Flashback

I had a bad day. Nothing too major, but I just felt bad. I realize bad is such an undescriptive word, but I think the word depressed is parallel to it. My logic is that feeling bad can be sad, angry, lonely, guilty, insuperior or any other emotion that is not pleasurable. Depression feels like all of that at the same time. It is so overwhelming that there is not a clear-cut word to describe it. A vague word like bad seems to do the trick. I didn't have any major reasons to feel bad, but I did. I am now up trying to keep one of my friends company who is feeling depressed again so she can't sleep. Being alone while experiencing insomnia as a result of depression is never a good thing. She forgot to take her medicine for five days (I am not sure how that happened). She also has been having miscellaneous situations that leave her feeling down, so tonight she feels like she is back to where she started with the depression. It is frustrating to me to see this, because I know so many people that feel that way. It makes me wonder if one can ever completely heal from depression. I know that I am better. I feel like anyone can tell I am better who would have saw me when I was depressed. When I have bad days it makes me remember how bad I felt everyday, and the scary hopelessness comes back to the point where I feel like I never really got better and that I never will. My friend is having one of those nights, and it makes me feel bad again since I didn't have the best day either. We were wondering if that curse of jumping to the worst conclusion after a bad day goes away. Will we always have to remember what it feels like to be depressed? Will we ever have total relief or have we been cursed with sickness that never gets better? It can be controlled, but not cured. I am thankful for my progression, but I am also sad that one of my other close friends is still very depressed. He can't seem to get the help he needs, and I can not help it except for the fact that I can listen and empathize when most people can't. These flashbacks are killers, but I am glad they are merely flashbacks and not an everyday life that I have to fight to survive. I just want the best for my friends and family, and I hate seeing them want to give up. I hate even more that I know why they feel that way. I dream that my flashbacks will vanish and my friends and I will never have to think about depression again.

Human Spirit = Alcohol

I feel thankful to be alive. It’s been a long swim, or shall I say more a journey of me thrashing for my life in order to get to this beautiful island where I am. I can rest, reflect, and heal. I know I will have to swim again, but I am thankful for this time period of solace. The warm sand feels good on my feet, but they are cut up from the rocks and coral I walked on to get here. The sun feels warm on my cold face. It begins to melt the ice that formed in the broken cracks of my heart. I was certain I would never find peace while I was thrashing in the cold black ocean. I could not distinguish where the dark ocean ended and where the black starless sky began in the horizon. I cursed the universe. I begged it to send a shark to save me from the constant nights of struggle by ending it all in seconds. My arms and legs were tired; my lips were blue from the cold, and my lungs were sick of inhaling saltwater that burned. I should probably mention the lifeboat, Welbutrin, that floated my way one morning like some sort of miracle. I jumped on apprehensively, because I had never rowed a boat alone. It was a little rocky, but my body was thankful to no longer be in the cold water. I could tell it was saving me right away. I tipped over once on it, but I was fortunate enough to be near a ship with many selfless people on it. They helped me flip my boat over and they gave me food, water, and dry clothes. I will be forever grateful to those sailors. They were not the first ship of sailors I passed. It is funny how few of people are willing to go out of their way to save a lonely soul that is nearly drowning. I survived the ocean once. I will survive it again, but this time I will be prepared with a boat. If I pass any drowning souls I will pick them up into my little boat. I will feed them, clothe them, and we will find peace together. If they say they don’t know how to repay me, then I will tell them about the kind sailors that saved me. Then I will ask of them only that they save any drowning souls they find throughout their lives and pass on the story. The ocean is cold, but the human spirit is like alcohol. It gets a little slushy sometimes, but it does not freeze.

I am Only Who I Choose to Be

I received some words of wisdom from a friend of mine recently. She told me not to take myself so seriously and that I am only who I choose to be. She reminded me I am not a product of my religion, my parents, or my hometown. I am only who I choose to be. I was so caught up in trying to figure out who I was that I forgot to laugh at myself from time to time. I walked around with a stone face attempting to have some sort of epiphany about who I was. That doesn’t happen. I don’t think anyone wakes up one day and says, “I’ve figured it out! I know exactly who I am.” Self-awareness is one of those tough categories we never stop growing in. With her comment I realized not only was I taking myself too seriously but I also was still defining myself by other people’s standards. I was not sexy enough, because I don’t like to wear high-heels like my friends. I was not feminine enough, because I love wearing jeans and a t-shirt practically every day. I was not smart enough, because I couldn’t get into U-M like all of the other smart kids. I was not a good enough writer because I had to retake the writing portion of the MEAP test and I scored ten points lower than most of my friends that don’t write on my ACT writing section. I was not a good enough person because I didn’t fit in with religious people anymore.

