Another Entry I'm too Tired to Proof Read

My computer has been in and out of the Apple Repair shop three different times. I did not blog during all of this, and that is why.

I am taking a lot of things in--learning to feel again. It can be very positive or incredibly painful. The way my spirit can die and be reborn intrigues and amazes me. I am so different from the person I was 6 months ago. My priorities, my beliefs, me friendships, my ideas about relationships, and my poetry are all changed.

I am less anxious since everything I have been through. I think hitting the bottom helped me realize that I can still push off of it to surface and breathe--makes it seem less scary. My anxiety is still very real, but it is less paralyzing. A good example is when I drove to Ann Arbor last week. I am still too anxious to drive downtown, and I was a little anxious driving to the mall. Once I did it, I was so proud of myself and confident. I bought myself a shirt as a reward, and I was able to talk myself out of the guilt I felt for spending money I don't have.

I'm eating Sun Chips right now, and I wonder why I can't lose the ten pounds my meds caused me to gain. Today my mom bought me new bras and pants because I am too big for all of them. It's nice to have pants that fit, but it was discouraging to try on a pair that was still too tight in the thighs. It made me want to cry, because I can't find bras or jeans that fit right because my body has changed so much. I have been doing a really great job at sticking with working out. My arms are stronger than they have been since High School. I haven't seen as much results with the cardio workouts I do, but I am amazed at how fast we can improve at lifting. Seeing such quick and drastic results from lifting weights with my arms, has given me concrete evidence of my health improving. Sometimes it is easy for me to think I am still sick as ever, but thinking about how much stronger I am, both physically and mentally, keeps me from relapsing because I realize what a long way I have come.

I am off for the evening. I have a busy day tomorrow: ride bike to work out, bike home, shower, make Ashley a card for her nun party, do hair/make up, get dressed up, and attend mass where she makes her vows, eat dinner there, party with the nuns, and before I know it, it will be night time :)

I work in one small town.

I got a new battery for my computer and replaced the CD drive. It is wonderful to have a fully functioning computer again. It's especially enjoyable if I accidently bump the chord and my whole computer doesn't shut down.

I am falling asleep. My night time meds are very powerful. Almost too powerful. I don't like how tired they make me. I feel like I'm not in control when I take them. I just fall asleep anywhere and everywhere. I usually don't go to bed until around 10:30, so I'm trying to make myself stay awake until then.

I've been coloring a lot lately. I like crayons. I am frustrated by unsharpened crayons, but I like the image and symbolism behind dull crayons. In fact, I'd like to find a place for dull crayons in a poem. Speaking of poems, I worked on/wrote anywhere from 2-5 poems. I was a hermit all weekend--in this sort of manic, "don't bother me--I'm writing" phase. Those instances are rare but rewarding, especially after such a long, frustrating type writer's block.

I would like to be writing a poem right now. I have an idea for the subject, emotions, and endings. I can't figure out how to start. I can't figure out the best way to articulate my feelings because they are so specific. It's hard to be passionate and creative when I'm having trouble keeping my eyes opened. I've been told by many people that I look stoned at night when my drugs are kicking in. It really is embarrassing if I don't know the people I am with very well. They will be talking and I just start dozing off in the middle.

Today at work, I was frustrated by a conversation some coworkers and I had about therapists. They asked about my brother's job. Then one young woman I work with said, "How do you get someone to go to therapy?" I said that if the person is an adult, you can't make them go. You can try to help them understand that therapy is healthy for anyone and everyone. People assume you need to be desperate, crazy, or overly-emotional or angry. I talked about how I would like to reduce the stigmas attached to mental health problems (not admitting my own struggles with them), and one of my coworkers talked about a family from her small town that went to family counseling. They talked about how much this family fought. Not only was I frustrated that they were judging this family for getting help, but I was frustrated that they could only give one example of one family. Are they really that sheltered from the harsh reality of mental health struggles? I wish I could talk to them each one-on-one and explain that I have struggles and still function okay. I think it would really blow their mind to know I have such severe depression because I make sure to be joyful for the children and polite to my coworkers every day. They think I'm extra "nice" or something like that. It feels like high school again where everyone has these expectations for me that I cannot live up to.

I really need to go. I am falling asleep. i am not rereading this because I can't even stay awake to hardly type this.

