Small Epiphanies

Below, is what I wrote in my journal until 2am last night. It's a beautiful, hard-covered journal with inspiring quotes on each page. I usually use crappy notebooks so I don't feel pressure to write a masterpiece, but my friend, Elise, gave me this as a gift, and I love it! It is perfect for capturing my new found optimism. I'm still going to use my crappy notebooks for writing practice and useless journaling. This journal will be used to capture my spiritual journey over the year: both good and bad. I want this to be a more meaningful journal. I look forward to being able to capture my growth in it.

 This was a quote on one of the pages I wrote on:

"Happiness is the absence of the striving for happiness." -Chang Tzu

********************************************************

I just got back from Jon's house. Tonight we gathered in a circle to talk about how the past Omega trips influence us today, current concerns, and dreams for the future. It proved to be a very spiritually healing night. I'm praying again. I'd been thinking about it for a while, but I made the decision tonight.

There's been several factors influencing my desire to return to faith. I've been really moved by song lyrics, reading Anne Lamott and Natalie Goldberg, and conversations with friends. I don't want to ignore the fact that my biggest reason for returning is because I can't imagine going through another depressive episode with  nothing to believe in. Is that needy or childish? Maybe, but I left faith because I believed in a god out of fear. I realized that was stupid. What kind of higher power needs me to believe in it, or will punish me for not believing? Plus, believing out of fear is selfish, because I am only being pious to save my own ass. What kind of higher power rewards that?

I'm no longer afraid of hell because I don't believe in it. I don't even believe in an afterlife. I don't want my new faith to be distorted into something it is not. I'm still not a Christian. I love Jesus' ideas, but he was human. Non-believers are quick to point out Jesus's shortcomings and anger. Humans make mistakes and have parts of themselves they are not proud of. Why should I let Jesus' teachings and goodness be discredited because he couldn't always practice what he preached? Who has never done something hypocritical? One of my favorite quotes is," It's easier to preach ten sermons than to live one." I try to practice what I preach, but sometimes fail. I'm learning that I need to accept my humanity with dignity. I can't keep punishing myself for my inability to achieve all of my goals--especially those that deal with morality. I forgive others ten times more than I forgive myself, which not only hurts me, but it limits my ability to grow and reach other people. How can I help other's to love everyone, including themsevles, if I don't love me? I'm not talking about arrogance--loving myself so much that I stop self-evaluating and putting in the effort to make change--I'm also not suggesting I abandon my high standards. I want to know real love for myself and life. I feel real altruistic love for my friends and family. Natalie Goldberg said something about how we need to stop seeing life in black and white, and acknowledge that love is not mutually exclusive with betrayal and hurt. She said real love is being able to say, "This person really let me down and betrayed me. I'm going to hold them accountable, but I love them." I love my family even though they've all made me cry. I love my friends even when they let me down. I know these people love me in the same way. I need to love me in this way.

I've told several people that I believe life to be like a relationship: Sometimes you hate it so much, you wonder why you're even with it. Other times, you love it so much you are in awe that it's with you...but most days, it's just there.

I need to accept, maybe embrace, the idea that life is supposed to have darkness. I think depression has a time and a place. I also cannot let that trick me into believing that I shouldn't take anti-depressants because I'm supposed to/deserve to be depressed all of the time. Life is a cycle, and all emotions can teach us something. I need to begin acknowledging emotions that I have been taught to repress because they are bad. Some of these emotions include: anger, sadness, fear, shame, guilt, humiliation, pride, jealousy, and disappointment. I need to acknowledge those emotions and not make myself feel bad for feeling them. 

I could go on forever about things I need to do, but I am beginning to believe that the key to happiness is balance, but only when balanced with self-acceptance for falling short. I almost wrote the word "failure" in the place of "self-acceptance," but even the word "failure" terrifies me. Natalie Goldberg also said we need to stop seeing success and failure as mutually exclusive. She said, "out of the great failure comes the great success."

Now, I realize I'm on this happy, spiritual high right now. This often leads to disappointment, because I build up the idea that I will make all of these positive changes, but I fail to make them. I don't want this to be like that. I think all I can really take away with me right now is the idea of being more forgiving of myself. Self-hatred is not only toxic for me, but it is toxic for everyone who comes into contact with me, because it's just plain negative energy. Negative energy can be highly contagious.

I want to be the kind of person who is so self-accepting that I love life and my joys, and even sorrows, radiate with light. There's this quote we use in our S. Dakota group about how it's our light, not our darkness that scares us. It also says something about how our playing small and dimming our lights does not serve the world, and letting our light shine helps others to do the same.

Of course, I am terrified of being completely healthy. I've formed my identity around my depression. It's comfortable for me to hide in its darkness. Plus, I'm afraid of standing out, even though it is all I dream of. I think I am finally ready to meet what lies in my future with courage. I want my light to be so blinding, it helps illuminate others so they can produce blinding light.

Writing this, I feel happy. We prayed and reflected using medicine cards tonight. We each drew a card with an animal on it. The animal is supposed to help tell us where we are at and what we need to do. Jon believes we all pick a card that "calls" us and no one ends up with the wrong card. I don't feel quite that strongly, but I think the cards can be used like spiritual horoscopes, in the sense that they give us a new lens for viewing our day. It's then up to us to apply it to our own lives. Jon read us what each animal represented and what they were calling us to do. I drew a spider. My first thought was, "I don't like spiders."

When Jon read everything the spider represents, it was like everything I wanted to hear. The spider represented creativity. It said that I need to stop to celebrate something I created and congratulated me (The first thing I thought of was my project). It also suggest I do a lot of journaling. This is the most passionate journal I've written in ages. My pen keeps flowing and my thoughts are racing, but not violently like normal. Tonight, they are gentle, letting me be wherever I need to, letting me hang on each word and idea.

The spider also suggested taking a new, creative approach to my life. I've never been readier for such a change in my life. I don't even think it will be drastic actions. I think it will just be combining all of the advice and buried treasures I've gathered from stumbling around like a drunk in the dark. Now that I am sober, I know to collect all of the treasures, dust them off, and keep walking. I know that despite the fact I am no longer stumbling, I will not walk in a straight line. There will be obstacles I cannot even imagine, curves that blind me, hills that burn my muscles so much I want to quit but give me a great ass in the end. For now, I'm enjoying leaving this goddamn tunnel, and just cruising the straight away on a sunny day.  It might rain again tomorrow. I plan to carry an umbrella. I know it won't protect me completely from getting dripped on or getting chills from the cold. 

I can't help but be incredibly excited and embarrassed about my huge change in mood (partially due to drugs) because I know I am overflowing with idealism and optimism, which do not survive well in the real world. I know there's a lot of people out there who believe/worry that I will be hurt and jaded by life. I don't think hurt and maturity have to taint me. I'm also aware that I have a lot of maturing to do, so I don't want to be naive enough to think I will always be this passionate...but at the same time, if I can work my way out of two major depressive episodes in three years, I have to believe I don't have to let suffering and life kill my spirit.

I know depression will always be something I struggle with throughout life. I don't want to surrender to it, though. I can't let it kill my spirit, even though I know it already did kill it--twice, but somehow I find a way to revive it. When I'm in a major depressive episode, I believe that the depression is the real me, and that I never got better, and never will. I'm sure there will be another time in my life when I return to that. I hope to be able to look back at this journal entry and feel comforted by this new found enthusiasm for life. I know I will only feel sadness in that moment, because I will feel like I failed to keep the disease away again. I will feel discouraged, and tell myself I was so naive and foolish to write this. I don't think this is me being naive. I'm not denying future suffering, or even full-out relapses (even though I would like to believe that will never happen again). I'm only allowing myself to acknowledge my pain and suffering, stop being angry with the mess I made again in this episode, and be thankful for this newly discovered hope.

