Connection

I have been stuck with the image of a young woman I met in New Orleans. I have written about it so many times in different ways, and today I had kind of a sad day. I don't know that it was like the old depression, but I just didn't feel good, but it was for good reason. I talked to one of my best friends Dawn. She just lost one of her best friends. It broke my heart talking to her. I actually listened for once. I always want to give advice or help people, but frommy experience most of the time that is not what people need. I just let her talk. I told her I was just as confused as she was and I couldn't say anything to make her feel better, but I could listen, and I did. It broke my heart, but I felt a spiritual connection. I have missed that so much. I also was sad, because one of my only real friends up here is suffering from depression and still not better yet. She had a really rough day today, and ended up skipping World Peace Initiative to go home. She just left Central, which was needed, but I wished I could have done that when I felt like that. I talked to her for over an hour late tonight trying to keep her mnd of how shitty she felt. I guess, all ot the sadness is what made me feel like I needed to finally write about this image from New Orleans in a way other than just journaling and talking about how crappy it was. I am going to regret staying up so late tomorrow, but I feel a little relieved after the sadness I felt today. I am glad I have writing to help me feel better.

The Conection

In broken streets walked by broken souls and Tourists
with happy faces and college sweatshirts. I hate this place.
New Orleans is too damn cold. I close my eyes, but can't ignore
the image of tortured, screaming souls and floating houses.
It slaps me in the face with a reminder of undeserved suffering,
cruelty, and a careless government. I see her crying alone.
She wipes Her tears on Her sleeves and avoids My eyes.
She walks fast and determined, like Me. Her boring sandy
hair is like Mine too. It could hide traces of the sun if she saw it,
if we saw it. We prefer the moon, anyway. It does not burn.

She disappears in a crowd of empty faces. I hope for her safety, even though
I don't remember what hope is. The hours escape without letting me grasp them.
I find her in a t-shirt shop. Her gray sweater hangs off her shoulders like Mine.
Her despair is paralyzing me, like Mine does my mother. I want to die and she is
dead. Empathy forces a smile at her. She walks toward me. Her request is small, but
the alcohol she breathes makes my burning stomach turn. I hand her my cell phone.
My fear distracts me from the moment when Her hand and My hand Connect. She
hangs up after no Connection. Vulnerability is flooding out her pores the way flooding
poured her soul out into the ocean. She looks around desperate and scared like Me.

She asks for the time, but looks to her watch. She looks at her left wrist.
I look at her left hand. It's swollen like an inflated rubber glove, but there is
no doctor to bring her back to life. My heart races in fear for Her, for Me.
My blood turns cold as hatred flows through it. Hatred for the cold world,
hatred for what she has done, but mostly hate for myself, because I know that
immobilizing darkness she lives in. It is blacker than the blood that has broken
inside of her hand. She is hopeless like Me. We are no longer Beautiful. I am naïve,
a mere idealistic student. I do not know heroin like Her and she does not know
heroines like Me. She might have in brighter days, before depression killed her soul.

I try not to imagine her first shot, but I can't block out the image of a young
girl unable to cope with broken dreams and hearts. Her arm shaking from fear,
she pierces the needle into her skin. She is anxious to fly, even with broken wings.
My mind hurls dark images at me, darker than the blood broken inside her hand.
The blood that feigns for it's fix, it's relief. I try not to see her lying lifeless in a
dirty room. Her weak arm betrayed her. She jabs the relief into her thigh. I hate this
place. I don't want to be here. I don't want to see this. I close my eyes, but can't help
but see her shaking, sweating, moaning cries of Death in a dark alley. It is darker than
the blood that has broken inside her hand from when her veins refused to take that
heartless narcotic. She stabs relief in between each finger. I stare at Her hands. The
hand she pierces with is small, like Mine. I need to vomit like Her, the night before.
Tangled, sticky hair reminds her of the suffering and tears she does not remember.

I am scared. I Disconnect, Detest, Dehumanize, like People who live in fear.
"I hope it all works out for you," I say out of politeness, not concern. She smiles a
hopeless smile like the one I have forced too many times. She is genuine, thankful,
and human. I don't know how to act. I don't know how to act. I swallow vomit.
It hurts my stomach, but I will not let it out. I will not let it out. She is broken and
dead; I am broken and dying. How can I pretend not to know her? We are related by
blood; we both bleed red. I know everything, but love her regardless (she's family).

I pretend not to notice the connection. I laugh when my friend says, "crazy druggie."
I laugh until I cry, since I can't cry any other way. I wipe My tears with My sleeves.

Kerosene

The wise words I once embraced mock me, "life is a circle."
I look at your enthusiasm and no longer feel it.
We both loved the circle before the dark nights
when I cried tears of blood as my soul died.
You can no longer see the light burning in me,
which causes you to sit and squirm; you're nervous and in pain.
I laugh at the awkward silence while wishing I could ease your suffering.

Remember the pure silence we used to experience?
We were both protected by innocence then.
You pretend it's still the same, like it's not burning you to sit and listen.
I laugh at your lies while you dance around the hellish flames.
You drenched your clothes in kerosene, but I lit the match.

You lock your arms around me and I inhale the moment.
I feel the only piece of my heart that is not stone, break.
I can't look at you, because I know you see the mess that I am.
Do you ever get dizzy from spinning around in the circle?
I can tell we are both drained from the ride we are on,
but you are high on adrenaline and belief.

I watch you embrace each revolution with your hands up.
My face is green and I am waiting for the ride to end.
I am continuously vomiting in my hair, but I do not cry.
We spin together, and you smile at me.
I force a weak smile that does not reveal that I have teeth.

You don't mind the acidic bile that is burning my throat
despite the fact that I can no longer speak.
You do not care, until I vomit on you.
Then I see tears in your eyes that I cannot cry.
Are you crying for you or for me?
You can't cry for me, because you are selfish like I am.

You're drowning in apathy, but you pretend to love me.
I see through your lies, but force myself to believe you.
Your belief and love is all that I have left to hang on to,
so I swallow your lies like I dry-swallow these pills.
They both hurt like hell, yet they're all I have to see any light.
I am sorry I lit the match, but why did you have to have kerosene?

Drowning and Crashing

I have figured out the way my depression has been cycling. I first noticed the pattern while I was on Spring Break, because I noticed for the first time that I felt okay sometimes. I used to feel depressed all of the time, and it still feels like I am depressed most of the time. I have figured out that my depression cycles in over a 48 hour time span. I start feeling extremely low in the evening. Night is always the worst anyway. The thing about feeling exceptionally crappy the first night of the cycle is that it doesn’t go away in the morning. I wake up feeling almost as bad as the night before, but it gets progressively worse as the day progresses. I then usually have a positive mood swing later that evening. That lasts until the next evening when I feel worse again. It just repeats itself. I am going to ask about switching from Lexapro to Wellbutrin.

Today was such a nice day that I skipped working out and walked across campus to my favorite coffee shop where I wrote like a madwoman for quite some time. I ended up with seven pages over the span of one tea. That may not sound like a lot, but I wrote the seven pages by hand, which I rarely do anymore, so I have major writers cramp. It was great to observe everyone so enthusiastic and full of energy because of the weather. I did not feel as enthused as I normally would, but it helps to see others feeling happy and I did feel okay, because I was on an upswing day. I am now experiencing my usual evening downswing though. My mood crashes in the evening, and it is discouraging. Especially when I know I will probably not feel better in the morning.

