The Truth About Lies

Depression is like handing a pair of bifocals to someone in need of them, but the top lens is so clouded with dirt that his or her vision for distances is worse than before. However, the ability to see objects that are close improves tremendously. Depression causes one to be extraordinarily perceptive to people’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. My new glasses allowed me to expose how often everyone lies. White lies are chocolate, because they can make almost anyone feel better, but cause sickness when eaten at the wrong time or too often. With my clouded top lens, I felt revulsion at the frequency of lies I had been told all of my life, as well as the ones I regurgitated to others to keep the peace. Even after I have cleaned the first cloud of dirt off of the top lens, I still find myself feeling anger at some of the lies individuals told me that I kept quiet about. No one was safe from my sight. I caught everyone that meant anything to me lying; even those that I liked to believe would never do such a thing. I also feel anger when I think of the lies I have told to people, because it’s what they wanted to hear instead of what they needed to hear.

I have friends that swear they are completely honest even when it hurts, but that is a lie. It would be foolish to be so honest at all times, not to mention rude. If honesty is the best policy, then why does everyone lie so much? People lie to cover up their fragile little egos. I know so many people that claim they are confident in their identity and strong enough to be honest and take responsibility for their mistakes; I am one of them. After seeing the truth from all the lies I do believe people can tell the truth in the most difficult of situations, but only when given proper time to think and prepare themselves. When anyone is put on the spot for something they did wrong, a lie is almost always involved. The lie could be as big as completely denying the mistake or as little as exaggerating the excuse behind it. I have also found that when someone has a lot to lose, then even the noblest people will rationalize a lie to help rest his or her conscious. It is amazing the effort an individual can put into rationalizing mistakes, which is just a way of disguising the fact that they are lying to their selves.

There are times when I know someone is lying to me, but I pretend to believe him or her to avoid conflict and protect their ego. Then there have been times when the person knows that I am aware that they are lying to me, but pretends he or she is oblivious, because it sounds better to say than the truth. I tell a lot of those little white lies where I can tell the person doesn’t believe me, but I say it anyway, because I feel like it’s the right thing to say. I have tried to be more mindful of the way things come out of my mouth only because I feel like it will make the person feel better. I am always more concerned with making the other person happy, even if it leaves me feeling lousy. That is not a good way to go about life.

When I was walking with Kristin down town Ann Arbor we were discussing how we finally have had to stop trying to please everyone so much with our studies and decisions. We came to the conclusion that no one really cares about our happiness. That doesn’t mean people don’t care, because they do want us to be happy. The problem is that they can only imagine what would make them happy so they try to convince you to study things that will guarantee jobs with money or behave in ways that everyone “likes” you since they believe that is the way to happiness. Those things do not usually lead to happiness. Gilda Radner had a quote in Rolling Stones something along the line of how important it is to have one or two real friends, because you can get the world to love you, but you don’t have the world’s phone number to call when you are upset late at night. I lied to myself and everyone else for so long to make other people like me. I was finally convinced people actually liked me from the several awards my senior class awarded me, but I still didn’t feel like I had many people that really knew and loved me. I was okay with that kind of life in high school, but it is too much work to continue on without a support system that I don’t have to lie to in order to keep them around. I am currently developing a sturdier support system. I have found the people that mean the most to me are all people that I don’t have to lie to, but can confess when I tell them one anyway.

I am surrounded by so many lies, but now that I have clearer vision on both of my bifocals I try to honor both perspectives to see the whole picture. When I am hurt by someone I admire lying to me, then I try to reflect on “why would they tell me this lie?” “What are they trying to protect me or their self from?” and "Is this lie appropriate to bring up with them?" When I find myself lying I try not to feel guilty about it until after I dissect the reason behind the lie. I used to try so hard to pretend I didn’t lie, but that just left me telling more lies. I think acknowledging my lies is one of the most honest things I can do. I wish more people could begin to dissect their lies. Maybe if everyone told the truth about lying, then more truth could be told.