Advice to Young Poets

by Martin Espada

Never pretend

to be a unicorn

by sticking a plunger on your head

Just don't give a ---- (Eminem Title for you non-Eminem listeners)

I am not a point where blogging sounds appealing. I am only writing this because it has been so long. I feel tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated most days...not to mention, a little apathetic. The idea of writing down how I feel for other people just sounds like unnecessary effort right now.

Work is stressful these days. I feel overwhelmed a lot, but I love those kids more than they could imagine. They sometimes make me feel like I have a reason for living. I don't want to type more about my job, but there are always plenty of stories from the kids.

I'm isolating myself a lot. I stay busy with work, so quiet time is nice. This is all lame. I'm not writing much of substance.

At work, we had a discussion about Eminem, and I went on this passionate rant about how much I enjoy the way he plays with words. Everyone was surprised that I like Eminem so much when I am the "liberal feminist crazy" in a small town school. I will say that I can understand why people are confused about me being both a feminist and Eminem fan. It's very complex to explain. I would actually like to write an essay and use quotes from his songs. He certainly uses hateful words and is degrading to women, but if you listen to all of his songs, and not just one out of context of the album, you will see that he is passionate, self-reflecting, depressed, funny, lonely, and sensitive. He is one of the only rappers I know who openly admits about crying in so many of his songs. He also says these hateful things about his wife, but then openly admits his hypocrisy in a song, "When I'm Gone"-- He talks about how he is ignoring his daughter to write songs where he then says that he loves her so much and talks about how he causes her pain by rapping about hurting her mother who is a "spitting image" of her.

I understand people are worried about Eminem's hateful songs. Hate is horribly scary. I understand the power of words. It terrifies me to think that people listen to Eminem's songs and take them literally or try to mimic them. He does encourage homophobic, misogynistic thinking on the surface. It is kind of like racy comedians like Sarah Silverman. If you understand their image/act, it's great entertainment, but there is the risk that some ignorant people will quote what they say in a literal sense. In the song Eminem did over the old AeroSmith "Sing for the Moment" song, he says, "If my music is literal, then I'm a criminal, how the F*** could I raise a little girl? I couldn't. I wouldn't be fit to..."

I know some people who are on the other end and talk about his genius. I think he is brilliant with words and rhythm, but he is not trained as a writer, and it shows. Sure, he has cliches and inappropriate usage of swearing, but if you can get past that, he plays with words, rhythms, letter sounds, and content better than many poets. On the way to work, I try to keep up with Eminem rapping on some of my favorite tracks. It is incredibly hard; I am really proud that I can keep up while he raps a couple of first verses in songs.

I realize most people will not take this seriously, but when I get my CD burner fixed, I will gladly burn people an Eminem mix with an annotated list of songs, explaining what lyrics to pay attention to, which allusion is which, and maybe you will not write him off as another celebrity with no talent. I know too many activists who write him off too fast. Respecting his passion and talent can lead to reaching groups of people with ideas about love and respect that might not otherwise listen. I am very tired because my meds are kicking in. I hope this makes sense, I'm not rereading it. I'm going to bed. ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZzzZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzz

Healing (For Real This Time)

Well, I can't believe I have to report I spent ten more days in the hospital since the last post. It didn't feel like ten days, though. The days all blur together in there. Not going outside will do that to a person, I guess.

I feel like it's redundant for me to say that this third hospitalization was traumatic to the point of feeling unbearable at points, but still a positive experience in the long run. I realize I said the exact same thing after the first two. Each hospitalization took me further and further into my mind, digging at layers and layers that were covered in dust and spiders. This stay turned out to be the most intense of them, because I was forced to completely break down. I couldn't hide behind any protective layering anymore because I was incredibly desperate for a change with this being my third stay. One day I will write about the little details, conversations with staff, therapists, the psychiatrist, strip-searches, and my 30 minute crying spell where the nurses wouldn't leave me alone. I hope to write about it in the fall when I take my creative non-fiction course. Until then, I am not ready to write about all of that.

I honestly can't believe I have continued to fight and survive such trecherous waters. I am participating in a partial hospitalization program that is really helping me gain confidence in my ability to heal. I felt so hopeless for so long that it wasn't until yesterday when my therapist asked me how I could still believe I wouldn't get better when I already was getting better. I don't think it was just that comment that led to my good day and new found hope yesterday. We also had a very intense group therapy session that had most people choked up. The session made me incredibly angry--almost to the point of tears, but the point of the session was for us to acknowledge, accept, and not judge our feelings. I allowed myself to be angry, and it proved to be very healing.