I had an interesting experience with a priest on the trip talking to me about my sleeplessness. He suggested that I pray. When I told him I do not pray anymore, because I do not believe, he comforted me with a Bible story, which made me laugh. He was genuinely concerned about my emotional state of being and not Heaven and Hell though, so I respected what he said. The Bible story he told was also getting at that it is okay to question so he was supporting me. It just seems silly when I confess disbelief and people respond by assuring me they will pray for me. I do appreciate their concern and hope, but I feel like telling them that my god died and took my soul along with her. I am drowning in a hurricane of despair and no one is offering me a hand, because they are afraid of getting pulled down. They shout “I will pray for you,” from their safe rooftops, while my tiny house has been crushed and I am thrashing and gasping for air. No one dives in to save me, but instead they extend prayers. I think we all know how that worked for the people who got taken under by Katrina.

The seven pages I wrote at the coffee shop were mostly about disappointment from my new life perspective as a result of my depression. I can read people like I never have been able to. I can pick up on people’s vulnerability, shortcomings, and selfishness so quickly that it slaps me across the face whether I ask for it or not. This leaves me in a place with no role models or people to save me. My therapist keeps telling me that I have to stop trying to finding hope in other people and discover it in myself, but I have just as many flaws as everyone else, if not more…so what good is that? I want someone above me in every aspect to look up to and follow, but there is no one that I can find, because it turns out we are all just flawed humans. Speaking of therapy, I am very discouraged that my appointments are running out at the student service building and I have to look into a more permanent therapist. I think it could be good for me to go to a more experienced professional, but when I am feeling so low going through all of the effort of finding a new therapist and starting over seems unthinkable. I don’t have a choice unfortunately, and I hate the waiting process where I am just trying to get through everyday alone and everyone thinks I am fine, because I have no appointments until next week. I have to be fine until next week. It is draining though. I am so exhausted all of the time. I love sleeping more than I ever have before. I also love just lying down listening to music and looking at the ceiling. I don’t think my thought process is ever any more real than it is when I am lying down looking at the ceiling. I also have really started to enjoy looking at things upside down. It changes my perspective and shows how much I take for granted visually. It is amazing. I guess, I should go workout, since I know I am not about to do homework and I feel crappy. I skipped it earlier, so I might as well.

Hurricane

I am back to my everyday life in the real world. I am exhausted and drained from my week of service in Mississippi. It was about an hour from New Orleans. I think I would have been exhausted and drained anyway from sulking around the house all of break as well. Depression is exhausting no matter what the circumstances. It makes everyday a challenge to get motivated.

I was certain the first couple of days on the trip that I had made a huge mistake in agreeing to come. I didn’t want to be there. I was miserable and I felt far too weak to be in a location of such devastation. My day spent in New Orleans left me feeling so depressed that I was left wishing I could just disappear. I had no relief whatsoever during that time. I was feeling low as it was just from being on the end of a down swing from depression (I have days where I can at least function followed by days of complete apathy and suffering. It goes in cycles). We then arrived to New Orleans where I first saw some of the houses destroyed as well as packs of poor kids hanging out on porches. I was surprised at how little is left of the city. That was devastating enough, but as we began walking in the French Quarters, my friend Adam and I saw a young woman walking alone sobbing. I felt sympathy for her. I think I would have felt actual empathy, except for the fact that I am so numb and apathetic that I don’t cry anymore. Adam commented on how he had the desire to ask her if she was okay. I had the desire to help her also, but it seemed inappropriate considering we were walking opposite directions. I also thought about how if I am crying in public that I don’t want anyone to pay attention to me, because I am usually rushing to somewhere private. We went to lunch and shopped a little after that. Then I saw the crying girl in a souvenir shop. I recognized her as the girl that had been crying, and I was happy to see that she was no longer crying. I noticed that she looked a little stressed so I gave her a sympathetic smile, because I genuinely felt bad for her. She looked like the type of girl I would see in Ann Arbor. She had a tank top under a grey long-sleeved and off-the-shoulder shirt with her sandy blond hair half up and half down. I felt like I knew her, or maybe even saw some of myself in her. After I smiled at her she came over and asked Adam and me to borrow one of our cell phones. She claimed hers had been stolen the night before. Adam did not have his, and I was a little apprehensive because her breath smelled so strongly of alcohol that I was getting nauseous. I didn’t trust her with my phone, but she assured me it was a local card. She showed me the number that she was calling. It was scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper that she was holding. She was not very big and Adam is a bigger guy, so I realized that I had nothing to lose and that I could help her out. I let her use my cell phone and she could not get a hold of the person she was calling. She did not leave a message and she looked concerned. I asked her if she would be okay and she proceeded to ask the time. Before I could look she looked at the left hand her watch was on. As she held up her left hand to look at her watch I noticed her hand was extremely swollen and black and blue. I thought maybe she had been badly beaten the night before when her cell phone had been stolen like the naïve small town girl that I am. It turns out she was such a heroine addict that she could no longer inject it into her arms and legs, but had to move on to her hands and in between her fingers. It broke my heart when I apathetically responded to her thank you as she handed me my phone, “Well, I hope everything works out for you.” She looked like she might cry and she said “thank you. I really hope so too,” but the way she said it made it sound like she didn’t think things would work out. Her hopelessness scared me, but I think it was because for the first time I could understand what types of darkness could drive someone so low. For the first time I saw this heroine addict as another human being that was just as human as me, and not some scary monster that I can’t relate to. It really bothered me over the rest of the week. It made my stomach hurt all of that day whenever I thought about her. It wasn’t just her that bothered me, it was all of the homeless people. I wonder what keeps them going. I can’t keep myself going in a perfect environment. They must have some type of strength that I do not.

We ended our day in New Orleans by visiting some of the really devastated areas. My heart ached with every X I saw on the doors with numbers of bodies found inside. We found a half smashed snake. It had crawled into a hole for cover and then only made it half in the hole. It was lodged pretty deep into the hole, but there was a good portion of it completely flat from the water. I don’t like snakes, but I felt sorry for it. There were watermarks on the houses from the flooding. The watermarks were all well over my head. I can’t imagine having to swim to get outside of my house. It has been almost two years and there is so much damage that is unreal to me. I couldn’t even imagine the type of devastation that was there without having actually seen it myself. After this trip my eyes have been completely open to what is going on down there. This split-level house really struck me. There must have been two families that lived there, but I was left looking into the doorless home with all of its windows shattered, including the second floor. The home was completely destroyed by the hurricane. It was marked to be bulldozed standing as a reminder of all of the losses. I looked through the shattered window on the second floor. I noticed a white ceiling fan, and I figured it must have been a bedroom. It made me think of my white ceiling fan, and what would happen if I lost my bedroom and my home.

The actual building on the trip made me feel like I did make the right choice in going there. When we started there was only a frame of the house. There were no walls or roof. When we left four days later, there was siding, floor being set down, shingles, everything was painted, and it was really looking like a house. We really helped build a house. I did things that I never thought I could do. I did all types of small tasks, a lot of painting, I got on the roof and helped to nail boards down, and I caulked a bunch of windows. It was really rewarding to see such amazing progress and get to see the homeowner’s excitement.

There were other nights when I felt I didn’t want to be on the trip, but Adam pointed out, did I want to be at home? Did I want to be at school? It was just the depression making me feel like I didn’t want to be anywhere. I felt like I saw a lot of hypocrisy and truth on this trip. That makes religion just as impossible as it ever has been for me. I began to realize that maybe everyone is not as above me as I had thought. I always assume that everyone is much more wise and self-aware than I am, but I am starting to notice people’s flaws quicker than I notice their strengths, which is probably a result of my new depressing lens that I use to view life. I am glad for the experiences I had on this trip. I think it is one of the most influential things I have done all year. It wasn’t some miracle worker; in fact it was a tremendous challenge to keep going every day. I am glad that I went though, but I don’t know that it helped my depression at all. I am thankful for my new relationship with Adam though. It is nice to have friends that understand where I am at spiritually and emotionally.