Reason for Hope

I am reading Jane Goodall's "Reason for Hope." It is the story of her spiritual journey. My grad assisstant reccommended it, because during the twelve hours we spent together on our wolf-tracking adventure, we discovered we shared a love for reading spiritual books. We also discovered that we both were in a phase of our lives where we felt disconnected from spirituality resulting in the both of us no longer reading spiritual books. She told me about “Reason for Hope,” because it is her favorite book. I, of course, told her about Anne Lamott. I checked out Goodall’s book after I had rediscovered my love for spiritual books thanks to Anne Lamott’s latest book “Grace (Eventually).” I didn’t think I liked Goodall's bookk that much at first, because I found it hard to relate to. She was raised Catholic, which helped me relate to her, but I have never been much of a scientist. All of her obsessions with animals seemed foreign to me. I can see why my grad. asst. would like it so much, considering she was also raised Catholic and is a Bio major that studies animals. The further I get into, the more I like. It is real. Her life is not something I can relate to, but I am seeing another spiritual journey that doesn’t follow the rules resulting from Catholicism. It is beneficial for me to see how other people find a spirituality that works for them after coming from a similar starting place as me.

My writers group is the best thing I could be a part of this summer. It gives me a purpose and goals to shoot for, it has reunited me with people I haven’t seen in forever, as well as helping me meet other cool writers in the community. I need to stop trying to hard to write something impressive, because each week it gets harder and harder for me to bring something I feel confident in. I love the challenge though! It has also helped me appreciate my relationship with lisa, because I do not feel like I fully appreciated it before…probably because the whole teacher/student thing was clouding my vision. I am glad that I no longer feel the need to impress her in anyway so I can just send her ridiculous drafts of writing that I know are not my best. The feedback strengthens my writing and I know I don’t have to get embarrassed at my errors. It was also fun at the first meeting I went to when April and Evan were there, because I have showed April some of my serious writing, but she had never seen my crazy stories that I am known for writing. Writing just helps me feel more understood, even when I am exaggerating things to make them funny. I just feel like my real personality comes out.

I am working Safety City this week. I have a really good group of kids. There is this one boy that is so sweet. Most of the kids don’t ever call me by my name, but this boy ALWAYS does. It’s always,
“Hi, Aimee,” “Thanks, Aimee,” or my personal favorite quote from today “Aimee, you’re beautiful!” Needless to say I want to keep that kid around at all times. He always asks if I can come over and play after Safety City, and I always respond that I need to go to my house. He always says, “Aww that’s boring!” He is such a sweet kid. I was worried how I would go back to working with kids, since I was not around kids much this year. I am exhausted from the whole depression thing, so I was worried the kids wouldn’t like me as much and I would be dull. Being with the kids gives me energy though, so I am still energetic (for the most part) with them. I am definitely not overly energetic, because I am too old to b running around at all times with the kids. They have much more energy than me, so the trick is learning balance of when to be energetic and when to just let them be energetic.

I have been writing so much crap it is awful. I know it is good practice just to write, even if it is meaningless crap that will never be used, but I have to write all of the time in order to have something acceptable for writers group. I wonder how my writing will change when I am working full time at the migrant schools. I start next Tuesday. It will be exhausting, but the kids are always so lovable!

I spent over an hour at the labyrinth at a local college since Safety City is located on campus. The time was wonderful, because it was a perfect day when I was sitting in the shade. There was a nice breeze rattling the trees and the sun was reflecting off of the rocks. A robin was crawling playfully on the statue of Mary’s head. It was the statue where she is holding a grown and deceased Jesus in her arms. I love days when the weather is perfect, because it is so rare! I love sitting outside and reflecting on these perfect days. It’s probably the best thing I can ever do for myself spiritually. Lisa is writing a paper she wants to submit to a journal to be published. It is about the benefits of sending high school kids outside. She uses a quote from my blog entry “Congratulations, you’ve turned into a hippie” to show how her former students are still enjoying the benefits of being outside. I wasn’t even explicitly getting at that, but now I am stating it plain and simple….going outside is probably one of the best things I can do for myself spiritually. You can’t live for happiness, because happiness is just a “side effect” of living, as Adam said this past weekend. I guess, that is a reason for hope and not dissapointment like I had once thought.