Weird Dreams

I have a lot of weird, bad dreams when I am depressed. The most recent was that I drank too much, swore at Leslie’s mom for saying James and I were secretly dating, and then called my old babysitter, D.R. at like 2 in the morning. She called my mom to ask about it the next day, and I was too embarrassed to explain what happened. I also had an exam due that afternoon, but I missed the deadline because the printing lab had people taking an exam in it. The husband of one of my professors (he is also a professor) was at our apartment for some reason. The exam I did not finish was for his wife. He said she graded easy and not to worry because she would accept late work. I couldn’t remember anything from the night before, and I didn’t even remember drinking that much. I just remembered my friends making me drink more and laughing at me. The whole dream I felt guilty for everything I did, but everyone was being nice to me. Leslie’s mom gave me a hug and said she knew I was drinking, so she wasn’t offended, but she was worried about me. Then they decided to do a cat scan on my brain to see if I had a concussion because my head had been hurting so long (I went to bed with a headache and woke up with one). Everyone was laughing because I told the nurse how I didn’t think I drank that much the night before but I didn’t remember anything and behaved totally out of control. I said, “I must have a concussion, but I don’t remember hitting my head.” I just remember lying in the tunnel, thinking how much I wish they would tell me I had a concussion—just to know I had an excuse for what happened. I felt so guilty. I needed an excuse to keep going. I woke up before the results. It’s funny because I don’t think they even give cat scans for concussions. It all felt so real. I feel guilty even thinking about it right now. I keep thinking, “That was too real and complex for a dream. Did any of that really happen?” Logically, I know it did not. It doesn’t take Freud to tell that the concussion represents clinical depression. I want to know that I am physically ill and it is not my fault. My therapist told me that enough times, but for some reason I don’t believe it. It feels like I personally failed. I gave into negative behavior for coping mechanisms; I gave into lying around feeling sorry for myself. I basically quit fighting, stopped trying to take care of myself. I’m trying not to lose sight of logic. I know the medicine will help me get better, and that I will use all of the techniques to fight this disease that I have learned and used once before. I hate that chemicals can totally take over my mind. It’s scary when I think about it.

Not Again

I'm having trouble sleeping again. I wake up several times in the middle of the night. It's still not as bad as it was two years ago. I am thankful that I fall asleep rather quickly at night time. A couple years ago, it would take me hours to fall asleep, then I would wake up very early. I think I woke up less in the middle of the night, though.

I woke up with a stomachache for the second day in a row. I don't think it's a coincidence that its my second day of taking my medication. It blows my mind that it is the same exact dosage I took before, but because it has been a while of not taking it, it messes with my body. I usually have trouble sleeping when my body feels depressed (I say my body, because I don't want to acknowledge my mind as apart of this crap). It's weird because when break hit, I started sleeping great--and all of the time.  I finally decided, with the help of both Adams, to go back on medication. However, that changed up the depression again, and now I am no longer sleeping soundly. I hope that means I will get better soon. At least I am writing a lot. When I get really bad, I can't write. I'm thankful for the writing I have been doing. It's very therapeutic. Write on.

The Cliff

This is one of ten poems for my final portfolio. I'm posting it because it was an experimental style for me, and I liked it. It's going to be a late night finishing all of these poems and papers to go with it! I'm all done tomorrow, though!

The Cliff

Kiss rocks cutting
each toe before jumping.
Your mother’s not
here to stop you
from licking blackberries
oozing with death and sex.
Seduce God because
heroin addicts do
find needles in haystacks.
Clench sheets, moan, manipulate
your maker, leaving
me a mouthful of prayers
I’ll vomit on the ceiling.

Publication!

I found out last night that I will have my second publication appear in a lit. journal next semester. It is an essay about my friend, Adam. It's very unique, and probably not one that my parents and grandparents will want to read, but it's my favorite piece of writing that I've produced. I'm ecstatic that a lot of strangers will read it.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I never get as excited for it as I do for Christmas. It always sneaks up on me. I think that might be why it's my favorite. There's a lot less pressure to have it be the perfect day...therefore a lot less disappointment. It's just a day to spend with family and eat. It is more about the being together. It's not clouded by gifts and materialism. Plus, it's a secular holiday that everyone can benefit from. What a great idea: "Let's set aside a day where we reflect on how thankful we are for everything good in our life."  

I'm thankful for a lot in my life... the usual stuff: food and a place to live. Two things I'm especially thankful for today are the people in my life and the opportunity to be educated. I know everyone should be thankful for these things--I hope it's implied that I am always thankful for these things--but I want to be especially mindful of them today.

Last night, I went to dinner with the gang from the South Dakota trips. I don't see these people often. The last time we had been together as a whole was last Thanksgiving. Yet, we have this amazingly intense connection. It's such a beautiful love and respect for one another. Being with them made me so thankful for everyone who loves me in my life. It's easy for me to forget just how many people are on my side when I get caught up in feeling alone. I have amazing friends, though. I have several very different, close groups of friends. They are all so unique and special to me that I can't compare them at all because my life would be so different with out any one group of them. I recently heard a writer speak. He said he worried about how he would divide his love between his kids when the second kid was born, because he loved the first child with everything he had. He said he eventually realized love doesn't work like that. He said, instead, his love just multiplied, and there was plenty of it to go around. My friends make me realize that love works like that. I don't love any of my old friends who I don't see as much any less than I ever did, and I still love my new friends just as much as my old friends. I also used to worry about new friends replacing old friends, but love doesn't work like that. I'm very thankful for the way love just grows and multiplies. I am also thankful for my family. I have to admire the way so many people with lots of differences try to be together, even if it's not always easy. We've all hurt each other at some point (most of us multiple times), yet we just keep showing up to be together. Thank you to all of my friends and family. I love all of you. You make me feel loved.

Now, I feel the need to explain how thankful I am for my education, because school has been driving me insane--to the point of me saying I hate it lately--It's really just the stress, though. I can't take the stress sometimes. However, I am so thankful that I have the opportunity to enhance my quality of life by learning about such a variety of things on a daily basis. I don't ever want to stop learning. I don't think I will, but there will come a time when I am no longer in classes. I won't be able to hear experts in a variety of fields speak regularly. I won't be able to ask them questions. I know when that day comes, I will miss these days.

I can't help but think of Frederick Douglas. We just read his slave narrative for my American Lit. course. His life was totally changed by the fact that he learned to read. Knowledge really is power, and his story reminded me how thankful I am to be able to read and write...not just in a merely functional way, but in a life-enhancing-sort-of-way. My life is truly better because I can read books of all sorts, and I know how to express myself clearly with words. Life just wouldn't be the same with out this gift. I don't ever want to forget how fortunate I am for experiencing equal education despite the fact I am female and went to public schools. I wish everyone could say that, but I'm aware that it is a gift that is more rare than it should be. I appreciate it nonetheless.

Complaining

If you don't like complaining, don't read this. Everything hurts. My head, my body, my spirit. I think I'm sick. It doesn't help that I was already worn down and burnt out. 

I've been laying in bed a lot. It's hard to go to class. I also haven't felt like eating (but I make myself do it anyway). This scares me, because it's classic textbook depression symptoms, but I have to believe Im just physically sick. I've been working so hard to keep my mental health in check. I've been doing such a good job at staying in control. I find it hard to believe I could just randomly fail without some tragedy coming along. There has been no major tragedy, nothing to set this episode off. I might just be sick. I'm going to keep resting and taking vitamin C. We'll see what happens. I have awesome friends and family, though, who keep checking on my progress. I'm probably just sick.

I wish I could use this non-productive time to write and free my mind and spirit. Instead I just lay in bed. I'm tired and everything hurts. 

Coffee Shop Reflections

I'm writing in a coffee shop. Stereotypical, I know. I should be doing homework, preparing for an exam this week. It's hard for me to work on stuff that doesn't matter to me when I need to write. I just don't get to write like I need to anymore. I am beginning to accept that I need to make time to write, even if that means stressing out about homework later. It's more important that I feel mentally healthy, and writing is essential to me for that. 

I'm so sick of school these days. I have trouble caring enough to put in the required effort, but I keep working to the best of my ability. Somedays my best is less than acceptable, though. I like college much better than high school, but my number one complaint about college classes is that there is never a day where I feel like I have no homework. I could always be doing more. It's just a matter of what needs to be done. It makes me feel lazy sometimes, but somehow my GPA turns out okay. I hate that I never know what my GPA will look like all semester. I worry about it all of the time and feel guilty for not working hard enough, but then I get my grades, and I somehow do okay.