There is so much to write about involving my experiences this week. I have pages and pages of journal entries. I don’t think I can begin to decipher how I felt on this trip, let alone try to convey my experiences to others. I have posted some pictures to give you a feel of it.

Believe

I don't believe in salvation.
I don't believe in a father in the sky.
I don't believe people can be entirely selfless.
I don't believe people can be entirely selfish.
I don't believe that everything happens for a reason.
I don't believe in money as an escape.
I don't believe in soul mates.
I don't believe in myself.
I don't belive violence is ever the answer.
I don't believe politicians.
I don't belive in the devil.
I don't believe in Hell.

I do believe in truth, even though it hurts.
I do believe compassion is the answer to everything.
I do believe in respect.
I do believe in body, mind, and soul as separate but connected parts of people.
I do believe in love.
I do believe in friendship.
I do believe these little white pills are going to make me feel better eventually.

Y'all Gon' Make Me Lose My Mind

In one week I will be in Mississippi. I can't even imagine how good it will feel to be away from school and snow. I have two big exams tomorrow and I am having such a difficult time focusing on what I am studying. I am worrying so much about my GPA. My roommate is blaring some hard-core rap music right now and as much as I try to pretend I don't like rap, I still have a side that appreciates good rappers. I especially like hip hop artists that are actually saying something soulful, but I can't deny sometimes I dance to the shallow stuff about money, hoes, and drugs. If it's got a good beat sometimes I have to. I am trying to avoid complaining about how terrible I feel. That is all I blog about these days, because depression has consumed my life. It has changed me, but I am still the same person. I still enjoy a good laugh and some rediculous rap jamz. I had a good weekend, but you wouldn't have thought so with how terrible I feel today. Kristin and Dawn came up and we were treated like royalty at Soaring Eagle. I have never had valet parking and door people catering to me. I liked it a lot. I gambled away five dollars at the casino, but it was fun and worth it. I spent the evening with a cool laid back guy I met through a friend and it was nice to have someone to show me around and how to work the different slot machines. He was around 6'4" though so the guy checking our ID's was giving us a hard time about the dramatic height difference between the two of us. We all stayed up until 6am, which I was not too thrilled about considering I knew I would spend today cramming for my two hardest exams that are both tomorrow.

I was reflecting on my birthday, since it is this week, and I started thinking about my birthday last year. I had so much fun with Kristin, Dawn, Leslie, and Cristina. We stayed up so late on a school night making shirts for Dawn on Winterfest Court and going out to eat. We didn't do any schoolwork that night. I remember talking about how much things were going to change, and now a year later, I don't think I could have imagined where I would be. I wouldn't go back if I could, though. It is strange, because I have felt so terrible with everything, but it has changed me so much and i don't think it's for the worse. I think I have matured tremendously in one year, and I like it. I feel like I see much more truth than I used to. I realize I still have so much to learn, and i will soon enough be reflecting on how much I have changed from this moment. I don't think you ever stop changing throughout life, which is very frustrating, but interesting to me. I guess I will always be confused, but who cares?- I don't anymore.

A Gift?

I think depression can be a gift, because it strips away all of the fake and shallow everyday routines and exposes the truth. Not everyone can handle the truth. It is dark, lonely, and painful, but it is all there is. I have always been aware that many people do not critically think their life through. I also knew that I never settled for habitual, meaningless actions, which is strange because I struggle so much with change. I don’t think I realized how few of people actually live thought-out, purposeful lives until I discovered my need for meaning in my actions recently. I am experiencing an existential crisis, because everything I believed in has failed me. I used to believe that people were such amazing creatures. My therapist says I “put people on pedestals.” I always have, and I still do to some degree, although the depression has definitely brought out a pessimism that makes it hard for me to hold people so high. I have done that with pretty much anyone older than me whether they are worthy of it or not, parents, family, friends, and boyfriends (that is why my relationships never work, because we are all flawed humans and I have a hard time accepting boyfriend’s flaws as well as revealing my own). With this newfound pessimism I am starting to realize that maybe everyone is not that much more qualified than I am to assert opinions. It is heartbreaking, because I feel like there is less to strive for, but exciting, because I am beginning to realize I have valid opinions on a lot of things too. Age is getting to be less significant the more I learn. I have always admired humility, and I still think it is a sign of maturity, but I realized I was trying too hard to be humble. I am human and I feel slighted sometimes, I feel deserving sometimes, and I get jealous. Those are all immature emotions, but I don’t think many people outgrow them. Realizing that I will never know it all, I will always be confused about a lot of things seems very depressing.

If I asked people “What is the meaning in your life?” The only legit reason I would get is for other people. I think as humans we really only live for each other. People might say they live for their spouse, their kids, their family, their friends. Does anyone ever really want to live just to live? I mean, there are some advantages to life, considering it is all I know and not everything is bad. Is there really anything bad about not existing, though? Everyone is so afraid of the thought that they fantasize about the afterlife. There are honestly people who think that as a human race we do not need to worry about things like global warming or war, because God will save us all in the afterlife, and this life doesn’t matter. That is a terrible way to think, because this life is all we are given that we know of. Living in the moment is essential, but so few people do. I have such a hard time just existing with depression. Coming to the realization that there is not meaning in most anything I do makes it hard to keep going. I have been learning so much from constant questioning. Questions like, “Why am I going up these stairs? Am I really going to do anything important when I get to the top?” takes me to a whole new level of thinking that many people are afraid to face.

I can’t stop thinking of this famous short story I read a month or so ago, “Bartlby the Scrivener,” where Bartlby stops working and doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t feel like. He answers “I prefer not to,” to everything without offering explanation. The story ends ambiguously after Bartlby’s death when the narrator reveals that he heard Bartlby used to work at the dead letter office and he quotes, “Ah Bartlby! Ah humanity!” The ending has been interpreted in many different ways, but many believe that the epiphany the narrator experiences is his realization of the insignificance of everyone’s individual actions. My professor interpreted it to mean that the author was saying that as humans our actions are insignificant. He explained it like this: Bartlby used to work in a place where letters were stuck. People actually took time to send out a letter and they never knew that it did not reach the person. Do we ever know if our “letters” reach the “person?” Are we blinded by our intentions that are overshadowed by results or lack there of? Many people cannot handle thinking about why they do what they do. Why do you wake up and go to work everyday? Why do you go to church every Sunday? Why do you smile when you are not happy? Why do you laugh when something isn’t funny? Why do you talk when people aren’t listening? Why don’t you listen like you should? The list goes on. If everyone thought their actions through so thoroughly, then I think the world would be a better place and everyone would appreciate life in the moment, instead of waiting for something great to happen to them, and then realizing on their deathbed they didn’t do anything. I would rather have my breakdown now, than a midlife crisis, or depression on my deathbed. I think this type of critical thinking and self-evaluation is a skill that will not just vanish even when I feel happy. Depression changes you forever. As awful and hard as it is, it really can be a gift. My fairy tale world has been shattered, but the reality I am finding is forcing me to mature in a way I could never have imagined. What kind of world is it when age is just a number and depression is a gift? I call it a real one.