Climbing

I feel sick. I am not working yet and I am out of school. I think I must be the only person that can get stressed and wear myself out when I am not doing anything of importance. I think it is because I have been having so much time to think. Thinking is exhausting and I often wonder if I am masochistic with my thoughts in the sense that I like to let them go wherever they want compared with many people who try to ignore all of their bad feelings. I like to acknowledge my feelings and honor them for a minute. I can't always afford to do that during the school year, but whenever I have free time alone I love flirting with painful thoughts like a good girl that loves flirting with bad boys.

I've been feeling apathetic again and that worries me. I just don't care about anything really. I think I am just the kind of person that is never going to feel content. I think the people who tell me happiness is just a state of mind or a perspective are wrong, because I try so hard to put on that lens. Once in a while I am successful, but it is so hard for me. I don't think it is supposed to take as much energy as it does for me to feel happy.

I have been thinking about how everyone has their own story and the way people ignore that. It's like if we don't know a person's struggles then they don't exist. It makes me think of people that I have gotten to know after having seen them everyday for a while. I would think that I know them, but when I really get to know them and their struggles I would think back to when I would see them everyday. It would shock me that I never knew they were carrying all of this around with them. There's some quote about be understanding/nice to people, because they are fighting a battle you know nothing about. It might sound cheesy but it is so true.

I have been being an asshole a lot lately. I am so confused and vulnerable that I get hurt easily and I freak out when I feel hurt because I fear I am depressed again, so I lash out to the person that hurt me instead of letting them know they hurt me. I have been feeling discouraged with how hard everything has to be. Healing is ten times harder than I could have ever imagined. It is like I am climbing up a mountain, because I fell off the cliff. I get so tired sometimes that I am just tempted to fall again or just stop where I am forever. I am still climbing though

Flashback

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

Human Spirit = Alcohol

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

I am Only Who I Choose to Be

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

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

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

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

Mad to Live

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

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

Personality Quizes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look at the List of Famous INFP's

Famous INFPs:

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

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

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

Loneliness

"l(a"
by ee. cummings

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



"Loneliness"

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

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

I don’t want to lie anymore.

Maturity and Wisdom

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

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

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

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

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

Congratulations. You've Turned into a Hippie.

I just had a spiritual moment sitting alone under a tree. I had no laptop, no Ipod, and no cell phone. It was just me and a squirrel that kept looking at me and then scurrying away, but always coming back. I could hear birds and the wind around me. I felt at peace. Well, I felt at peace after a while, and that only lasted for one exhale, but I felt it nonetheless! Does peace even suggest that joy and grace are not far? I sat in the lotus position and took deep and slow breaths. I get impatient just focusing on my breath, so I try to pick a word. I try to use the word I learned in Elizabeth Gibert’s book. The word is “hamsa,” and it means “I am that.” It is supposed to be like the sound of your breath. “Ham” is the inhale and “sa” is the exhale. It sounds pretty and seems like a great mantra, but it just doesn’t do the trick for me. It doesn’t feel natural to me enough to control my mind, because it doesn’t mean anything to me unless I think about it. It doesn’t create that feeling in my entire body like my soul feels the word when I say it. The only word I have had success with while meditating is “wisdom.” Wisdom means a lot to me and I love everything about the way it makes me feel and the things it makes me think of. I feel like it is the one thing I can control and I always seem to bring my thoughts back to it. It wasn’t long before my leg started hurting and my head was hurting from uneven breathing. I still have to work on that.