I realize how ridiculous that all is now. First of all I have a bit of a grudge against the MEAP and ACT scoring systems. They are boring, stuffy, and if you do not write an annoying predictable essay then they will not approve. Most of my friends didn’t have to retake the writing section of the MEAP. It is funny though, because even at the time they were like, “Aimee, you are a great writer. I don’t know how they grade those things.” Even my English teacher at the time was astounded I did not pass. She assured me I was a fine writer and that I just thought too outside of the box for the stuffy standardized test people. That didn’t help me feel any better. Standardized test are supposed to be a judge of how you compare with kids across the nation, and I was certain that I would never be able to write anything worth reading. I have never been confident in my writing until recently, and I still have a phobia of rejection when I turn in a piece for a class, especially if I worked really hard on it. I am getting more confident with the more papers I turn in, and with the more support I receive from professors. In addition to the standardized tests lowering my self-esteem, I was certain I was going to be less intelligent than my friends that were going to U-M. I am extremely pleased with my education at Central. I feel like I personally have learned more than I would have at U-M, because I am much more involved and I get to know many of my professors (although not in the few lecture classes I have had). I received such great feedback on my formal writing that I am beginning to realize just because the standardized test people didn’t see it, doesn’t mean I don’t have potential as a writer. I also realized that I am not a second-class student because I do not attend U-M. I still feel a little bit inferior to my friends that dress in their heels and low-cut shirts when we go to parties. I feel like such a plain and boring girl. I have found that I like the guys that seem interested in me when I am dressed in jeans and a t-shirt more than the guys that seem interested in me on the rare occasions when I am sporting heels and a low cut shirt. I am into simplicity. I like simple guys too. Guys that live simple, but have complex thoughts. That is getting harder and harder to find.

I recently doubted myself on something and while talking to my brother, I asked his opinion. I asked if something I did was too over the top. He responded, “It’s not too anything, because it’s you. It’s just you. Stop trying to be what other people want you to be.” He was right. I try so hard to have everyone like me that it is crazy. I thought I was rebelling against this problem this year by taking firmer stances on religion and morals. I was only trying to do so while keeping the support of everyone just as much. I am sick of feeling ashamed for how I feel, my beliefs, or who I am. I am not less of a person because I do not like religion. I am not the devils advocate, because I am happy with where I am at spiritually even if it does not coincide with Christianity. Why does society make me feel like I need to be ashamed to take a stand on something? Why does society make me feel like I need to fit in?

I don’t need to compare myself to girls in heels, standardized tests scores, politics of universities, or religious people who put me down. I can laugh at my errors this year, even though it sometimes leads to tears. I am satisfied with my personal progress this year, and I am looking forward to seeing how I will progress over the summer.

Mad to Live

I have fallen in love with the Beat Poets. The more I read them the more I want to be a writer. I find solace in their insane amount of passion. We read the Beat Poets for my Literature class, or shall I say were supposed to read about the Beat poets. It was during my depression when I wasn’t doing much homework. I didn’t really appreciate them like I should have, although I did love hearing my professor talking about them. I loved pretty much anything he had to say about literature. We did get to listen to Jack Kerouac reading the first chapter of his most famous book “On the Road,” and we read the ending as a class. I was intrigued, but not enough to really read about them. When I screwed up my take home exam I had to go back and look at the Beat poets for an essay question. I got caught up reading about them and before I knew it, it was 3:30 AM and I had yet to study for my Social Work exam the next morning. I couldn’t stop though. It was just so amazing and interesting, and in some weird way I related to it. It seems insane that I relate to the Beat poets, after all they were a bunch of college dropouts with drug addictions, no money, and some alcohol issues. They traveled the country from big city to big city living in horrible conditions in the 1940’s. How can I relate to that? I probably would have constant panic attacks if I traveled with them and experienced their adventures. I can’t help but feel a connection with their idealism and passion about writing to the point where it is considered unhealthy, and definitely not “cool.” I am somewhat jealous of their freedom. Jack Kerouac lived with his mom his whole life when he wasn’t traveling. He lived with her to avoid rent and just write all-day and everyday. It is so amazing that a bunch of college stoners all decided to dropout, and then devote their lives to writing. They had regular late night intellectual conversations while under the influence of god knows what. It’s not like I want to drop out of school and become a druggie, obsessed with literature and writing, but I would love to have such freedom to write. That type of lifestyle is not even feasible anymore. When I was talking about this with my brother he compared that type of rebellion to someone today just stopping after a bachelors degree and traveling and writing, because it seems a bachelors degree does not mean much these days, or at least not as much as it used to. They were mad writers. Allen Ginsburg wrote his famous poem “Howl” in a 40-hour straight sitting. He claimed to do this under the influence of “heroin, liquid Methedrine, and Dexedrine.” In a similar burst of insanity Kerouac wrote “On the Road” in the form of a completed manuscript in a 3-week period. His wife at the time claimed he would sweat through several t-shirts a day. He would take Benzedrine to stay awake. He refused to change the paper on the typewriter, because he was certain that it interrupted his flow. His final manuscript ended up being 120 ft long (single spaced). That is pure insanity.