I Hate Titles

I am sure everyone is sick of hearing about how shitty I feel, but too bad, because I am losing more and more lifelines everyday. Today one of my friends was like "Oh you're not better yet?" I wanted to scream, "no, Im not better yet. What do you expect? I don't think I can get better." I know it's just a need for an increase in my medication, but it takes over my mind and makes me feel like things will never change. I know things HAVE to get better, but I can't help how I feel. I am still lacking joy. The conference was a success this weekend, I had a nice time with my family, I had a great workout today. I felt acceptable during all of those things. I know I should feel good, but I don't. I haven't even looked at my homework still, and it is 11pm on a Sunday night. That might sound really irresponsible, but I don't care. I don't feel good. I took a break from feeling sorry for myself tonight and went to see "Vagina Monologues" with Beth. It was a great show. I knew two of the performers from World Peace Initiative, so it was really cool to see them acting as powerful women. The show really helped me feel better, but feeling better did not last. It never does. The show helped me to feel empowered and helped me to laugh as well. They did a portion on domestic violence that was really intense. It really got to me, because it was based on interviews with women from Pine Ridge, which is the Native American reservation that I have been to three times now. Being able to put my own experiences on the reservation with personal faces really made the monologue more dramatic and just gave me an awful feeling in my stomach. It was powerful.

I am having a hard time with people in general these days. That is tough for me, because I normally love people. Everything about everyone bothers me and I feel so alone. It's like no one can save me. Everyone is trying, but I feel like most people are giving up. They know that can't say anything to make me feel better so they don't say anything. Then one of my other friends was like "Don't put on your happy face for sprng break and any other time you meet people, because that's what has got you into this mess. You have been trying to be happy for other people for too long," I can't help it. I don't like people worrying about me so I try to act normal for people that are not close enough for me to explain things. That usually drains me more and leaves me feeling worse. I hope I can handle being a people person and helpful on spring break. I really don't want to dissapoint people, especially my friend that invited me that i met on my trip to California. She has been telling people I am "cool," and then I'll show up being all depressed and dissapoint her. Not to mention, April is in charge and I definately don't need her to stress out because of me. Agh I hate how I feel. I hate everything right now. I wish I could sleep a few weeks until my medicine starts working or something. Midterms are next week and I can't focus on anything. i can't even write for fun tonight, and that is all I have been doing when I feel so bad lately. I keep feeling like everything is pointless. I begin writing and I am like "nothing is worth writing about. It is all the same, another depressed writer. Who cares?" The only thing I can do is sit here on my computer listening to music, and even that sucks. I feel bad not doing homework, but I just want to sleep.

I don't even have anything worth blogging about. I don't care, because it helps to distract me and helps the 2 people who actually read this understand more of how I feel. I wish I had something deep and insightful to say, but "Crawling in a hole and never coming out" is not well thought out advice to survive life, but that is all I can suggest to people. I hope everyone else is feeling better than I am, because I am thinking anything has to feel better than this, but I might be a selfish asshole who can't ever appreciate what I have... and has never had any real life or death problem in my life. What should I be complaining about? Unfortunately, it feels like everything.

Depression

I am sick of lying here cold,
lifeless, and without hope.
I shiver, but refuse to grab a blanket.
I can’t move on my own-
I can’t move alone.

My heavy head barks orders at my body.
It doesn’t respond from the paralysis
despair has caused on the weak flesh that imprisons me.
My dry eyes do not produce tears
and my shattered heart doesn’t bleed one drop.

I just stare at the ceiling that seems to remain
unchanged as the floor spins around me.
I don’t trust my vanishing points anymore,
because everything is an illusion.
Reality only exists in my mind,
and my mind destroys me more everyday.
Reality is crushing me heartlessly,
screaming, “see you in hell.”
It is like an angry child, protected in a cloud of selfish innocence,
crushing an ant without second thoughts or remorse.

Reality is angry, but I fail to comfort it.
I look it in the eyes sympathetically.
I try to embrace it in my arms,
but it beats me mercilessly to the ground
breaking my bones and spirit in one,
because mind and body are merely
two dependent parts that die together.
I am broken and dead,
but still breathing.

I lie there cold,
lifeless, and without hope.
I shiver, but refuse to grab a blanket.
I can’t move on my own-
I can’t move alone.

The Highlight of My Day

The Highlight of my day came when I read a small article in USA today about polar bears. I have always had a soft spot for the creatures, but it made me smile. I even laughed aloud when I read the last quote, because I can picture some stereotypical zoologist talking about first love experiences like an expert while wearing some type of safari uniform and sporting a Grizzly Adams beard. Oh how I love the thought of it!

Love Hurts for Memphis Polar Bear
***A Short Article from USA Today

Cranbeary, a 5-year-old polar bear, faces 10 weeks of recovery time in a cage away from her exhibit at the Memphis Zoo after an amorous hook-up with a visiting polar bear went bad, zoo officials said. A male polar bear who was trying to court her apparently pushed her offa 14-foot drop while playing this week, mammal curator Matt Thompson said. Crabeary had surgery Saturday to insert two steel plates and 26 screws to repair a broken leg. Payton, a 3-year-old male, is on loan from the Brookfield Zoo in Illinois as part of a breeding program. This may be both bears' first romance, and it got a little awkward, Thompson said.

I suppose the other highlight was when the nurse told me at my appointment that she could tell I was feeling better, because I looked healthier. I felt a sense of hope for the first time in a long time, because I now know that things are finally getting better.

More Pessimism

I am at a breaking point, but there is no need for concern because I think I am actually already past it. I am beyond caring or even making any effort to break down. I am just existing without a purpose and without feelings of joy. The worst part is there is nothing that can be done to feel better except wait. I am waiting, but it is getting more frustrating everyday. I thought I felt better somewhat today. I actually got six hours of sleep which is a little more normal than 4. I only woke up once in the night and was able to get back to sleep fairly quickly. I even took a nap which ranged anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. It is hard to tell because it takes me so long to fall asleep that I don't really know how long I sleep. It usually takes me an hour to fall asleep for a short nap, and at night it takes an hour to get to sleep if I stay up really late, but way longer than that if I try to go to bed at a normal time. I was feeling fairly normal today and pretty tired. I decided I would go to bed at 10:30 and wake up and study for my math quiz, because I function best in the mornings. I stayed in bed trying to sleep for an hour and a half and then was still wide awake. I decided I would take a shower so I could sleep later in the morning, since I definately wasnt going to fall asleep anytime soon. So here it is, at 2am, and I am wide awake yet extremely tired. I just feel so sad and it is a hopeless state of sadness. I try to think of happy thoughts of things that would normally make me feel better, but I am drowning in pessimism and I can't find solace in anything, anyone, or anywhere. It gives me a stomach ache thinking about it. Speaking of which, my apetite has been very strange. If I had the energy to work out I am sure I would be losing weight, but I haven't worked out all week, because I am so tired that I get dizzy with any sudden movement. I went to the hottub and sauna with some friends tonight really looking forward to relaxing, because my back and neck has been killing me. I felt really dizzy iafter the first two minutes in the sauna. I felt like a loser, because I had to leave after such a short time. It was embarrassing. I feel like my head has taken a life of its own and I have no say or control over it and it just feels weird and screams at me throughout the day, but I don't understand what it is telling me.

I have exhausted my life lines of people to call and e-mail. At this time of night, most normal people are either sleeping or drunk...neither of those options will help me feel better. I guess, that is where a blog comes in great. I can just complain about things to an imaginary audience, and if people don't like it then they don't have to read it. It is just a way for me to vent some of my suffering without feeling like a burden to anyone. I almost feel like I could go to bed right now, but my roommate will be back from the club soon, and I know that will just make me feel awake. I am going to wait until I am more certain that I will fall asleep, because lying there for so long just makes me feel tense and then I really can't get to sleep.