Yesterday was the first day I could confidently say, "I had a good day" after. I was smiling a genuine smile due to my new hope, I laughed genuinely with Laura which was incredibly good, considering it was our last night together until August (unless I can afford a trip to N. Carolina). It's funny that we have only been friends for a little over a year, but due to our love for intense conversations and truth, in addition to the convenience of living 3 blocks away from each other--we've gotten used to seeing each other every day, even learned to depend on seeing each other every day. I think the summer will be a great opportunity for us both to heal and grow independently, yet still remain best friends. A group of us went to dinner to say goodbye to Laura. Then, she and I went skateboarding in the parking lot across from my house. I found five dollars in the grass on the way there. I thought, "wow this really is my first good day."

After skateboarding, Tammy and Danielle joined us for some good ol' fashion fun of watching capsules with sponge creatures inside desolve in hot water inside of our big, bright blue cookie bowl. We tried to guess which capsule would be which creature. I cheated and guessed mine was one of three creatures...it proved to be none of the three.

Today at partial, I slept nearly all day during the groups. I think it was the time changes the doctor made in my medication and the fact that I took my night time meds later last night so I could stay up to hang out with Tammy and Laura for one last night. I can't believe how I would just dose during our meetings. I slept through a video too. I felt like I was 95, or something of the sort.

Friday will be my last day of the partial program. I am much healthier or confident than I have been in ages, but I'm still nervous to return to the real world. It's amazing how emotionally and physically draining mental illness can be. After all of that, I will move home. It won't be long and I will start work. I hope the kiddies can help my healing process. They are just overflowing with love. It's contagious.

How Does it Feel?

I spent another 8 days in the hospital since the last entry. The second hospitalization was just as life-changing and traumatic as the first one. I not only hit rock bottom, but was dragged along it--unfazed by the scrapes, burns, and even broken bones. Despite the hospital experiences contributing to, even causing, the broken bones and trauma, I know my experiences there were incredibly powerful and positive. I just can't believe how my perspective, priorities, relationships, and writing has changed in such a quick time. 

I'm currently not writing. I'm still pretty fragile and wounded from the hospital. It's hard to have any sort of obligations, even when it's something I enjoy. In fact, I didn't even want to write this. I am fighting my apathy and lack of concentration because I need creative outlets in my life. I feel creatively dead, but I am starting to get excited for my creative rebirth. I feel it coming. I know I have good material inside me. I also wanted to write this because there has been a lot of unease amongst my friends and family. Most people can't connect with what I experienced, so they feel distant. 

The first hospitalization was not planned, so I received a lot of criticism for not letting my loved ones know how bad I was feeling. I explained that I do not like to burden people, and I can tell who genuinely wants to know how I feel and who doesn't. Plus, I knew they wouldn't understand. A friend of mine said, "You didn't give us a chance to understand." I really took that to heart. 

After the first hospitalization, I let everyone know how I was doing if they asked. I told many people I was not functioning, eating, and I was scared that I would have to go back to the hospital. Many of those same people did not follow up with questions of how I was doing after that. They couldn't understand, as I had feared, and pulled away. I felt like I went against my gut-feeling to give people more of a chance, and some of the things I feared came true. Also, my honesty had everyone worried and calling me or my mom a million times a day. I hate to worry people; however, the phone calls were good because they convinced me the only option I had was to go to the hospital again. It is a good thing I went when I did because my first few days and nights in the hospital were my worst ever. I was not sleeping, so I didn't get dressed or shower. I barely showed up for group therapy and didn't talk when I did. I even thought I was hearing voices one night because my brain started dreaming while I was awake. I didn't know what was happening, so I freaked out, thinking I had finally snapped and gone completely insane. I had no hope for getting better. That is why I didn't care about group, or even one-on-one, therapy. I didn't believe it could help me. I didn't believe the doctor could help me. I just laid in bed wishing to die, wondering how I could go on living like this forever. I knew my loved ones needed me to stay alive, I just couldn't imagine where I would find the energy to do that.