I decided to just sit natural and let my mind wander after actually concentrating for the first time in a while. As I sat there I began to realize that I need a solution to my spiritual problems, so I sat there and had a conversation with the universe. I prayed for the first time since everything, but it wasn’t to a god or anything like that. It was to the universe, or anything really. I decided to have a conversation with the universe, because I liked how it sounded. I explained that I know that I am not the center of the universe, even if I might act that way sometimes. I also know that there is something bigger than me even though I like to pretend I am in control at all times. I kept meeting eyes with the squirrel through all of this. He seemed to be judging me, but he must have figured I was okay because he didn’t leave me. I explained to the universe that I couldn’t address this spiritual energy as God, because that has such human connotations to it. I think of the angry masculine character from the Bible when I think God, and I don’t want that. I also knew that I didn’t want to pray to God, because God has so many extremities attached to it. I don’t want something that people are fighting about; I don’t want something that people tell me I have to believe and force me to give in to out of fear; I don’t want someone that is watching me at all times. I want a power that I can acknowledge and strive to become one with that is not a needy human who gets angry or sad when I ignore it for a while. It is a power that might leave me feeling angry and sad when I ignore its power, because I love holding and being with that power so much. “So where does this leave me?” I asked the universe. I opened my eyes to look at the tree protecting me and the answer came to me, “Under a tree.” I thought that was a ridiculous answer and that it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I went with the thought. “It leaves me under a tree, so what?” I think that is the point. Why does it matter where I sit with labels and religion? I can’t believe how hard it is to not claim a label. I have given in to the atheists in most arguments, but I don’t belong with them either. I am too spiritual for them, not saying that atheists aren’t spiritual. I just feel that it is not to the depth and intensity that I need. I sat there thinking about wanting to share my spirituality, but I realized that I couldn’t articulate it yet. I was thinking about the people I know who just have some type of spiritual energy glowing off of them that is contagious and enters me when I am near them. All I could think of to describe this was a universal love. It is always people that love life that have such a glow about them. It is so rare, but so intense. It is like I can’t run from the spiritual feeling they create in me, and I finally figured it out to be love. “Wow. You are a genius. It's all about love, man,” I thought sarcastically. “Congratulations you’ve turned into a hippie.” I looked around disagreeing with this oversimplification I had created, but then I realized I was sitting underneath a tree with no shoes on while meditating. I laughed and walked home. The universe has quite a sense of humor. When I got there I listened to Tom Petty’s “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” to take the hippie thing and run with it. Okay, so I might be a bit of a hippie sometimes, but so what? I plan to explore my thoughts on prayer and love sometime when I am not supposed to be cramming and typing a paper.

That's Just the Way it Is

I am blogging from under a tree on a picnic table. It is beautiful outside. I am really thankful for the weather this weekend. I have spent a lot of time outside. I have even been working on my big paper outdoors. I just took a few pics with my webcam of the location I am sitting at. It is right between two of our busiest academic buildings. There are normally tons of people here, but now it is just me and two other people alone on opposite sides of the lawn reading.


A lot has happened in the past week. Too much to blog about, but I have changed. I think it was more of me realizing how much I have changed. I was struck by the fact that I can never go back and that things will never be the same, and I was surprised that I wouldn’t want them to. I also started thinking about how all of my relationships with everyone in my life are changing. No one has all of the answers for me anymore and that is hard to deal with, but also very freeing. Last year I really started struggling with how so many things seemed to be a gray area. Disagreements with friends could no longer be solved with someone wrong and another right. This year I have realized that everything is a gray area. I find this extremely frustrating, yet empowering. I had an argument with a friend the other day that was really painful for both of us, but I realized no one was entirely guilt-free and no one was entirely wrong. I liked that I didn’t have to seek affirmation from so many people to see if I was wrong or right. I still had to vent about it to a couple of people, which I hate doing, but it just helps me feel better. I apologized for being an asshole and she apologized for making me feel like she didn’t respect my beliefs. We had to agree to not discuss our beliefs right now, because we are both is such different and vulnerable places.