I am hoping this weekend to catch up on homework and sleep, but of course I said that last weekend and all I did was mope around while accomplishing absolutely nothing. I am having such a hard time, because all I do anymore is feel sorry for myself and like no one understands, but then I realize I am feeling sorry for myself, yet I can't cheer up or look on the bright side. It is a viscious cycle, because then I feel bad that I am feeling so sorry for myself. I just want to complain to everyone, because no one understands what is going on. It is not something that is easy to bring up to people who think they know me so well, so I find myself reaching out for a lot of people outside of my everyday support system who do not have anything invested in whether or not I am happy. It sucks though, because it is a big risk and it is tough to tell how people are going to respond. It's kind of a lose/lose situation, because it's like I can either keep it to myself and feel terrible and lonely, or I can tell someone about it, but then feel terrible because they don't know how to respond. I just keep waiting for some sort of miracle. I guess, it's not as bad as it sounds, because time is flying in a weird way. It's like I feel so awful and like there is no way I will ever get better, but then yet another week has passed. I guess it's just my way of numbing myself to get through it quicker.

There was an article in our paper about a student here committing suicide after years of depression and how serious it can be. It warned students to get help. I don't know what I would have done had I not gotten help. It is hard enough getting through it with help. I am still struggling to get through everyday. I can't imagine where I would be without doctors and therapists. I really felt for this kid. The obituary had quotes from his dad about how he loved working on cars and always kept his promises. They talked about what a good kid he was, but how he always struggled with depression for years. I really felt for the father and the boy. It seemed to come at a time when I really didn't want to see something like that, but maybe in this moment is the only time I could really express the proper sympathy about the situation, not that that benefitted anyone considering I never met the kid and no one that knew him would care what I thought about it. I just felt more at peace that I could express sympathy instead of fear. I think I always responded to people with depression or those who attempted suicide with fear, but that really is not the proper response. I was just sad for the boy and his family, but not afraid. It is really silly to be afraid of depression and feel fear after a suicide. I have always felt fear after I learn of a suicide. I think it was fear of what I couldn't understand. I was afraid of the world for it could cause such pain in people. I was afraid of what the final moments were like when I would wonder if they got afraid or changed their mind. I still have a little fear when I think about the last few minutes before someone committs suicide, but I think most people are so exhausted by that point in time that they don't feel anything. I guess, that means it is good that I still have enough energy to feel a slight discomfort at the thought. It lets me know I am still alive to some degree.

I just took a break to chat with Danny across the hall. I feel a little better, because it is so lonely staying up so late all of the time. My roommate just came in too, so I guess I should get ready for bed for a second time. I don't know what I want to do this weekend. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but I think I might finally be a little drowsy. I think I'll try to sleep like a normal person. That is really all I want right now.

Writers

went to hear an author speak today. I had not heard of him, but my roommate had to go for a class, and I am always down for hearing a published author speak. It felt so good to be in a room full of writers. I absolutely LOVE writers. They are all so strange and introverted. I feel like I fit in, as long as I don't have to talk about writing. I just like to sit in a room full of them and listen to their pens scribbling on their notebooks. I watch their tense bodies slowly relax as they allow their hearts to bleed upon their paper creating a beautiful, messy piece of art. If I had to be stuck somewhere without anyone to talk to for eternity, I think I would pick to be in a coffee shop surrounded by writers.

I have always been hesitant to claim that I am a writer to anyone, but especially to other writers, because I have such high opinions of them. It makes me feel inadequate to claim the title, but really a writer is just someone who writes regularly…so yeah, I am a writer. I might not be a very good one, but I love it.

I think anyone can write and become a skilled writer with practice, good feedback, and good writing teachers. I was getting more confident about conferencing with other writers from my conferences with a local author last year in my Independent Study Writing class. I loved doing that. It was so intimidating, but extremely rewarding. I would sit there shaking as she would analyze my every word and ask me questions about personal meanings. I would nearly have a breakdown, but I loved it. I miss doing that so much. I don't have anyone to conference with anymore, and I am too intimidated to join the writers group here until I take more English classes. I feel like my writing is getting worse, because I don't do it enough and I don't receive feedback anymore.

I couldn't help but notice in the author's essay about his trip to Auschwitz, that he showed so many signs of isolation and depression. He talked about God in both his essay and the excerpt from his novel. Both his essay and novel were incredibly dark and depressing and showed signs of isolation (big surprise, another cliché writer that can't function in the regular world without pills). I enjoyed his dark religious references, probably because those are the only ones that ever feel real to me. I have never been one for the cheesy "oh we are all going to have wings and sunbathe on clouds," type of thing. He wrote about God with certainty though, which surprised me with his depressing style of writing. From my experience (which is not the only way to experience things), depression and religion can't go together. I just don't see how they could. The inability to feel completely happy without seeing that gloomy cloud following me, waiting to pour down, is not an acceptable way to feel according to most religions. Shame and remorse is encouraged for not appreciating things, even if biologically a person just can't feel good. I really enjoyed a part from his essay where he talked about how basically writers are losers and can't excel at anything else so they write, because they don't know any other way to find meaning. He had a soft voice and I loved listening to him, but my mind was not functioning properly due to my lack of sleep and new medication. I could not think like I normally would, but I noticed how I enjoyed his voice. He was a gruff looking man with a stereotypical black fleece sweatshirt. I liked that such a sweet voice came from a gruff man.

I have been writing a lot with all of my sleepless nights, but it is not much of quality. I think that is good, because it shows I don't have much to be afraid of losing. I have this fear that once my mood starts to stabilize that I won't be able to write anymore. I think that is a common misconception with writers, or any artists. Those crazy introverted writers…how do they make it through the day?

I Think I See the Flashlight?

The past couple of weeks have been really tough, especially the last week. I don't remember the last time I felt quite that low, but what made me feel so low is that I remember feeling like that for oh so long. When I say that I felt depressed, I feel like that term is overused and has so many stigmas attached to it that it doesn't help people to understand. It doesn't help that for so long I blamed myself and felt guilty for feeling so low. I would feel bad, because I know that I am pretty fortunate. I felt like an asshole who doesn't appreciate what I have, everytime I felt depressed. I always felt like I had to put on a happy face and stop feeling sorry for myself, and that takes so much energy and leads to me feeling worse. This week it got to the point where it was so bad that I stopped caring. I didn't feel the need to pretend I felt good. I didn't sleep much all week, even when I had the assisstance of Tylenol PM, although that is the only way I got up to 6 hours of sleep, which was a miracle compared to what I had been getting. I think it was good that the depression finally broke me down so that I had to stop pretending. My therapist thinks it has to be biological and I have an appointment to start anti-depressants on Monday. I still do not feel myself today, but I have been working out whenever I can this week, because the hour I would spend working out was really the only hour I would feel good every day. I couldn't do homework this week, because my mind was racing about everything. That is why my therapist thinks it is biological, because I have had no catastrophe that would be causing me to have such a restless mind. It is just happening. I have been moping around feeling sorry for myself, and I know that I am doing that, but I can't help it. It seriously was just too draining to do anything but listen to music and write. I would try, but it was too much. He also thinks that it is kind of a depression that works in cycles. It is on for a few weeks off for a few, but there is always a cloud of gloom, even when I feel happy. He said that is really common amongst people who suffer depression, that they can be happy and laugh like everyone else, but even in the moments of joy they know sadness is not far away and as soon as they stop laughing they feel it.