After the doctor found a combination of drugs that seemed to, at least, get me out of bed, I finally felt I could fight the depression again. I am still incredibly depressed. I can't be happy or even content anywhere. When I'm away at school, I'm miserable, thinking how I will feel better when I can rest at home. At home, I'm just as depressed, and try to tell myself being back at school with my friends will help. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be there. I don't really want to be. As depressing as that may sound, I'm slowly doing better. I am eating three meals a day and sleeping a little more regularly. I set daily goals like we did in the hospital, and I am successful achieving them more days than not. I am actually doing my homework for therapy, but I'm still pretty discouraged with the whole process. I have so much work to do. I am not yet ready to take responsibility over this sickness. I just want someone to tell me I am sick so I can feel like a victim for a minute--just to lose this guilt for thinking this is all my fault. It doesn't work like that, though. Mental health, in general, doesn't work like that. My therapist keeps urging me to think deeper into my responsibility and things I can change. It scares me, and part of me still feels like I can't do it, so on bad days I wonder why try?

I'm writing this while in a depressed mood. That makes me feel like things are worse than they are. I actually have been doing better, though. I had a decent day today even. I am just discouraged with the way I feel pressure from others, but mostly pressure from myself, to automatically be better and "normal" again. I just was released from the hospital one week ago. I was in there for EIGHT days. That is a long time to be in the hospital. If I was in the hospital for eight days with a physical illness, people would allow me months to recover. Why is it that I feel like I need to be functioning like I was never ill? 

People ask me what it feels like: to be depressed, to be awake for days, to have my body ache with every movement, to be in a psychiatric unit, to be recovering, to be where I am right now.

In all honesty, I feel as though I survived a plane crash. The good news is that it can only get better and I'm alive. That doesn't make the horrors of the past or the memories of people lost go away. A good answer that sort of covers all of those common questions is that I feel like an 80-year-old woman. I have put so much energy into life, and I'm tired. My body stopped behaving like it should. I am thankful to be able to get up, walk, and even rollerblade without pain since the last drug adjustment. I don't enjoy loud noises or parties at this point. I don't enjoy playing games. I would rather sit and fall asleep in my rocking chair. Okay, I don't have a rocking chair, but I just feel like such a stereotypical old woman sometimes. I am getting younger by the week, though. 

There's hope. It's the first time in 6 months I've believed I will get better. Thanks to my incredible support system for helping me to keep fighting even when my back is against the ropes. I will win.

I might have been avoiding this...

I've been avoiding blogging since my six day stint in the psych ward. I wanted to keep it a secret, but that's hypocritical. I encourage my friends to be bold and admit any struggles with mental illness. I even go as far as to remind them that keeping it a secret makes it harder for others struggling with the same things. That was the whole concept of my project: decreasing the feelings of isolation mental illnesses create. Why would I be embarrassed about seeking help?

Now, I can't take full credit for my decision to check myself into the hospital. I have a very understanding friend up at school who stayed up talking with me many nights before she convinced me I couldn't keep living like this. I would have settled for her to say I couldn't keep living, but she meant I couldn't keep living like that. I didn't think the hospital would be able to help me unless I had actually attempted some form of craziness. It turns out, they trust you if you claim to be crazy. I guess, they would have to for liability purposes--or maybe they could tell that I hadn't been sleeping and my thoughts were racing.

I met a lot of interesting people in the hospital. I spent a lot of time alone, lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. I was fortunate enough to work every day with a great therapist and psychiatrist. The hospital was a safe environment for me to heal. It was, of course, unpleasant, but when I feel that depressed, anything is unpleasant. Plus, the hospital really put things in perspective for me. I learned school isn't everything. I also was reminded what an incredibly strong support system I have. Thank you to everyone who continues to love and support me.

I have been writing a lot of poems since the hospital. It is one of the only things giving me any sense of solace. My poetry professor was very supportive of the three I showed him. I also just won a poetry prize at my school. I'm beginning to feel like a poet.

I am supposed to return to school and work this week. I don't feel ready, but I know I need to return to some sort of normal schedule. I realize it will take a long time to really see results. That's the logical side in me talking. I actually still feel very poorly. I get my truth from emotions, so it's hard for me to believe I will get better when I am still overcome with the despair, guilt, and hopelessness caused by this illness. I feel like I will never get better. I try to let logic rule, though. When I'm paralyzed in bed many times a day, it's hard to keep believing in healing. I've asked friends and family for prayers. I try to take comfort in the connection that gives me. I am seeing a real therapist again. I am trying with everything I have to feel okay. I just still have trouble functioning. I'm always sooo tired whether I've slept or not. I also hate trying to sleep, because it forces me to be alone with my thoughts, and I hate the potential of tossing and turning all night. That only amplifies my hopelessness, so I would almost rather stay up all night by choice than try to sleep. I know I have to try to sleep to get better, though.