I relate to their search of self and spiritual values. It was said that they were “young people coming of age into a Cold War without spiritual values they could honor.” I feel like my generation has a major dilemma with spirituality as well. I feel like spirituality has been replaced by doctrines and religious rules for so many, and those who try to combine them are outsiders to church people and non-church people alike. It was quoted that the Beat poets had a “will to believe, even in the face of an inability to do so in conventional terms.” I know I have that. I also am mad to live, like Kerouac quotes in “On the Road”,
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"
I am mad for all of those things (It is clear I am finally healing, because I am feeling passion again). If I can find a semi-good looking guy that is mad to live like that, then I will beg him to marry me instantly. Unfortunately, I don’t think I could have ever married a Beat poet, even with all of their passion. Drug-addict/alcoholic/promiscuous guys do not make very good husbands. That’s just my opinion though. I sure admire their romantic idealism, though. It makes me want to be a writer even more than before. It makes me want to be able to read literature and write all-day and everyday. Add some traveling to that, and I think they were on to something. I have come close to their freedom this summer (Which only started this week). I spend my days reading and writing, and I love it. I have been doing a lot of thinking lately at how much I have grown this year, even in the past few months. Writing really helps me think clearly. I still struggle to meditate, because my thoughts are still racing a little abnormally fast with all of drugs and stuff. When I write I can keep more control over my thoughts and even follow them to wherever they may take me, and isn’t that the idea of meditation? There are so many people from my past I have been thinking about lately. People I feel wronged me, or that I was “too nice” to. I feel like I have grown into a much stronger person, and I need to accept that I was not confident in myself in high school. I guess, on the positive side I didn’t make any enemies, even if I did put up with a lot of crap, and not let people really know me. There are also people from this year that I think of that I let walk all over me as well. Retrospect is always 20/20 though. My friend Beth always tells me “Aimee, you are not as much of a badass as you think.” That is entirely true. I still cry when people reject me or yell at me. I still get angry at things beyond my control, and I still get giddy when I am excited about something. I still freeze-up in the moment and often don’t stand up for myself like I should, even though I believe I am a stronger person. I can think of stuff even in the past week where I did not stand up for myself, and it turns my stomach when I think about it. Life is so weird. I am glad to be taking a break from my life for a while to evaluate, which emotions are worth bringing up with people, and which ones I need to let go. Maturity is tough, in the sense that I have to learn how to forgive and stand up for myself. Those two things are much harder than I had expected.

Personality Quizes

We have all taken personality quizzes in magazines, "Are you the kind of girl Brad Pitt dates" or "How flirty are you?" Okay maybe that is just any girl that made it through sixth grade. The Myers-Briggs personality quiz is not like that. It is actually very accurate. Many business professionals use it when looking at employees. I can't say that I have taken the whole thing, because that generally costs money, but whether it was a shortened version for my Residential College class, a written version for my friend's psych class, the personality quiz on myspace, or the one I just took...I have consistantly been identified as an INFP. I love reading about INFP's because it is so strange to me that people can be lumped into categories by personality types. The facts behind INFP's are always very accurate to my personality. I was inspired from Groove Adam's blog, so I wanted to retake the test to see if would get different results (I didn't). I also wanted to read up more on INFP's. They were long articles so I highlighted the things I thought I could relate to.

"Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and investigative and attentive in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity."

"Their extreme depth of feeling is often hidden, even from themselves..."

"As INTPs tend to have a sense of failed competence, INFPs struggle with the issue of their own ethical perfection, e.g., perfo rmance of duty for the greater cause. "

"Sensing is introverted and often invisible. This stealth function in the third position gives INFPs a natural inclination toward absent- mindedness and other-worldliness, however, Feeling's strong people awareness provides a balancing, mitigating effect."

Look at the List of Famous INFP's

Famous INFPs:

Homer
Virgil
Mary, mother of Jesus
St. John, the beloved disciple
St. Luke; physician, disciple, author
William Shakespeare, bard of Avon
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Evangeline)
A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie)
Helen Keller, deaf and blind author
Carl Rogers, reflective psychologist, counselor
Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers' Neighborhood)
Dick Clark (American Bandstand)
Donna Reed, actor (It's a Wonderful Life)
Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis
Neil Diamond, vocalist
Tom Brokaw, news anchor
James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small)
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
James Taylor, vocalist
Julia Roberts, actor (Conspiracy Theory, Pretty Woman)
Scott Bakula (Quantum Leap)
Terri Gross (PBS's "Fresh Air")
Amy Tan (author of The Joy-Luck Club, The Kitchen God's Wife)
John F. Kennedy, Jr.
Lisa Kudrow ("Phoebe" of Friends)
Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years")

Mary mother of Jesus was an INFP? How do they know this? I was getting better at realizing that I physically cannot be like the Saints...now this is really going to set me back. I supposedly have the same personality type as Jesus's mom...that's not going to get to my head or anything (sarcasm) haha. In all seriousness, I couldn't help but notice all of the writers and creative people on there. Now instead of being a saint I can strive to be a legendary literature person like Homer or Virgil...okay that last part was a joke. I do want to at least get published though!