I miss writing prose so much. I've been working on some tonight, but it's much different because my use of language has changed from working on poetry so much. I can't wait until Christmas break. I hope to write a lot. I guess, I didn't have much to say. I just have gotten bad about keeping my blog up, so I thought I would reflect a bit while I had a minute.

Today is alright :)

Today's horoscope (courtesy of Yahoo) seems to be right on. I love it when that happens. I could elaborate on all of the ways that it has proved to be true today, but I want to work on a poem. I need to be studying for my quiz at 5. Too bad, I'm working on this poem since I haven't felt creative in far too long :(

Quickie
The big changes coming into your life are going to take their time -- be patient!
Overview
Your communication style is always a bit poetic and today it's even more so. You may have a harder time speaking with people who are too literal-minded, but fortunately there aren't many of them.

Honestly?

Today was one of those days where I keep telling myself I'm fine, but things keep going down hill. It seems the last week or so has been like that. It's not any one big thing, but instead a bunch of little things.

I got back my midterm from that week where I had an 8-page paper due, a quiz, and three exams. I got a C. It started the morning on a sour note. Then it just continued to be a bunch of little things...like a firedrill at work during my all too short 45 minute lunch. Oh and did I say one fire drill? I meant two. TWO.

I've been under a lot of scrutiny for my project lately. I'm getting e-mails (yes, plural) that are asking me questions I can't answer. I don't know if I can keep working on it. It's draining.

I don't want to complain about all of the little things bogging me down, but I'm trying to communicate the feeling of drowning. I am involved in too many things so that I cannot excel at any of them. I'm constantly flaking out. I'm not writing. It makes me angry.

Speaking of anger, I've never allowed myself to feel anger in a healthy way. A part of my therapy is to pay closer attention to my feelings. I've been feeling angry about sexism a lot. I never realized how much it is a part of everyday life. It's starting to jump out at me. For example, I notice the way I am passive and constantly let men interrupt me, etc... It's not worth getting angry about when I can 't evaluate all of the feelings more, but it doesn't just go away either.

This is a pointless blog. More for clearing my head than anything else. It's going to be a long week. I'm supposed to camp out at midnight tonight in cardboard boxes and freeze for WPI. Good times.

VOTE

I am voting for my first time tomorrow. It would be so much easier if Tuesdays weren't my busiest days of the week. I wish one of my professors would have cancelled class to allow us time to vote. Oh well, my dinner break will just have to be a little bit shorter. I'll survive.

It feels good to be back

I haven’t allowed myself to freewrite on here in so long. I didn’t even now how to start, so I thought I would acknowledge my uncertainty. I wanted to take a break from poetry to write prose. It used to feel so natural, but I’ve gotten used to carefully analyzing every word. My job also affects my writing. I’ve spent so much time with academic writing, rewording, and precision. It’s good for my writing overall, but it’s forcing me to change and grow so much that it just doesn’t feel natural to me.

My poetry professor said that I’m improving rapidly. I felt like I was getting worse. He said that’s normal, because improving is like working up hill. It requires getting used to new techniques, and you might wake up sore from your effort the next day. He talked about improving up hill, having intervals of plateaus where you rest and feel comfortable until someone forces you to dig deeper and start climbing toward the next. I’m climbing pretty aggressively, and I like it overall. I’m still not very confident about it all, though. It doesn’t help my poems were rejected by this lit. journal on campus again. It happens—a lot for writers—it still is annoying, though. I’m glad my professor is so encouraging, because now I don’t necessarily think that my poems are rejected because they aren’t good enough. I think my style is unique and doesn’t mesh well with a lot of the poetry scene folks up here.

I dressed up like Cleopatra last night. I spray dyed my hair black for the evening. Two showers later: I’m mostly free of black dye, but our shower is stained, and there is black all over the sink and walls. Black even came out when I blew my nose this morning.

I’m at a coffee shop with intentions of writing. I guess this is a prewriting warm-up. I’m going to have to dig a lot deeper than this to get some real writing. I don’t even know where to start. I had a crazy busy week. It ran me to the ground. I handled it better than I expected, but I don’t want to write about that. I’m sick of letting business define my life. I had a literature professor comment on a profound story. He said something along the lines of, “We are busy are whole lives, and doing what? Nothing when you think about it.”

Last weekend I felt happy on the camping trip. I’m trying to be more observant of my feelings, especially happy ones. I felt happy watching my friend, Nik, hike with a walking stick while wearing mismatched clothes and a circular piece of birch tree bark on her head as a hat. Nik is one of those rare individuals who is just so full of life. My friend Adam is like that. I have similar feelings of happiness when people I love are full of joy. I’m reminded of how happy I feel on the day where we take the kids to the water park at work in the summer, or how happy I felt when I saw my dad child-like excited when we walked into the Piston’s game last winter. I guess, maybe I feel most alive when in the presence of joy. Adam and Nik are joyful people. It seems like the rare individuals I know who possess so much life, have all experienced some sort of emotional death at some point. It leads me to believe that one has to truly know the depths of despair to feel the greatest level of pure joy.

I don’t know what else I want to reflect on, but I think I’m ready to post this as a blog, then really start writing.

I'm Outta Here

I had an opportunity to go camping in the U.P. this weekend. I've never been to the U.P, and I was looking forward to beautiful scenery and no technology. The friends I am going with are going to treat it as a sort of writers retreat. I am aware that I need something like that, but responsibility kicked in. I turned them down, because I have a huge paper due Monday, two exams next week, an appointment Friday morning, and a meeting for work Friday afternoon.

That being said, my friend who invited me said I could change my mind if I wanted, and that I wouldn't have to cancel my appointment tomorrow morning, because they are not leaving until 11. I decided to get the guts to ask my boss if I could miss the meeting. I don't know why I was so nervous. She's incredibly nice. She didn't directly answer my question, but was asking me about all the fun things we would do up there. Then I asked, "Is it okay, then?" She said no. Then she explained that she can't tell me that it's okay to miss these meetings, because I'm new, and it's not. She said it was forgivable, though, and that it sounded like a lot of fun, so I should go.

I can't believe how excited I got. I think I realized that I couldn't need to get away more than I do now, and that I'd probably benefit more from going away one weekend, then working my ass off next week to recover. I don't even know how much I would get done if I stayed and moped around up here about how much I had to do. I would just be feeling guilty about my lack of ability to get anything done.

Therefore, I'm going camping, and I can't wait! :)

Dreaming Big

I just heard a Feminist Islam scholar speak. I am really tired, so I don't know that I got as much out of it as I should have, but I really enjoyed it. It gave me a burst of creative energy that will motivate me to work more on my poems that I'm submitting to a local lit. journal tomorrow. I don't think they will be done in time, but I have nothing to lose. I feel obliged to submit something, because you just never know when someone will like a poem. 

My poetry is really evolving in the past week or two. I'm trying new styles (I can't wait to post one or two when I get around to fixing them more). The latest poem I did when my class took a field trip to the art museum. We had to write a poem about a painting of our choice. The one I chose featured distorted bodies dancing in a city street to the drum beats played by a poetic/jazzy looking drummer. I used a lot of onomatopoeia to mimic drum sounds, which made the rest of the poem so much more rhythmic and fun to read aloud. The idea of performing one of my poems terrifies me, but with something like this I wouldn't want people to read it on paper. I would almost consider performing this one. Right now my favorite couple of lines is something along the lines of, "Ba da ba tic tic ta./ My heart skips a beat. I'm dancing bare feet in the street./" I don't know what else I'm going to do, or if that will even stay in the poem, but I like the rhythm.

I am sad that I have not worked on my project in three or four weeks. It makes me feel like it won't happen. I got an e-mail from a friend I lost contact with two days ago. He asked how the project was going. It's really nice of people to ask about it, because it makes me feel motivated to work on it, and like it's a worthwhile project.