Today my dad asked me what it felt like to be sick like this. It's the first time he didn't just tell me to cheer up. He did say that he didn't understand how I could feel hopeless when I have so much going for me, but he listened to how I feel, and I was honest. It was a big step for both of us. I just hope I can get better soon, so everyone can stop worrying. I hate making people worry.

I like this song and the colors in the video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5Yv16AumGw

Update...for lack of a better title...for lack of a better quality entry

It's Spring. Finally.

A lot has happened in my life. I was sick for three weeks, which may have killed my spirit. I am doing everything in my power to live life fully; I do not want to settle for a zombie-like state again. I am trying to be awake: physically, mentally, and spiritually.

I am still a bit sick--doing much better, though. I had two ear infections: talk about unnecessary pain and discomfort. I felt like a bat in a cave for a couple days there; I could barely hear.

I went to Spain for a week. It was amazing. The old architecture is sublime--enough to make you understand how miniscule you are in the big scheme of things. It was great seeing Kristin again and being able to hang out with both her and Laura all week. My friendship with Kristin is interesting to me, because we have both changed so much since high school. We changed separately, though, and it somehow brought us closer together. We are closer now, despite the fact I rarely see her. In high school, I saw her multiple times a day. We had mostly the same classes and then, of course, had soccer practice, games, and cross country...not to mention, hanging out in the same group just for fun in the evenings. 

I think of the same type of things with Leslie. Leslie and I have been best friends for almost ten years now. In fact, we joke that we are having a "ten year anniversary" party next fall where we will make wedding-like invitations with a black and white photo of us slow-dancing on the front. She and I have changed so much, and our friendship as evolved even more. Having so much history with one person is a beautiful thing to me; I think that is what makes families so miraculous to me, too.

I am supposed to be grounding myself from my computer and phone to write all day. I figured blogging is a good compromise to get me warmed up and writing. I need to write poetry right after I finish this, though. I'm doing well in my poetry class. I met with my professor for like an hour, and he helped me a lot. I am getting more confident as a poet; however, I am not keeping up quantity wise. I am just as skilled as many, but having trouble producing enough poems for my portfolio. I am supposed to have 15 poems done by the end of the semester. I have only completed 4, and the semester is half done. I am really going to need to be more disciplined. It's hard to be creative when I have been sick and corpse-like for a month now. Today will change that, though. I am going to write for hours...even if it kills me.

I was at a party last night, and had the strange experience of having 2-3 guys hitting on me very forwardly and one girl was, too. It was so strange to have so many people wanting to talk to me. I actually left early because it was kind of overwhelming. I have a couple good guy friends, though. The one, in particular, was watching out for me and drove me home, which was nice. 

I never have much confidence with guys, but for some reason, this semester, I have had a lot of guys ask me out. I go out with a couple here and there. I have one friend I hang out with pretty regularly where I feel like something more serious could develop, but we are both loners and don't like obligations or having to call people all the time or explain where we are all the time, so I don't see a relationship developing any time soon. I'm okay with that, though. School keeps me so busy that I don't need extra obligations in my life.

I leave for Minneapolis on Wednesday morning. I will be there for the weekend at a conference, and then at Purdue presenting at a conference the following weekend. My life is going to be spinning out of control shortly. I need to take advantage of my last free Saturday for a while to write, write, write!

Stuck on Patience

I'm too busy. I turn 21 this weekend. I go to Spain in less than two weeks. I'm getting impatient with my medication. They are switching it again. It makes me impatient with myself. It makes me impatient with others. Most times, patience is a good thing. I think there are a few times when it's not. I tried to find some quotes about it just because I don't have time to be insightful. Why not let others say it for me?