I think it is worse to feel like I have a lot of people supporting me, but still feel alone than actually being alone. Talking to people this week was a nightmare. I don't think I felt even a little better after talking to anyone, in fact most of the time I just felt worse. It is frustrating, because most people do not understand and their solutions for me are not adequate. I have heard so many things that make me feel awful. The number one thing I heard from people was to stop thinking so much, as if I can just tell my brain to shut down and go to sleep. When is thinking a bad thing? I am sure some of the greatest thinkers had many sleepless nights, not saying that I think I am a great thinker, but I do think it makes me a better thinker by experiencing this type of sleeplessness. I would rather be fully aware of what is happening to me so that I can be with each moment for a while, than just let things happen to me because I make quick decisions out of fear or because it is what everyone else wants for me. I have done that for far too long. I also received a lot of pitty, which is not what I wanted either. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, because that makes me feel worse, since I am aware that I do not deserve it.

My therapist said that the reason so many people have a hard time understanding mental health problems, especially depression, is because they like drama in their life that they can relate to, and for many people that is the type of drama that you can see on TV. The drama on TV is exciting for a lot of people so they like having dramatic situations that can make them feel like their favorite tv characters. Depression, however, does not make much of a TV show. Someone lying around all of the time and staying up extremely late doing absolutely nothing, does not make for a good TV show. It is actually rather boring. I felt like I was on another planet when I tried to explain to people inside of my support system about how awful I was feeling. I do not even know that I can put it into words. I think I am finally starting to feel a little better, enough to hopefully study for my psych exam tomorrow. I still feel gloomy, but at least I feel okay. I feel like I can focus a little better, and although i still feel sad. I do not feel as angry at everyone, which is a start. I get angrier at religion and religious people everyday, which is not good, but I think maybe it is a step towards healing from all of the things I was trying to deny.

I am looking forward to Spring Break. I am going to New Orleans with a Habitat for Humanity group from Siena. I think that will be really good for me, but I hope I am emotionally strong enough to help others in a month. I hope that anti-depressant kicks in by then, because I think that has the potential to really do some good for me. Maybe it will wake me up spiritually or something like that.

I Do Not Sleep

I’m restless, but oh so tired.
I haven’t slept right for far too long.
My body tries to produce tears,
but instead my dry eyes burn.
My heart is heavy and my stomach hurts from falling,
clumsily, desperately, and unaware of-
where I will land or who will catch me.
It doesn't matter now.

I remember those goddamn words,
“I’m so ashamed of you.”
They ring in my ears as if I am still four years old,
crying from the guilt. I felt humiliated.
I experienced my first feeling of regret at the age of four
when I introduced myself to guilt.
I have not been able to rid myself of it,
because we’ve been inseparable since that bittersweet day.
We know eachother so well that its presence comforts me
when I am scared and in unknown places.

On that horrid day,
she took me into her warm arms that served as a band-aid.
I found solace in its flesh-color,
because it helped mask my disturbing wounds.
It helped protect my scrapes of guilt,
but not enough to keep them from
turning into cuts that scar.

I lay my heavy head upon my pillow.
I feel my heart break out of exhaustion
from holding itself together for too long.
It bleeds. I am bleeding. I do not feel any pain.
I do not feel. I do not cry. I do not sleep.

Wild Mind

I have been in a very strange mood the last week and a half, but especially the last few days. I haven't been sleeping well at all. Once I get to sleep I am okay, but my mind has been racing for days. Last night I was so tired, but all I wanted to do was think. I tried to read for class around 1am. I was able to force myself to get through the story, but barely. I then wrote for a while to clear my head, but I then decided at 1:45 I would listen to my ipod and just lay there on the couch for fifteen minutes and go to bed at two. That somehow turned into an hour of listening to music until 3am. My mind was still racing, but I decided to go to bed, because I had to wake up at 9. I tossed and turned for probably another hour, but I lost count and decided to change my alarm to 9:30am. I expected to be groggy and grumpy this morning, because I had been feeling so low and I slept even less the night before. Usually two sleepless nights makes me crazy, but I actually felt okay when I woke up. My mind started racing again. It has been since. I worked out so intensely today though. It was probably my best work out since I have come to school. I put on some weight since I came here... as most people know. I think I am losing it though. I think because my mind was so distracted that I was able to just push myself beyond what I normall would. It helped clear my mind for about ten minutes, but it felt good. I now have homework to do, but I am tired and I know I won't be able to sleep again, so I might as well save it for later. I don't know that I could concentrate if I wanted to anyway.


I have been doing so much writing these days and nights where my mind is wild. I love it, because I have missed writing so much, but I can't focus on anything else. I will be at the library or in the study room and I just end up writing for fun, because I can't focus on my homework. I feel like I have been on caffeine for days, but I haven't had any since Sunday night. I just feel jittery and tired, but my mind won't slow down. I am relieved to have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow, because I think he will be able to help me. Things have turned very dark and unhealthy somewhere since my last appointment, and I don't know why. I am not necessarily unhappy, because I honestly had a great timeand felt happy in Ann Arbor. It was such a nice break from normality. It felt great to spend time with Adam, and I got to see Kristin for a little bit, plus the concert was everything I hoped it would be. I was especially impressed with Jackie Greene and Martha Wainwright. It was very entertaining though. It was also great to become a little more comfortable with my former Bio instructor since I am supposed to start tracking with her this Friday. I am still pretty nervous, but at least I know how laid back she is now. I think she will be understanding and that will be good to help build my confidence.

Things are so weird. I am blown away with how things happen and work out. Last night I received a phone call from a friend of a friend inviting me to some type of nun training conference that is open to outsiders. I am so fed up with religion right now, but I am actually considering it just because I can attend it as a non-Catholic and observe. I thought that I have not changed much in my thoughts when people told me that I had, because I thought that I had just grown more comfortable with expressing them, but that they were always there. Now I am thinking that they are right. I have changed, and I like it. I would not want to go back to last year after having learned everything I have now. I am beginning to see more and more truth everyday. The truth can hurt, but it is better to live with more sadness and truth, then illusion because then the happy moments that come around are really mine to own. Not that I was't ever happy last year, but I feel like a lot of my happiness last year may have been happiness built on illusions, because I was too afraid to see things for what they were. I did not own my happiness and I denied any dissatisfaction in hopes it would go away. It doesn't just go away. I have to face it head on. I am doing that and seeing things for what they are more and more. I think everyone needs to strip down all of their false securities and just dive in to everything they are avoiding...with the help of a trained professional, of course. I hope that by stripping down all of my pride and image that I can come back stronger and more complex. If only my complex thoughts could tone it down before 4am so I can sleep like a normal person, or at least do homework. Just think, if I was doing homework all that time, I would be kicking ass in my classes.

Burning in Hell

It is getting more and more challenging for me to believe in anything along the lines of religion. I believe in some type of goodness that connects humanity to one another. I still feel the idea that someone is always watching me and judging my thoughts. It makes me paranoid and constantly feeling guilt, because I think I need to show shame and sorrow for any bad thoughts I have, despite the fact that I never act on them. Everyone has bad thoughts that they control. I just feel bad about mine, because I remember so passionately repeating the prayer of repentance at church where it asks for forgiveness for sins in our THOUGHTS and in our words. I took that very literally growing up. Ever since I can remember, I have tried to have "perfect" thoughts for this angry masculine God that everyone told me about, because I did not want to burn in Hell.