Scheduling is also coming up. I always go most insane during scheduling time. It's so demanding, important, and it doesn't even have anything to do with my current classes. I have my first audit in a week or two. Hopefully, I'm on the right track to be done in four years. I'm already trying to think about my masters. My poetry prof. seems to think it would be good for me to stay here just for my MA so that I'm ready to jump right into an MFA or a PhD, and don't have to waste my time with "life experience" (he made fun of the fact that he was a gym teacher) when I already know I want to learn how to teach college courses and study writing. If I could teach classes here and have my education paid for, he said that would be a good way to kill/grow for two years before entering such an intense degree program.

I need to go start scheduling, e-mail strangers about my project, finish some poems I want to submit tomorrow, and start a 10 page Jesus paper that is due next week. I won't due all of that tonight, though. Dream big, right?

Little Glass Bluebird (The Final)

I believe this is the final.

Little Glass Blue Bird

I run my thumb
over scars from a crooked
price tag and fingerprint bruises
across your breast,
remembering when I burnt
my feet on the pavement,
dropped the newspaper,
and ripped open
your yellow envelope.

Sliding into my hand,
riding a cardboard tag
stamped with “The Bluebird:
A Gift for Happiness,”
wrapped in a letter from a friend
scribbled with smiling
stick figures, trees,
and the sun in black
pen at the bottom.
It read, “I bought this
seven years ago.
Crazy how time flies,”
and “Remember that first night
we talked until breakfast,
laughing when the birds sang?”
Didn’t mention
how she was doing or explain
why she sent you.

I called, rambled a two-minute
thank you message.
Didn’t mention
how I was doing or explain
what you meant— -
because I know
she knows we’re too fragile to carry
happiness alone,
yet you’d make me believe
I could support its weight,
knowing in the end
happiness might break us.

Memoir

This is a poem I have chosen as one that inspires me to look up a book from the poet. The next step for my class will be to look up the poet. I wanted to post this, and soak in the poem before I get to know the poet.

Memoir: by Vijay Seshadri

Orwell says somewhere that no one ever writes the real story of their life.

The real story of a life is the story of its humiliations.

If I wrote that story now--

radioactive to the end of time--

people, I swear, your eyes would fall out, you couldn't peel

the gloves fast enough

from your hands scorched by the firestorms of that shame.

Your poor hands. Your poor eyes

to see me weeping in my room

or boring the tall blonde to death.

Once I accused the innocent.

Once I bowed and prayed to the guilty.

I still wince at what I once said to the devastated widow.

And one October afternoon, under a locust tree

whose blackened pods were falling and making

illuminating patterns on the pathway,

I was seized by joy,

and someone saw me there,

and that was the worst of all,

lacerating and unforgettable.

* From the New Yorker

Salman Rushdie

I just had the privilege of hearing Salman Rushdie, controversial writer of "The Satanic Verses," speak. I never felt so excited to be a writer. He was what I needed to get the energy to start writing again. Too bad I have to spend tonight writing a 4 page paper that's due tomorrow morning... If only creative energy was something you could save and ration.

Surviving

Looking at my schedule for the next two weeks terrifies me. However, once I survive those two weeks, the rest of the semester should be doable.

I have something to look forward to for every weekend until the second week in November. That should help me get through the craziness of these next few weeks. Christmas break never sounded so appealing.

I Wrote this Last Night

I just took two Nyquil. So I’ll sit with all of this pressure in my head until peace rescues me for the evening. My body has gotten the best of my mind and spirit the past week. I’m never very tough about getting sick. I don’t see the point. Why use energy I don’t have to pretend that I feel okay and trick everyone into believing they shouldn’t worry about getting sick? I’d rather sulk and stay in bed all day. Unfortunately, my schedule does not allow that. I skipped two classes this week, staggering them so that I would gain the most from resting during that time, but not missing anything substantial. I was really tempted to call into work sick and skip my Spanish quiz. Luckily, some cold medicine was able to give me the pick-me-up I needed.

I’m determined to dig deeper with this entry. I’ve been so busy that I crank out shallow, meaningless blogs that aren’t even worth reading. I want truth. List format might be all I can handle right now.

1) Being sick messed with my mental health. I was trying to keep close tabs on how I was doing, but now I have no clue.

2) I’m frustrated with how my poetry is turning out for class. I know I’m a better poet than I’m showing in these poems. I have a final midterm portfolio due soon. I’d like to spend this weekend attacking and tearing apart these poems.

3) I am still unsure of myself at work. It seems to be getting better. I do like my job; I just don’t feel the best about myself when I’m doing it. I think I’m too self-critical, because the people I work with regularly seem to like me.

4) I need more time to write. I’m burnt out from school already, which is taking away any creative energy I have left. It’s also having a negative effect on my mental health. I need to find a muse.

I guess that’s all the truth I can spill out. I need to pass out in bed. I am in pain. Being sick sucks. Having a blog to complain about it on: Priceless.

Abuse

*These are all words from a writing handbook on punctuation .


Commas help communicate,
internal,
revisions,
it’s acceptable to omit
there’s no possibility of misreading,

do not set off a restrictive element,
although,
it’s not wrong to omit the comma
before the final conjunction in a series,
mild interjections,
between parts of a compound predicate.

Commas help communicate.

TGIF

I'm run down and burnt out. I just had my first session with my new counselor. He seems pretty qualified, and I am much more articulate than I used to be, so I think I make things easy. We seemed to jump right in and talk about realistic goals for the future. I told him about my project and he was really impressed and excited.

From what I understood, he seemed to think I was doing a good job at taking care of my mental health. He emphasized the fact that there is a lot of family history with mental health problems. He pointed out how it seems like I am constantly pounding into my friends head the fact that they can have biological depression, but I don't really believe that I have a Biological problem, and I just blame myself and feel like I am making myself depressed. I am doing that in some sick way, though. However, I'm still I'm open to the Biological theory. I'm a lot more accepting of my friends' shortcomings than my own.

I lost my five subject notebook with all of my class notes and information in it. These things happen when I am stressed and a little bit crazy; I lose things...A LOT. I have a lot of homework this weekend, and I need to catch up on sleep. Work is going well, but it's exhausting. I've started drinking a lot more caffeine, because I have to be alert to sit and listen to other people's papers, which is difficult when I haven't slept much.

I'm getting bad at blogging. There are so many more things I should blog about, but I'm tired and I just feel a little bit apathetic about expressing myself this morning.

Fall

Fall is my favorite season. It is also the season when I feel the worst. I get horrible headaches with all of the change in weather, my mood takes a nose dive due to lack of sunshine, and I get cold and lonely a lot. So why do I love it? I love the colors and smells, I love feeling like I have a purpose and being back in classes. However, the stress from being back in classes is usually what sends my mood spiraling a bit. I honestly feel like I can't win sometimes. 

I'm at the library right now, and gave up on a practice exam, which makes me feel guilty. It's not worth any points it's just for us to see how he grades. I feel like I should take advantage of this, since he didn't like my first paper (he really liked the second one, though). However, the essay question has made my head spin and I find myself giving up, tempted to go home and type out the two versions of the parable I picked to do my paper on for my Jesus class. That class is soooo interesting. There's so much about the Bible they never taught me in Catechism.

Today we learned that Luke left out things from Mark (that's not all that scandalous), but one of the passages he chose not to include was one where Jesus made some type of "racial slur" to a Psyro-Phoenician woman. It is speculated this was included in Mark, because Mark was writing for a Jewish audience, but it was left out of Luke, because he was writing for Gentiles, and this might have offended them. Crazy, isn't it?

My poetry class is getting harder. We are starting to work on all of this technical stuff that is frustrating. I think it is really good for me, but who knew there were all different types of rhyme and alliteration, and that I'd have to try to use them? I think out next assignment is to write a sonnet. I'm terrible at formal poetry. I don't even know where to begin. I'm disappointed with my last poem too. That one was lame, so I don't think I will post that on here anytime soon--unless it has some miracle turn-around soon.

