And it's just too much right now.
On a happier note, I've discovered that Alive with the Glory of Love by Say Anything is my new favorite song. What's better than a song about sex, love, and the Holocaust? Actually, though, it's my favorite because of the music. The tune going on behind Max's vocals is really nice and contrasts perfectly with his voice. :) It gave me a new respect for the band. It's so funny because I've loved this song for years but only just now did I listen to it closely enough to discover that it's awesome in a different way than I originally thought.
I've started paying attention to the directors of my favorite movies:
David Fincher - Fight Club
Goran Dukic - Wristcutters: A Love Story
Stanley Kubrick - The Shining
Jon Turteltaub - National Treasure (1 & 2)
James Cameron - Avatar
Sam Mendes - American Beauty
American Beauty was the first sign to me that I wanted to direct. That movie is amazingly directed and written. It's just an incredibly powerful movie. That was the first time I looked at directing movies and plays as an artform.
And Fight Club's just the best movie ever. Ever. EVER. -spoiler!-
You think Marla's the crazy one the whole movie. And then it turns out that she's the only one that knows what's going on. It's genius.
I feel like pretty much none of my friends want to be my friends.
It's a crappy feeling. :/
When you see happy pictures of friends with friends and none of you with friends and you hear about what fun they had at that one thing you didn't hear about. And when it continues for a long time. :/ Maybe it's my inner emo droning and moaning about the woes and misfortunes of life, but hey. It doesn't make it any less real.
I'm gonna start writing a play.
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