I have my schedule done for next semester. I have so me interesting classes that I am really excited about. It is so strange to be completely in charge of my schedule and know where I want to go with a major. Things are really changing and it is definitely for the better. I am making more of my own decisions now and less concerned about pleasing everyone. I still have some issues with wanting to please everyone, but on things that are really important to me I have learned to stand up for myself. My new therapist reminded me of a few things I have done in my past that make me seem very strong and wise for my age, which is contradictory to me telling her that I have been a pushover for so long and that everyone else thinks so too. She was very complimentary of the few things that I have stood up for. She was most impressed by why my relationships have ended and the fact that I did not get confirmed. She said how those things take a lot of guts, and if I were a pushover I would not have stood up for myself and my beliefs in those situations. Hearing her say that made me realize I have been looking at my past from the wrong lens. That is not going to go away easily, but it is nice to have another perspective of events that are burned in my brain from another perspective.

I had an epiphany last night that I have been trying too hard to keep the people that used to know me following me on my journey, which is not possible. I have noticed my e-mails to people getting longer and my phone conversations getting shorter. That is because I just can’t articulate everything that is going on and I think I am better at it by writing, but to outsiders it just appears to be a long boring e-mail. I have realized that I need to accept that not everyone is going to know me like they used to, and I have to deal with the fact that less people really know me. That could be partially my fault for not knowing myself before. My old therapist said he thinks I have been going through an identity crisis, which doesn’t usually happen until people reach mid-twenties. He thinks that despite the pain from not having a lot of support from my peers, because I still have a good support system of adults and peers in my life that I will actually be in really great shape when I get through this. That made me feel good as well. I am worried about how this summer will go with all of my old relationships. I think it could be a challenge, but it will nice to be at home for a while too.

Intolerance, discrimination still prevalent in society - Voices

This was one of the two letters they featured in our school newspaper in response to a controversial editorial. I was pretty excited that mine was one of the two letters published!


Intolerance, discrimination still prevalent in society - Voices

Nightmares

I don't want to go to sleep, because I know I will have nightmares about all of the images and interviews I have seen with people from Virginia Tech. I met a kid that goes there over Spring Break, but luckily he is okay. My friend, Adam, pointed out how far worse genocides and massacres happen everyday in third world countires and no one stops to think about it. I agree with this, but I think I am so bothered by these images, because these are all students. They were shot in academic building which is so real and scary to me. The academic buildings here have tons of people in them at any given time. It just seems so real to see images of such terror on a college campus that looks similar any other college campus. I can't get the shootings out of my head and I worry about sleeping. I am going to try though, because I have far too much to do tomorrow and the rest of the week to be dead tired.

I stayed up talking to my friend Dashon tonight. He is struggling still and that hurts me. I believe in him so much, but he is blinded by depression and feels hopeless. He also talked about how exhausted he is. Depression is so draining; it feels impossible to go on. They increased my dosages today for my anti-depressants, because I am seeing results, but not enough. I still have been having mood crashes (like tonight) and regressions back to the old routines. I am angry all of the time too. While anger might be apropriate in many cases, I feel like it is taking over. The increase in my dosages should have me seeing results in no time. I am confident they will make me feel better after the improvements I have already seen, but nothing is a miracle worker. Life is never easy and they are not drugs that numb you from all of your pain. It's not that easy.

I feel so burned out from everything right now. It's only going to get worse. I need to sleep.

Don't Think

Innocence

I love God and I love Jesus.
I CAN TELL YOU LOVE THE CHURCH.
YOU ARE SUCH A GOOD KID.
I said the rosary all by myself.
I tried to do it twice, but accidentally fell asleep.
THE ANGELS FINISHED IT FOR YOU.
WHY DID YOU GIVE AWAY ALL OF YOUR MONEY?
I heard Uncle Tom tell me to
donate all of my first communion money.
NO, HONEY, HE DIED BEFORE YOU WERE BORN.