Little Glass Bluebird

This is a work in progress

Draft #2

Little Glass Bluebird

I run my thumb
over scars from a crooked
price tag and fingerprint bruises
across your breast,
remembering when I burnt
my feet on the pavement,
dropped the newspaper,
and ripped open
your yellow envelope.

You slid into my hand
with a mix CD
and a letter from a friend
scribbled with smiling
stick figures, trees,
and the sun in black
pen at the bottom.
It read, “I bought this
seven years ago,” and “crazy
how time flies.”
Didn’t mention
how she was doing or explain
why she wanted you to be mine.

I rambled a two-minute
thank you on her voicemail.
Didn’t mention
how I was doing or explain
what you meant
because I know
she knows--
we’re too fragile to carry
happiness alone,
yet you’d make me believe
I could support its weight,
knowing in the end
happiness might break us.

I'm supposed to be studying for my Spanish exam. To ease the guilt this has to be fast. I just haven't been able to blog, and it makes me feel like life is slipping away. I've been writing one poem a week lately for my poetry class. It's draining, and usually results in me hating the poem, but loving it again when it's a complete draft. I have one due tomorrow that I'm still hating.

Today my first publication came out in print. It was so exciting to see my name and writing in fancy print. They really do a nice job at making this look legit. 

I feel behind and like a slacker in all of my classes right now, but I think I'm doing okay. It's always so hard to tell this early on. It will be nice to have a weekend up here to relax and catch up on homework. 

I will be on campus all day tomorrow because of work. I should start conferencing with students tomorrow. I think I will have to pack a lunch and possibly a dinner? It's not sounding exciting.

Wheatland was a blast, as always. It was a weekend of good people, good weather, good yoga classes every morning, and good music. It really doesn't get much better, although, more sleep would have been nice.

I feel like I have so much more to write about. I should dig deeper into my feelings, but there is just not time.

Falling off the balance beam

I blog a lot about balance. I talk a lot about balance. I believe a lot in balance. Why can't I practice it? I'm not trying to pass off responsibility for my inability to maintain a balanced lifestyle, but I'm beginning to believe that our culture doesn't encourage it. I made my friend Kristin a bracelet before she left for Spain. It's a nice hippie-like bracelet with light colored, tie-dyed beads with a charm that says, "Balance," with some sort of symbol on it. I made myself one too, because 1) I love bracelets 2) I thought it would help me feel closer to Kristin when she is so far away, and 3) I thought it would serve as a nice daily reminder to maintain balance. After surviving my first week of classes and work and making it through welcome week, I realized no matter how hard I struggle for balance, I'm always  a little off. 

I've stopped running. I went to three parties during welcome week. I am not yet on a normal sleeping or eating schedule. I haven't had a lot of time to write.

Now, those are all reasons I believe I am failing, but after talking with my dad on the way to pick up Adam, he reminded me that I'm doing pretty good when it comes to things like partying. I drink a lot of water when I party, I walk a lot at school, I eat okay. I think the college years are probably the most unbalanced ones ever. People pull all-nighters, binge drink, binge eat, and work themselves too hard. For example, I get teased if I want to go to bed early or stop drinking early (or not drink at all), but then I'm sure I reciprocate it to others, too. It's just a very "intense" (for lack of a better word) time period in our lives. No one knows where they'll be in five years or who they'll be with. It's a great time to appreciate and live in the moment, but horrible for any sense of security or balance. It's worth struggling for. I think I'll keep wearing my bracelet, and risk sounding like a hypocrite by talking about the importance of balance. I know it's important. I just can't always live it. 

Silence

The most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention…. A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well-intentioned words.

RACHEL NAOMI REMEN

I talked about silence with Laura last night. She doesn't like silence. I understand why, because I know the discomfort silence can create in my entire body. Silence often makes me tense up. However, I sit in silence with my friend, Adam, a lot. Sometimes we hike without speaking, ride in the car and just listen to music, or even just sit in silence. When he and I are silent for too long, I start to get tense. I want to say something to break that silence, but I feel I can only break the silence if I have something important to say, which forces me to think about why I'm saying something. I think it is really good for me. I also find that I enjoy silence with the people I am closest to, and I think it is because it requires being comfortable with them.  I was reflecting on this earlier this morning and I thought about how it must be some evolutionary thing. Maybe we feel the urge to keep talking with people we don't entirely trust--so we can scope out their ideas in that moment. In the past if someone was communicating, the people they were with could make sure they were not angry and going to attack them. They could prepare how to handle that person, if they started communicating they were angry. That's not necessary anymore. We live in a civilized society, and most people will not randomly attack you, even if they are not trustworthy. I think it is natural due to our past nature to feel that discomfort in our entire bodies when we sit with people in silence. Sitting in silence with someone is so beautiful, because it's allowing them to be lost in their mind and in no way connected to you, yet you are connected by space. Last night I laid on the floor in silence with Beth and James in the dark for a few moments. It was funny, because Leslie came in, and was like, "What are you guys doing?" James answered, "Lying here." 

Kristin once referred to that comfortable silence with others as "pure" silence. I like that. I think there is pure silence, which can only be shared with people we love, but I am working on being mindful of silence with other people, too. I can think of this boy who used to call me in High School. I used to never want to talk to him, because he was so "awkward" on the phone. There were all of these silences where he would just wait for me to say something. I would feel so uncomfortable, but it was because I was not comfortable with myself. Silence is giving me a new opportunity to evaluate myself and appreciate the progress I have made over the past few years.

I talk a lot. I think that's okay sometimes, because I listen a lot too. Most of my friends, also, talk a lot and I like that. It keeps things flowing easily and helps us to get to know each other better. I should probably work to be less giddy and talkative, but I really don't care to at this point in my life. I think being less giddy comes with maturity, and I'm still only 20. I also think maturity is accepting where I am at, and not feeling the urge to act older than I am. There are a few rare people in my life who are older than me, yet I never feel the urge to act older than I am around them. I find that I act most immature when I am trying to be mature, anyway, but I am thankful for those few people who have accepted and loved me where I am and allowed me to mature on my own time.

Slow Internet Makes Blogging Difficult

I'm moved into my new apartment. I really like it. I should take pictures and post them at some point. It has high ceilings, which makes everything feel more spacious than it really is. I've even had room to play hackie sac in the living room when no one is around. Leslie brought one of those things I can plug my ipod into and listen to it like a stereo for our kitchen. It's a blast listening to my music while I practice hackie sac. It feels good to be up here. This is the smoothest transition yet, although, I'm aware classes haven't actually started. I haven't felt lonely or down yet. It's nice to have Leslie and Beth up here too. We all played board games and went to ice cream tonight with my friend, Laura, and her roommate, Elizabeth. We are all pretty competitive so we get into some intense games that usually involve a lot of inappropriate language and sore winning and losing.

I haven't had much time to be insightful and really write or reflect on things. I expected I would do that when I had those few days alone. Instead I hung out with friends and unpacked a lot.

I'm actually looking forward to classes starting, but not so much that I'm not enjoying my time up here with no homework. Tomorrow night we are talking about tubing down the river. I'm looking forward to that a great deal. It feels great to be content with where I am at right now and settled in.

And I Don't Want to Sleep

I'm not as anxious about moving as I've been in the past, but it's still incredibly stressful. It's still to the point where I stay up late and don't want to go to bed, because I can't handle even the few minutes of lying awake in bed with racing thoughts. I'm doing much better at slowing them down, but it takes me a while of staying up to do it. Today my friend, Adam, listened to one of my latest philosophies for life. He told me it made his "heart smile," because I've grown so much since the nights when he stayed up with me in New Orleans (back when I had lost my mind and couldn't ever sleep). Hearing that gave me a lot of positive energy to keep going. Sometimes I fall backward, and can't see the progress I've made. I forget that I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. I'm not the same person I was two years ago. I'm not going to passively let myself spiral down into Hell again.

My latest philosophy of life came to me while working on my fictional story. I wrote this as the Dad character when someone in my writing group said, "That's really insightful. Can I use that for my character?" Then I thought, "Why am I not applying this thought to my life?" I guess, it really is easier to preach ten sermons than to live one.