"It is very strange that the years teach us patience - that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting." --Elizabeth Taylor 

"Patience has its limits. Take it too far, and it's cowardice."--George Jackson

"There will be a time when loud-mouthed, incompetent people seem to be getting the best of you. When that happens, you only have to be patient and wait for them to self destruct. It never fails." --Richard Rybolt

"Patience is the companion of wisdom."--Saint Augustine 

"Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew." --Saint Francis de Sales 

"You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have patience."--Stanislaw J. Lec 

"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue."  --Ambrose Bierce

"To develop patience, you need someone who willfully hurts you. Such people give us real opportunities to practice tolerance. They test our inner strength in a way that even our guru cannot. Basically, patience protests us from being discouraged." -Dalai Lama

Past Lives

In my class on Buddhism, we are talking about reincarnation. I thought I knew what it meant, but it's actually viewed as a negative thing, the kind of thing one strives to rise above. We talked about how American culture values immortality so much, that we think of reincarnation as something good. We have such a shallow view of it all. For example, Laura and I always fight over who said they were a dolphin in a past life first. Or a guy I met at a party who I had a lot in common with, joked we must have been married in a past life. I don't literally believe in past lives, but I've been thinking a lot about my past, which sometimes feels like a different life--or even different lives.

I don't like thinking about my past much, because it usually makes me angry. I put up with a lot of things I shouldn't have. I beat myself up over things and people not worth it; I never fought with my parents, argued with unfair teachers or coaches; I just did everything with a smile. People respected me for that, but they shouldn't have. Now I'm seeing how weak I was. I know it's not worth wondering what would be different if I had been the person I am now then, but it certainly crosses my mind sometimes. Would I have moved across the country to go to college? Would I have the same friends? Would I be more independent, or even a better writer?

***

I have two exams, tons of reading, and lots of Spanish homework to be doing, but all I can think about is this essay I'm working on about a bad memory from growing up. It takes over my mind and emotions. I don't like the power words can have over me sometimes. This blog entry is me compromising with myself by letting me write out some of the emotions without getting back into the intense essay that was enough to keep me tossing and turning at 2am even after taking Benodryl (which I am so glad I took, because it eventually took over and let me sleep). 

Tossing and turning at night is horrifying for me. Even if it's only for a little bit, it is too similar to my nights of insomnia. It's a time where repressed thoughts gnaw at my stomach, a time when death feels near, a time when I can't escape my own mind. 

This entry is not real enough, but I don't think I can dig any deeper when people read this. I used to be so determined to convey truth. I suppose I still am, when it comes to my real writing, but I just don't see the point in working so hard to put myself into words that people will skim, over-think, or blame themselves for. That all seems like a past life. I don't need to make people feel guilty for things they may or may not have done, even if I feel like some may deserve it. That sort of vindication is most definitely new. I think I'm experiencing some sort of rebirth. Is it an upgrade or a downgrade on the scale? I'm not so sure.

In all honesty, I have been avoiding blogging. That last entry was just so optimistic and meaningful. It's kind of hard to follow...not to mention, I am still not feeling well. I am physically better. I sleep half-way normal hours, can function  more days than not, and I even have moments of happiness...all things I am incredibly thankful for. I don't know if I chose to forget how slow of a process getting better is. I remember saying that it felt like it took me a year to fully recover from the last depressive episode. Yet, for some reason I don't remember it being this difficult and slow. I guess, I'm just impatient.

I have been trying to write a lot, since this is my last week off work, and without any major quizzes, exams, or papers. This is going to be an overwhelming semester. I don't want to stop writing creative prose like I did last semester. I let my poetry class take over my mind, which is okay, but I miss essays. I'm working on my first essay in a year. I don't think I'll complete the first draft any time soon, but it's nice just to be writing in a more fluid manner. I like poetry; it really does take over my mind. I still am not okay with it being my only genre to work in. I'm not strong enough in it, and it is less therapeutic than writing essays. It doesn't force me to self-evaluate as much, or at least not in as deep of a manner. I'm also trying to read and write a lot of poetry. My poetry class is incredibly demanding. I hope I can keep up. I think I will be okay if I keep reading and writing poetry a few times a week. It will help to keep my mind functioning in that poetic way: observing sounds, digging deeper into emotions and images.

I think I need some type of spiritual retreat. Maybe I will isolate myself one of these weekends to read and write for fun, do Yoga, meditate, and just be for a while (in addition to the millions of pages to read and write for class). I worry it will result in me lying in bed, feeling sorry for myself, though. I just need to find some way to dig deeper into myself and step back from my real life for a moment. I don't know when I will have time to do this. I am trying to use Thursday nights as a night to keep a date with myself. I go to the coffee shop, get a cookie, and write for hours alone. I hope to do that as many weeks as I can, but I am going to play indoor soccer soon. That will be Thursday nights, not to mention, most people don't like being told that I can't hang out because "I have to go to the coffee shop alone." It's funny that this society is so put off by introverted people. 

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

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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