Speaking of Hell, I don't believe in it. I don't know what I believe about the afterlife or if it even exists, but I find Hell to be very contradictory to all Religions' central focus of love. If this universal God really is so loving and compassionate above any human ability, then how could people be sent to an eternity of suffering? Life is suffering enough. Is it really necessary to add fire? Now, people constantly remind me, "What about Hitler? He should go to Hell." I agree that personally, in my humanness, I would like to think that someone as cold and cruel as Hitler would suffer tremendously for what he did. I would like to remind you that I am not God (in case you forgot). Even I feel a little bad about anyone (even Hitler) burning forever. It's really a cruel way to punish people. If God is as above humanity as I have been told, then this universal God should feel compassion and understanding for Hitler's sick upbringing and mental issues (even though, I sure as hell don't). The same type of compassion should be displayed with all people who most would consider evil or bad. Sure, there are some people out there that do some TERRIBLE things that I can't imagine one human being could do to another. I can't stand to think about the terrible things people do to each other. In my humanness I wish there was a way to have them feel what they have done to other people, but isn't revenge a human emotion? So where does Hell fit in? It doesn't.

I had a dream last night that I was in some sort of circle at a party with a few religious people. I made some irreverent comment about religion, and everyone grew very angry with me. They kept telling me how wrong I was and that I better pray for forgiveness if I didn't want to go to Hell. I felt guilt in my dream, but then I remember I was trying to stand up for myself anyway, despite feeling bad about what I said (I don't even remember what I said. The dream was more focused on the reaction). I kept stuttering and stammering, trying to defend my actions, but they weren't getting it. They were just making me feel worse about it. The dream ended with me alone in my dorm room feeling like there was no one to pray to, and that resulted from my actual feeling last night when I was alone before bed. It must have carried over into my dream. Everything is going fine right now, but it doesn't feel like it sometimes. I had a great time at theo folk festival. I really liked all of the acts, but especially Jackie Greene, Martha Wainwright, and Rufus. They were all amazing. The sound was really good at Hill. It was one of the most lovely evenings I have had in quite a while. I don't really have a ton of work to do this weekend, but I feel like I am not doing enough. I am feeling like I should be doing more. It is just that awful idea that I have to be suffering and working really hard to earn happiness, good grades, or whatever it is that I want. Everything has a price, right?

Pessimism

Everything has been going abnormally well, but now I feel like something bad is going to happen. I feel very nervous and culpable at this exact moment. It just came out of nowhere, because I was just feeling so happy and thinking about how well things were going. I don’t know why this happens. I was just thinking about how well I was doing, so well in fact that my therapist decided to reduce my appointments to every other week. When I was remembering this, I felt proud. He said that I was very perceptive of my own feelings, and that I seemed to be able to come up with the answers of what I should do on my own. He identified my problem of not trusting myself, and he gave me a few things to practice towards dealing with that, but now I still feel unequipped to deal with everything on my own. I started feeling panicky when I thought about not going to therapy. The last two times I had breaks from therapy, I saw a noticeable drop in my mood. Granted, they were longer time periods off of therapy, but it scares me where my mind can carry me when I’m alone. I love being alone and letting my mind wander, though. It is like I am a daredevil that is reckless with my thoughts. I just jump into any dangerous thought process like I am unbreakable. Is it stupidity or bravery? I do not know.

I identified certain mixed messages I have been sent, as well as my pattern of seeking two negative messages (usually in the form of guilt) but then allowing myself to find one positive message. It is obsessive the way that I do this subconsciously. I know how people will respond to different things, so I am able to continuously seek the same pattern of two negatives followed by a positive. It is not a healthy way to live, but maybe identifying it will hopefully help me change this. It is tough though, because I do it without thinking.

I am disappointed that I did not hear back from the priest at church. I e-mailed him an e-mail complaining about the homophobic pamphlet that I found outside of his office. It disappointed me, because I had heard such good things about him being accepting. The e-mail I sent was not condescending. I thought I was able to be strong and express my opinions, but still convey that I cared and admired him. I told him that I thought it reflected our church poorly. I don’t know if it was naïve of me to think that he would respond. It might have been me trying to live in my childhood, where I trusted the church to save me and lead me with what was right or wrong. I knew they made a mistake, but I think my trust and love for child-like faith led me to believe they would rise above it and display humility. Now, I don’t know that I want to return to church for a while. I want to wait until I can look the priest in the eyes and not feel ashamed. I don’t know why I feel ashamed. It might be because he now knows that I am not the “perfect smiling girl” that would sit in the balcony alone at mass on Saturday nights. I know deep down though that I should not be embarrassed for expressing my beliefs, but I feel ashamed nonetheless. Maybe it is that I feel humiliated for being naïve enough to think the church I grew up in, or any church could be humble and rise above politics. I don’t know why I am not content with my own beliefs. I guess it goes back to me not trusting myself. I need to feel like I fit in a group in order to feel validated in my beliefs, but no one religion can provide that. I know that I am spiritual. I love people and believe in something bigger connecting us, but I think I feel the need to pick a label because everyone else is so concerned about giving me a label. Get over it that I don’t call myself a Christian anymore and I am not a goddamn atheist…apparently that makes me an agnostic according to everyone else. Guess what, agnostic is just a label for a bunch of misfits that can’t claim a religion or don’t care enough to pick something. I am definitely a misfit with religion, but it is not because I do not care to pick a side. It is the fact that I don’t think either side is right. I think they are both missing a lot. Do I really need to pick a label to make everyone feel better about where I am? I don’t think that makes me an agnostic. An agnostic says maybe to it all, but I say No to it all. I say there is something more beautiful that everyone is missing. I know people who have found what I am seeking through religion and others who have found it through atheism. I think that is fantastic, but I do not think that claiming a label is what makes them feel awakened to the beauty. I think maybe it helps them explain it to people who don’t get it, but I think me not claiming a label is the best thing I can do for me. I should tell everyone to F-off, but unfortunately I stammer and stutter trying to defend my beliefs while they go assessing me and telling me which group I belong in. I have honestly heard it all,

“Aimee, you are a Catholic/Christian. You have very Catholic/Christian beliefs and practices. Why are you trying to deny that?”

“Aimee, just admit you are an atheist. Seriously, you are just clinging to Christianity out of fear.”

"Aimee, you are agnostic. Stop trying to be an individual, when really you are just agnostic."


It is all so shallow and draining.

On a lighter note, I got a job as an assistant to my Biology lab instructor. I will be helping her track wolves to see if they are migrating from the U.P down the lower. I am really nervous and not very confident about it, but I am excited because I am hoping that it will be just what I need to give me extra confidence, and it will give me more of a sense of purpose up at school.

Emotional Strength

I've been thinking a lot about what makes a person emotionally strong. I am beginning to wonder if an individual can even be considered emotionally strong. In reality as human beings we have to deal with any tragedy that comes our way, whether we want to or not. I used to think of two different scenarios for someone I would admire for emotional strength. The first one would be that the individual appeared to deal with situations better than everyone else. They would be the one not crying when everyone was weeping and trying to be optimistic. I know several people like that in my life, and when I have had the rare instance of seeing them cry it kills me. It's like I think if the people I look to for emotional strength are breaking, then the world must really be screwed. I get that feeling of hopelessness in my stomach when I look into their tear filled eyes. It makes me think, "this is life," which is very pessimistic, but it's like all of my optimism vanishes when the optimist is crying. I think those rare instances of strong people in my life crying are some of the most beautiful moments in my life, but also some of the most devastating.