This character's outlook on life is that it is a relationship. Sometimes you forget why you are with the person, and think of any way possible to leave them, then there are those rare moments where you remember why you are head over heels, and you can't imagine ever leaving their side. Then...there's mostly those in between moments where you're just coasting with give and take going on. Life is real love. I think I can learn to love life and still have days where I hate it and want to leave. I just have to remember that loving relationships aren't all rainbows and unicorns. They take effort. I need to put more effort into different aspects of life. Sometimes it takes a heartbreak to realize that. It helps me find balance. All in all, at the end of the day, I find that balance seems to be the key to all happiness. Balance isn't my strength, but it's worth working on.

Young and Restless

I find myself restless while trying to be present in the moment, which is next to impossible. I feel like I’m stuck between two places. The week I move is always like that. I’m fitting in goodbyes to people I haven’t seen much all summer, feeling anxious about forgetting something or someone--fearing I might no longer belonging at school. I will be much happier when I get into my routine up there; I'm looking forward to seeing friends that I haven't seen since school, too.

I recently find myself questioning myself mercilessly, looking for answers I'm unable see. I’m no longer taking my medication. I’m okay with that thus far, but the idea of falling back into depression terrifies me, so I will try to monitor my symptoms closely. I cannot risk being that sick again. I have too many depressed people in my life who look to me for support. I have to stay in control of my situation. It will be hard when school starts, but I think it will result in more self-confidence, which I need. I think I've known what I need all along, but I've been afraid of being without this feeling I've known so long--afraid of losing my identity. This feeling is comfortable for me, because I know it so well. To conquer it is to step out of the comfort zone. I think I'm finally strong enough, though.

I’m doing better spiritually than I have been in years. I can’t put my experiences in boxes, but I’m finally content with my views on life, and I don’t feel angry or that uncomfortable being surrounded by religious people who sometimes try to force their views on me. I’m beginning to feel compassion for them instead of jealousy or resentment; I’m working on loving them where they are at. I don’t mean that in a fake saintly way, because I will benefit from practicing love for these people, and I hope that they will love and accept me where I am at too. That’s what is so great about love-- real altruistic love--everyone wins. It doesn't always work that way, but I am thankful when it does, and it helps reveal who my real friends are.

Loneliness

“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”

-Henry Rollins

The Sisterhood

I went to see "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2" last night with Alicia, Leslie, and Kristin. It was fun going in a group of close friends that I rarely get to see all at the same time. We kept teasing each other about which character we were. That may sound incredibly immature, and yes, we were in the theater with a lot of young girls. In fact, there was one moment where a bunch of the young girls were giggling and Alicia said, "Why did we have to see this on the first night it came out? We should have come the last day." We fit in there, though--with our giddy laughs at inappropriate moments, like one serious moment when the emotionally detached character (they claim is like me) was having a breakdown about her problems with relationships, and Leslie whispered, "Oh my gosh, Aimee, that is SOOO you." It's funny, because there are parts in all of the characters I relate to, I think that's why people love these movies--the characters-- but I found myself cheering especially for the emotionally challenged character who was supposed to me. It's a cheesy, happy, movie, but we all loved it. We kept joking that we were going to all go to Greece last night like they do in the movie, to have "The Pants" bring us all together again; because like the girls in the movie, we of course, have drifted apart. Although, I still feel a very strong connection with them at times--like last night. Other days, it can't be more clear to me that we have nothing in common sometimes. It makes me feel completely alone, but I love that we have drifted so far, yet can still have an intense friendship when the wind happens to carry us back toward each other. 

We ended our evening by calling each other the characters' names and planning our trip to Greece :) Saying goodbye to Leslie went something like, "Oh Bee, have fun with your new Grandma (The character's name is Bridgette, but they all call her B--which is funny because in middle school I called Leslie "My Bumble Bee"--but she finds her grandma in the movie). Leslie was like, "Tibby, I'm glad you fixed things with your video game playing boyfriend." That's right we are not 13--just pretty good at acting like it sometimes.

Free Time

Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.

-Aldous Huxley

Update

Life is good. This is my last week of work, and it has been fabulous. I really love these kids. I'm looking forward to being done with work, but I will miss these kids. They all have such unique personalities that I have grown to love. Today one boy, who dances a lot anyway, was dancing out-of-control. It was hilarious. Everywhere we went, he danced. The best part about his dancing, is that it is so free-spirited. He is not self-conscious yet, which is funny, because I think it must be around the age of 5-7 where self-consciousness is slowly making its way into the picture. For example, one of my favorite boys today would not participate in this silly song/dance we do together. He stood there like he was too cool the whole time. However, "Dancing Boy", of course, got into it with his entire body. I told him that I like that he dances so much; it makes me happy. He does the "rock on" symbol with his hands and even plays air-guitar. I had to scold him for being too loud in line. He kept playing air-guitar, and making loud noises of "Bah Bah Bah Maaaahhhhh!" That was his guitar attempt. 

I had a nice time hanging out with Leslie and Alicia last night. I hadn't seen them in weeks, which is rare for us. I'm getting excited to move back to school, and I am feeling better about living with Leslie the more we talk about it. She's nervous and excited about transferring, and I'm looking forward to being able to show her around and help her out. Two people I work with will be freshman there this year, and I am looking forward to being able to make their transition easier. Especially the one, because she seems hesitant about it, like I was. I forget how awful Freshman year was until I start looking at people going into it, and then I feel pity for them. It makes me want to reach out to them in such a difficult transition. Although, I'm aware that many people will not have nearly as difficult of a transition as I did,  it is hard for everyone.

Things are going well with my project. I've received a few submissions, more positive feedback, and am getting some great research done from different anthologies on mental health. I'm reading Poets on Prozac right now, and I love it. There are so many unique and articulate ideas about creativity and mental health problems.

I'm tired. I need to answer some questions about my project for people, so I need to go. I needed to blog, though. When I wait to blog, I don't have time to get to insightful ideas, because I am trying to scratch the surface of my thoughts. I've actually had a few insightful/creative ones lately, but I haven't been writing or blogging enough to really grasp them. I'm working on it. Maybe tomorrow.

It's a Beautiful Day, Isn't It?

I had a wonderful weekend. Saturday I went to the art fair with Kristin's family to meet up with her. The weather was horrible, but I had a great time. Kristin and I ran into a girl we used to carpool with when we played soccer on a club team about an hour away. The funny thing is, we always saw this girl when we were together. Her parents drove us at the time and we saw them at the art fair too. What are the odds? It's not like I hang out with Kristin every day like I used to. I'm sure she doesn't travel with her parents as often as she used to. It was such a pleasant surprise to run into each other like old times. We didn't have much to say, but just the coincidence of it was great.

From there I went to my friend, Drew's to carpool to Jenn's wedding. We missed the wedding, because we were given the wrong outdoor location. It was incredibly depressing, but the beautiful reception made up for it. I wish I would have seen the wedding because John married them.  I hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving, and she looked absolutely beautiful--just glowing with happiness. At one point she said to us, "I'm so happy," and our table smiled, speechless. She responded, "It's sick, isn't it?"

I met with with a nun from Siena who has already published one anthology and is currently working on another. She helped me get my letter ready to send out to professors and advised me on the best way to go about sending it out. I have since sent out e-mails to over 30 Chairs of English departments all over the country, asking them to forward it to their English department. I have received several supportive responses, which is very exciting! A guy from NY said that he thinks it is  "ambitious and worthwhile," a woman from Alaska said she thought it was an "interesting" project, and a woman from Boston called it "vital." They all wished me luck. It has helped motivate me to continue working hard to look up addresses every day. It's a little monotonous, but it's cool to think of what may come of it. It makes me feel less guilty about not doing my own writing.

Last night I went to see a documentary at a Peace meeting. It was about nuns who go to prison for civil disobedience. It was well done, and there was a fantastic discussion that followed, which helped me to feel spiritually awake...even if only for the rest of the evening.