What type of legends are in your personality type? Check it out: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Loneliness

"l(a"
by ee. cummings

l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness



"Loneliness"

e.e. cummings
said it all with 3 short words
inside of that one dreaded word.
That one word that I could write
about forever, because I
know it so abnormally well.
He said it all with 4 words.

It’s all been said-
better than me. I’m just
another depressed writer
who sees the truth of life.
I know the forbidden truth-
We are all alone, but can’t deal
with such agonizing thoughts
so we lie. Life is lies.

I don’t want to lie anymore.

Maturity and Wisdom

Maturity (N)
1. The state or condition of being fully grown or developed
The condition of being ripe, fully aged, or fully grown, especially mentally or emotionally

Wisdom (N)
1.The knowledge and experience needed to make sensible decisions and judgments, or the good sense shown by the decisions and judgments made
2.Accumulated knowledge of life or in a particular sphere of activity that has been gained through experience

Is it possible to become less mature for a while in order to become more mature? I have been reflecting on wisdom and maturity and I realized I have become less mature lately and a lot less wise. I think it has the potential to help me grow more mature and wise in the future, but I am stuck living in this slap in the face of how young and clueless I really am. It is funny, because I like to pretend like I am so mature compared to a lot of people, but I think I am misusing the word "maturity." I have used the word immaturity for people in my life that I believe do not question things as much as I do or who are content with simplicity. Maybe they decided on simplicity after questioning, because after I am struggling so much with all of this questioning stuff, I can see why a person would choose simplicity. I also realized that I have already been developing a "college-educated arrogance". I noticed this when a friend of mine took me to a simple restaurant in town and we stayed there from seven to when it closed at midnight. He knows the waitresses and all of the regulars. They are all your average blue-collar workers. My friend sits there and chain smokes with many of them and takes the time to get to know them. I realized I have lost touch with that. It is funny, because I do not consider my family intellectual at all. We have come along way, where many people might consider us a family who has our lives together. My brother is eventually getting a PhD and my mom is getting ready to begin work on her masters. My dad has worked his way up as an electrician. Despite where we are now, I will never forget when my grandma watched my brother and me while my mom worked at the hospital with no college degree and my brother and I shared a small room before my sister was around...not to mention the old family escort. How did I turn into someone that thinks intellectual people are the only "wise" or "mature" people? I have always admired humility, and growing up I think I confused humility with self-hate. I got to be very good at putting myself down whenever I felt good about myself. I was even rewarded for my self-hate by being called humble as a "compliment" multiple times. I can see my little sister putting her self down all of the time now too. I think to rebel against that self-hate I turned into someone who is arrogant this year. I think it is okay, because I will/am learning how to balance it out. It is about moderation. Self-confidence is necessary and often looked down upon, but self-hate ends up turning you into a needy charity case or depressed (both in my case).

Maturity is impossible if it means "fully emotionally developed," because no one is ever fully developed. Every day changes you, and I will strive to become more mature and wise every day. I will never become perfectly wise and mature. I will always have my days where I regress to being 13 and yell when I don't get my way or cry when someone yells at me. I learned that from volunteering in a nursing home for over a year and a half. Even in their nineties, people have bad days and forget every ounce of wisdom and maturity they have acquired, but on good days they can blow your mind with beauty and wisdom. I often wanted to cry when I would leave the nursing home. One of the women I visited was depressed and cried a lot. I always wished I could help her more. The other one was so physically lifeless and naïve to the current world, but so beautiful and wise. I can't believe that I could recognize wisdom and maturity and the way they are not some ticket out of human flaws when I was in high school, and then totally lose sight of all of that this year.

This summer is going to be a big lesson in maturity and wisdom for me. My friendships have all changed, a few of my friends aren't coming home, and the relationship with the family is different too. I am not used to being surrounded by people all of the time. I have no therapist, which means I will have to rely on the old-fashioned way (Well, I still have my drugs which is not old-fashioned). I will have to find strength in myself and relearn to rely on my friends and family. It will be good for me, but I don't know if it is going to be easy or fun. I think it will probably be hard as hell, but I guess that is how all of the best lessons are learned…or at least that is what I am telling myself.