The other example of someone I would normally consider emotionally strong is someone who has dealt with a lot of things in their life or deals with some major tragedy. I always think, "Wow, they are so strong. I could never deal with my mom dying," or something like that, but the truth is I would have to. What other option is there? Granted, some people deal with things better than others. I realize some people choose not to deal with their tragedies and choose a life of drugs or alcohol, or even to take their own life. That causes more tragedies in this battle of life we are all in together. Is someone emotionally strong for just getting through life? Can an individual be emotionally stronger than another? What if we are all emotionally strong just for living and getting through whatever tragedy comes our way. The truth is, death is inevitable. We will all lose people we think we can't live without, and one day we will pass. I think that makes everyone pretty damn amazing.

I am coming to the conclusion that human beings are naturally emotionally strong. The old emotionally strong character in my mind, which never cries, except for extreme tragedy, might not be so strong after all. I do not cry much, and I don't think that means I am emotionally strong at all. I think it means I am content numbing myself through life, which I am beginning to learn, is not the answer to getting through things. We need to feel, even if that means extreme pain sometimes. I was always told the best way out is through, thanks to Mr. Emerson, and I think that is true. The only way to get out of struggle is to experience it and get through it. My friend Kristin told me that numbing myself is the easy way out, and I don't want to do it anymore. It scares me to feel, but as I am looking for a role model that is emotionally strong, there is not one. There is no right way to deal with pain. I can tell you some ways that probably aren't so good, but some people need to make mistakes to learn from them. That is probably better than my perfectionist fear that desires to keep me numb and keeps me avoiding anything that could be too good or bad for me. It's a New Year I am sure I will continue to grow emotionally, or maybe I won't. It seems many adults haven't emotionally evolved from 18, but that makes me sound like a jerk for noticing. If it makes amends for that last statement, sometimes I think I am emotionally immature. All of my friends told me after I experienced a tragedy that made me weep, that I would never go back to the numb, insensitive person that never cries when I should. I wept when my grandma died this summer...a lot. In fact, I haven't cried since. I guess, my friends were wrong, and I did regress to the insensitive character again that turns the TV on when my friend is bawling about her ex-boyfriend. I have so much work to do, but admitting that is the first step, right?

Pride Vomit

I am reading “Blue Like Jazz” by Donald Miller and I started rereading Natalie Goldberg “The Great Failure, because April returned it today. I realized I was just reading it to numb myself in that moment. I didn’t actually comprehend what I was reading in either of them (I tried both), because I realized I was trying to cover up the fact that I felt an extreme emotion that made me feel a need to release a bunch of negative energy. It was like I wanted to cry, and I didn’t know why. It scared me, to be honest. I went to tea with April today, and I was slightly disappointed in myself that I was not getting into any of the issues really bothering me when talking to her today. I hadn’t seen her since California, which was really a long time ago (Early September). She was always someone who could really make me feel in touch with my spirituality, and I was scared that because I was not feeling that spark of enthusiasm that I used to feel when talking to her, that I had really lost all sense of faith. On the way home I knew I had to tell her I was spiritually numb to the point of feeling dead and that I didn’t know how to fix it, if I wanted to keep that honesty going with her, and get rid of that feeling of hopelessness. It was embarrassing and made me so vulnerable. I didn’t know what I wanted her to say or do. I just let it come up like vomit, because I know once I feel nauseous I can either make the decision to throw up, but once I make that decision and arrive at a toilet, there is no changing my mind. The other option is to force myself to hold it in, and then it comes up full force later with or without my permission. It was like I needed to vomit my pride and I didn’t want to, but I could feel the sick feeling in my stomach getting worse, and I didn’t know when I would be at a spiritual toilet again. Maybe that’s not the most flattering metaphor, calling April a spiritual toilet, but the sick feeling and vomiting is right on and she is the only one that I can allow that sick bile to come up for. It’s like everyone else is a brand new car or clean white carpet, so I force myself to hold it in, until I am so sick that I don’t know what to do.

After vomiting my pride all over myself, April didn’t look at me disgusted like any other normal person would. She looked at me with compassion and understanding and offered to meet with me next week to talk about alternate ways to keep the spark going so that I can stay warm and stop feeling so cold and numb. Who else would offer their time like that? The thing is, when I entered my house alone, I realized I was covered in pride vomit and I had the strong urge to cry. It was like after being really sick, when I want to cry, but I don’t know if it is because of what I just went through, fear of it happening again, or just exhaustion. What disturbs me is how quick I was to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening. I quickly got online to talk to people, and then started reading the books to distract my mind. I had no desire to figure out why I was so sick and why I felt the need to cry. I didn’t cry of course, I am far too numb to cry. I haven’t cried in ages. When I was reading I couldn’t concentrate. I then realized how desperate I was to go back to feeling numb. I thought I was done feeling numb or depressed, because I have been happy being home. I feel safe, appreciative, and comfortable at home with old friends and family. I thought that meant I was better, but I realized that it just is a comfortable numb. I still am spiritually empty and that feels lonely. It seems I am better at pushing my need for spirituality to the side than I used to be, because I am so angry at religion and the religious individuals in my life that have let me down. It’s like I am so angry that I am denying myself the joys I used to feel from religion as well. I really don’t know what to do about that.

I love people, and I think there is a need for spirituality and connections with all people. I don’t feel that same kind of love being returned from everyone (naturally, everyone can't love me), and it is hard for me. I think I am overly empathetic and just too wrapped up in denying my real wants and needs, because I am afraid of being unlovable, so I desire affirmation from everyone. I can only think of one or two people who I knew of that didn’t like me, and they were both because of boys I was dating, and while that sounds EXTREMELY vein, I am saying it to show my weakness. I don’t think that means I am extra special or extra nice, I think it just means that I am always bending over backwards and walking on egg shells to accommodate everyone. I know it goes back to catechism and how I got the impression that in order to be a good person, I had to turn the other cheek when someone hit me, give everything I have, and let people abuse me. I am not saying that I do all of those things and that I am perfect, but I think that I still struggle to do all of that stuff and when I do not do that, I feel guilty and like I am letting people down, maybe even letting God down, even though I say I do not believe in the Christian idea of God, but it is hard to get rid of the judgmental God that was taught to me my whole life. The thing is, my parents did not encourage that much, and I do not blame them. I think I just took everything to heart that my catechism teachers said, and I over-think everything. It is emotionally scarring, because I feel like I will never be a good person, unless I give up my life for others. People comfort me now, saying “Oh you are a good person,” but that is only because I am so desperate to make everyone happy. It is almost selfish, because it is for my own sense of satisfaction. I validate myself as a person on whether or not I am a “good person,” which to me is a demented Catholic view of a Saint. It is an unrealistic goal that leaves me continuously falling short and feeling like shit. It is unhealthy, but it is like any obsessive thought process. I know it is irrational, and people can tell me to stop thinking like that, but I can’t change it. That’s why I am in therapy. I am trying to change it.

Out of the Groove

I don't know a whole lot, but it never fails to amaze me how the absolute best moments grow from some of the worst. I have been in a very numb place for a while. I didn't really feel a whole lot about anything. I wasn't sad or happy, but just existing. I think I was just frozen in time until I could adjust and wrap my mind around what was happening in my life. I am still not overflowing with emotion, but I do know that it feels good to be home. I already feel like I am recharging after a tough semester. I have come to the overall conclusion that I like college though, it just was a big adjustment. I am trying to get my friend Dashon to get a blog. He has been writing a lot, and I think it would benefit him to have a community that can offer feedback on his thoughts.

I have not been writing much with exams and everything, and I feel like I have gotten out of the groove of it. I feel like I should only publish if I have something worth writing about, but I am so selective and picky now that I never end up writing anything. Maybe I will begin thinking carefully about some blog worthy topics that get me writing more. Until then, enjoy break!