Speaking of awake, my job is incredibly draining. It's not physically draining. In fact, most people would think I have an easy job, because I work good hours and do not do manual labor. However, it is creatively, emotionally, and spiritually draining. I figure that is why I haven't been writing. I love the energy my job requires. I wish I had more energy to give, because I love the kids. I feel tired a lot, but every now and then they say something that wakes me up for a second to remember how lucky I am to be able to love and be loved by these kids. For example, yesterday this new boy, who is incredibly articulate, but very behind in school, was standing next to me with his hands in his jean pockets. He had on a plaid shirt and cowboy boots. It was recess; the other kids were playing. He looked around, then looked at me, and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I stifled a laugh, but failed to control my huge smile and said,  "It sure is." This kid uses his brilliant language skills to try to get out of working to learn anything else. For instance, I was asking him to do a task that would require him to practice shape names. He said, "How about I play with the dinosaurs instead?" like he is providing me with the options.  I have to test the kids on their first day to see how much they know at the start of school. I was quizzing him on the colors. As I held up the flash card with the black crayon on it, he said, "I said this over and over for like 20 years, but I can't remember." This kid is only five! I cracked up. It's hard to appreciate work when I'm so tired all of the time, but I really do love my job.

Natalie Goldberg

This is another one of my favorite authors. I haven't read this book yet, but I like that they made a "book video." It's like a music video would promote an album. Apparently, you tube is making books cool again :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e17SIiSRIwY

Culture

I finished a book where the Jewish author reflected on a traditional Jewish funeral. It reminded me that I wished I was Jewish when I was younger. Many of my favorite actresses, comedians, musicians, and even writers were Jewish. Plus, I was always abnormally interested in reading about the Holocaust. I read The Diary of Anne Frank on my own when I was going into fourth grade. My friend's older brother was teasing me about being a nerd, because he was four years older and was expected to read it for his class. Now, I understand that I wasn't supposed to be Jewish (like I thought), I was just a sensitive, compassionate kid. It's the same reason I started listening and being impacted by hip-hop in sixth grade. I could feel the anger and pain in their words and I loved the way they rhymed. I still do. I used to get made fun of for listening to hip-hop. I will admit, I've listened to my fair-share of crap rap, but I have tremendous respect for real hip-hop artists who write with feeling. Now that I can articulate the fact that I appreciate the way they play with language, because I'm an English major and a writer, people lay off when they harass me about loving hip-hop.  

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I was talking with lisa last week about how I was surprised a couple years ago when I learned two of my close friends from growing up who are Mexican, used to wish they were white when we were younger. They said they'd stay out of the sun to avoid getting darker, and try to deny their heritage. This blew me away, because I was always jealous that they had culture to connect with. I wished I was Mexican for a while too, because their parents spoke Spanish and they knew where they came from. The one friend's parents always made me Mexican food, practiced my Spanish with me, helped me with soccer, and had beautiful accents. I loved them. I then complained to lisa that I don't know anything about my heritage (for a long time I joked that I was a little bit of everything and part red-neck), and I wish I had some explanation for why I'm the way I am. She said, "Your parents and family make your culture. You have culture, it's just the dominant culture so it doesn't feel rebellious." I'm not looking for anything rebellious. I just wanted something that could ground me to my roots. The more I talked to her, I realized I do fit in with Catholic culture (the belief portion excluded), but I speak the lingo, know the hand motions, know the struggles and joys. Even though I have many things I'm angry at Catholicism for, I'm thankful to have a culture where I have fit in. It's funny, because the people I have the best discussions about faith with are either currently Catholic or ex-Catholics. I will have a great discussion with someone, and it is not until later they will admit to being raised Catholic or being currently Catholic. It doesn't even surprise me much anymore. Being a part of a certain culture is that strong of a connection.

I no longer wish to be something I'm not, but when I hear about things like racism and anti-semitism, they blow my mind. Have other people ever felt jealous that people have different cultures that exclude them? I wonder if that is what creates racist thoughts, if people feel excluded and fearful so they hate to protect themselves. There was this great quote in the movie about the Beat Poets. It was something along the line of, "If we love to protect ourselves from hate, maybe we hate to protect ourselves from love." 

 

A Cherry-Pit-Dumping Enlightenment (Sort-Of)

I was dumping cherry pits into the trash when it hit me. It was not a new thought, but a connection of several old ones. "I need to blog, but I have nothing to say," was the trigger thought that occurred when I made the short walk to the kitchen. It spiraled downward into self-loathing as I thought about the several pieces of writing that are all at dead ends, the fifty-million half-finished books I'm reading, the fact that I bought 4 books online today (2 I've already read). I am trying to carry on with my writing goals, despite the fact I'm not writing much. For example, I'm rereading a book I feel I can learn from and appreciate more a second read-through. Plus, I'm supposed to meet with a nun who just published an anthology to discuss my idea for an anthology on Monday. I have all these big goals and good intentions, and they are frozen right now. I've been feeling creatively frustrated the past month or so, then I thought about how I also have felt stunted spiritually. I once told Adam that my spirituality is like a car that won't start. I get little sparks here and there, but nothing to keep it running. Is it it a coincidence that I'm creatively and spiritually stuck? Then I realized, for me, they are connected. When I lost all sense of spirituality and had nothing left in me to even attend class, go out with friends, sleep, or pray, what did I do? I got my ass out of bed and went to the library to write. My creativity helped keep a little bit of some spirituality alive, which was enough to keep the me running, even if I still stalled out pretty regularly.

I don't know how to refill myself up spiritually and creatively, so I've been reading a lot. They say a big portion of a writer's job is reading. I'm revisiting books I read years ago. They are impacting me in new ways; I am seeing things I missed before. I've taken to underlining meaningful or well-written passages to reflect on--research for my own writing (that's how I rationalized buying 4 books today. They are well-written books I can use as models for my writing). 

I lost the energy from my cherry-pit-dumping enlightenment. I hate when I can't capture creative flashes like that one. I just couldn't slow my thoughts down enough. That's so frustrating. I'm going to keep pushing them, though. Keep forcing some writing, even if it's shit.  I wouldn't be so creatively drained if I wasn't stuck on an essay to the point of giving up (honestly, I worked the entire spring semester on this essay, and it's still not okay), unable to crank out any poems, and hadn't ran myself into a wall with my fiction. What's left? I really need to learn to play guitar so I can write songs. Three genres is just not enough for me. 

Keepin' the Faith

Tonight I spent the evening with Kristin, her mom, Dawn, Dashon, and a woman who worked as a teacher with inner city kids. I didn't talk much, because I had little to contribute to our heavy conversations. They all have faced so much adversity, and then the story of this woman's students made all of our lives look like heaven. Dashon talked about his exhaustion from depression, and how he wants to "take a semester off" of school. Kristin's mom told him he is half way there and how much we all believe in him. They then proceeded to tell stories of faith, answered prayers, and sparks of hope in dark moments. Kristin's mom recalled a few stories through tears where she felt her prayers were answered. One of them involved a man who was doing a repair on their furnace hearing them pray. John was crying because they didn't have enough money to fix it and they couldn't go to their Uncle's for Thanksgiving because the pipes would freeze. Kristin's mom told them that it was Thanksgiving so they needed to be thankful that they had each other. The repair man left, but returned and said, "God told me to come back with this part for the furnace. I'm going to fix it, and you don't have to pay me a penny." The tears of joy she cried while telling me about this were amazing. That idea of prayer connecting people and prayers being answered by people holds true for this. I'm thankful I have that to believe in, because I don't want to deny such a powerful connection. So what if a man in the sky didn't tell this guy to go back and fix their furnace for free so they could enjoy thanksgiving? The idea that belief can connect people like that and spark such miraculous,  counterintuitive, benevolence is awe-inspiring, which is the same thing as God for some. 

I had such a wonderful night and made sure to tell Dashon that I loved him (and all of them). It breaks my heart to see Dashon struggling with mental-health issues after so many years, but I see a light in him. I have faith that he will not only pull through, but do something huge to change the lives of many suffering.  Tonight he was talking about how there are not enough role-models for young Black men. The seed has been planted. I'm confident he will be one. He's got such a good heart and a drive to help others and seek truth. I'm just as confident and proud about Kristin and Dawn, but I feel the need to tell Dashon about it the most, since he feels so hopeless sometimes. Then, don't get me started on Kristin's mom. She has such a big heart and an admirable mindset. I am thankful to have friends I love and am so proud of in my life. I don't get to see or talk to them nearly as much as I would like. I realized I missed them more than usual the whole night I was with them. I kept feeling happy to be with them, but sad for all of the lost time and the knowledge I will not see them for a while again. It's not a bad sadness; it's that beautiful kind that causes me to treasure those moments more than anything else in the world.

Thunder and Lightning

The storms here have been outrageous. I've been talking with my friends, Laura and Tom, about mental health a lot lately. It's strange, because when I was severely depressed I had no problem blogging about seeing a therapist, symptoms I was experiencing, or being on medication. Now that I have my act together enough to appear sane, I've stopped talking about, or admitting any problems with my mental health. It's so much easier not to talk about it now that it doesn't plague me every day, but not talking about it is what makes it harder for people who are isolated by mental health problems. It's unfair for me to pretend it's not something I struggle with. I've been reading a lot about depression for my anthology idea. It was upsetting to read essay after essay of people who have lived 30+ years with depression, saying that it never goes away entirely. The good news is, it is something one can manage. Most days I'm pretty proactive about my mental health, although there are times when I give up and let myself slip until I can barely function. It's like I just desire a reminder that I'm still me. Darkness was a part of my identity for so long that it feels comfortable. When I'm away from it too long I get anxious. That must sound sick to anyone who hasn't experienced something similar. 

I didn't realize I ran out of my prescription for Wellbutrin. Therefore I am off my medicine until I get time to go to the pharmacy. I'm not sure when that will be. It's hard with work. Adam talked about how he used to stop taking it in the summer. I stopped taking it earlier this summer for a week or so, but I felt lousy, so I started taking it again. It's weird, because it is really all in my head. I think I can go without it for a while; I couldn't earlier in the summer, because I hadn't had time to be alone with my thoughts since before exams. Plus, moving is always a big transition, especially moving home, because I think I know what to expect, but it's never the same. Things are a little more stable now.

Today one of my little kids grabbed my hand when we were walking down to snack at the end of the day. The storm was really loud. She said, "I'm scared." I assured her she would be safe in the school and on the bus. Then she said, "I don't like storms, but sometimes they're really pretty." It made me smile so big. I said, "I think they can be pretty, too!" Storms are dark and depressing, but the flashes of destructive light help me pause and appreciate life for a moment. I just try to breathe and appreciate the fact that I'm alive and okay, despite being surrounded by chaos. It's funny how thunder and lightning can make me feel the most intense flashes of peace sometimes. Lightning bolts of peace. I should put that in a poem sometime.

Blue Skies

Life is good. This weekend was wonderful. I'm always surprised at how much the weather influences my mood. For example, I was feeling down Wednesday night and even some of Thursday, but the combination of having perfect weather all weekend plus spending time with my entire family, including Adam, was great.

I am working more on my fictional short story, and it is getting better. I'm really surprised and pleased, because I haven't finished a fictional short story since last summer. CRAZY.

On the fourth, a close friend had a breakdown and we were both car-less, so we met up to walk at midnight. We walked (and sat by a statue at a local college) until after 2AM. It was a beautiful night. The weather was perfect, the stars were out, and I could feel the love. It's funny, because friendships are so powerful, yet they are so normal and unappreciated until moments where we realize how much we need them. My friend had an awful night; I was worried about her, but it felt really good to just be with her and acknowledge her suffering. I want to write about it sometime, because it was a really moving evening. I'm not articulating it very well here, but I'm not motivated enough to play around with words and describe it better. I'm not much of a writer this evening, I guess.

I have tomorrow off. I plan to run, do laundry, and catch up on errands. It won't be the most fun day off, but it's still a day off. I'm feeling anxious lately. I think I just want to get moved in and back to school. It's not that I'm unhappy here, it's just that it's getting harder to live this double life. I established more of a life at school this year, and to be away from that, and try to fit into my old life--when all of my old friends are either not here, busy, different, have boyfriends, etc... I'm not upset about any of those, because that's natural, but it just makes me feel like I fit in better up at school in my new life rather than my old one. It's hard going back and forth, but I do enjoy coming home to escape everything during the year.

This entry is rather bland. I felt the need to update, because the longer I wait, the harder it gets to write anything. It's all about the writing practice and discipline. Here's my half-assed attempt at discipline.

I'm Worried About This

http://www.writersweekly.com/the_latest_from_angelahoycom/004597_03272008.html

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

Lisa wrote this poem for me. It includes all of our favorite spiritual teachers with things they preach, and the last three names are her, and then two mutual friends. Chris is a great guy from my writer's group; Adam is one of my craziest, but closest friends.

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

The greatest minds on earth

have planted

the seeds of wisdom in your heart.

When trouble comes,

ask yourself,

"What would Annie Dilliard do?"

Look. See.

"What would Buddha do?"

Be present in the moment.

"What would Rumi do?"

Dance the Universal Love.

"What would Thich Nhat Hahn do?"

breathe in, calm

breathe out, smile

"What would Natalie Goldberg do?"

Keep the hand moving.

"What would Anne Lamott do?"

Find beauty, pain, lessons and questions in the struggle.

"What would Julia Sweeney do?"

Let God go.

"What would Karen Armstrong do?"

Be nourished by good teachings from many traditions.

"What would Elizabeth Gilbert do?"

Eat.

Pray.

Love.

"What would Jesus do?"

Feed the poor.

"What would Chris Matthias do?"

Gather with friends. Play. 

Go on a vision quest. Sweat.

"What would Adam Deline do?

Sing and dance. Barefoot.

"What would lisa eddy do?"

Transform through ceremony.

The seeds of wisdom are in your heart.

When trouble comes, ask,

What would my venerable teachers do?

Then do it.

Signs

I had the best experience with my writing workshop the past five days. I learned a lot and made some amazing connections. It was fantastic, because it was such a variety of people ranging from 20-72. There were fifteen-year-old boys and a 92-yr-old man in the memoir class, but the 20-72 range is referring to my class and the people who hung out after class. I went out for "drinks" with them, but had to admit I was not 21. I had rice and beans instead. Last night we went to a nice restaurant; a 72-yr-old nun (who was in charge of the workshop) payed for all of our dinner. It was incredibly generous of her. I learned at dinner that she just published an anthology of Catholic short stories. I asked her if I could meet with her to talk about my anthology idea and she was very supportive of it. My teacher is a very well-established author http://philipfdeaver.com (if you want to check him out yourself). He won the Flannery O'Connor award for short fiction. He was very supportive of my work and gave me a free signed copy of his book. It made me feel so good. Everyone gave me a surplus of compliments, because I was the youngest one there. I needed something like that. Confidence is a good thing.

One of the women was a Social Worker on the South side of Chicago and I really admired her free-spirit. She talked about all of these trips she has taken alone, sort of spiritual pilgrimages. I told her that I am an anxious person and should try something like that to overcome it. She said, "The most important thing I've learned is to pay attention to signs." I laughed because we were driving and had almost taken a wrong turn. I also laughed at how I fail to notice signs. She said, "I mean literal signs, but metaphorical ones too. I would have missed so much if I would've missed some signs." I reflected on this. I am oblivious to all signs. I think her saying that was a sign that I should pay attention to. To add to this sign, my teacher told me today, "I wouldn't say this to most people, but because you are so young don't feel like you're not a writer if you stop writing for a couple months or even a couple years. The most important thing is to stay up on reading and live. Do something crazy like go to Turkey." The nun interrupted and said, "And while you're there take a Turkish bath." I thought more about this, and I do need to do some spontaneous traveling alone. I can't live in a bubble my whole life. I'd like to slowly progress into it, though. I figure there is no need to throw myself into situations where I have panic attacks.

I meant to do so much more reading and writing tonight. I didn't read at all, but I did write four pages of a journal entry. I guess, that's acceptable. I need to go to bed. I have to wake up early. I took a long nap today, though, so I probably won' fall right asleep. Oh well, what can ya do?