Naivety

If God is above humans, then why do we say he?
GOD IS NOT MALE OR FEMALE, BUT WE JUST SAY HE
[BECAUSE WOMEN ARE WEAK. WE ARE MAKING YOU WEAK].
When does humility become self-destructive?
HUMILITY IS THE MOST NOBLE OF THINGS.
[GOD LOVES YOU MORE IF YOU HATE YOURSELF.]
Why are Christians mean to people who don’t follow them?
Why don’t they just love their neighbor and turn their cheek?
CHRISTIANS AREN'T MEAN TO THOSE WHO NEED HELP, BUT THEY
HAVE TO MAKE SURE TO LET SINNERS KNOW THEY NEED TO BE SAVED.
What if we are wrong? Why not listen to their beliefs?
THEY ARE SINNERS; THEY WANT YOU TO STRAY AWAY FROM GOD.
Maybe God wants us to stray away in order to share
light to those in darkness. What if we have to enter
the darkness to reveal the light, instead of dominating it
and controlling its power amongst ourselves?
NO. GOD DOESN'T WANT THAT. READ THE BIBLE.

Truth

Hypocrisy is real. It is all there is.
EMBRACE IT AND FORGIVE YOURSELF.
I don’t need to forgive myself. I need to forgive you,
but I can’t so I breakdown. I see how you’re all so
fake now. I would laugh at your childish fantasylands
that don’t fit together, but they cut me too deep. It hurts until
I clean it out with alcohol. It’s pretty funny then.
I call you. I call you out. The cut is still infected.
YOU ARE SO INTOLERANT, WRONG, AND BITTER.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SAINT YOU WANTED TO BE?
I’m intolerant? Your humor hurts. You taught me
yourself that all the saints are dead. I’m almost dead.
Do you want me to be a saint now?
Watch what you say, because I will.
I DON'T KNOW YOU ANYMORE. I WILL PRAY FOR YOU.
Walk away like the coward and fake that you are.
You don’t care and never did. You just want to
be able to quiet your fear by reminding that nagging
beast consuming you, that you are earning your
spot in Heaven. You have scared yourself with flames
from Dante’s fictional adventure. It haunts your
thoughts the way I used to fear the flames and lava
from Aladdin. I outgrew that fear when others laughed
because it was fiction. You don’t get laughed at,
instead you laugh at yourself. It dominates and ruins your life.
You can’t handle it alone, so you try to dominate and ruin mine.

Stairs

Head throbs
Drool on pillow
Careless and depressed
Trying to function like I’m normal
Sick and tired of the cold, life, and breathing
Life is climbing a flight of stairs. When will I fall down?

Have a Seat on the Couch

I am not sure how to begin, so I guess that will be my introduction. I am so spaced out and apathetic again. It really is crazy. I just don’t care about anything tonight. I can’t stop thinking about things that I don’t want to and can’t think about thinks I need to…aka math. I am so frustrated that I never know how I am feeling. I seriously have to sit and think to give a real answer of how I am doing for the select group of people who really want to know how I am doing. Tonight I think I am okay. It is hard to tell. I felt awful and laid in bed typing and listening to music for a couple of hours until my friend from World Peace Initiative came over to help me make a template for the fliers we will be handing out for the religious tolerance video we are showing. We are showing a religious tolerance movie to counter the movie the Young Americans for Freedom (An RSO that was accused of being a hate group at MSU) showed. The video they showed was a bunch of terrorists claiming that they practiced Islam. One of the girls from W.P.I. went to the protest and then sat in on the movie. She said it was a movie entirely based on fear and had very poor logic. When I heard about the protest happening the night of the movie, I was ready to go. I was ready to take a stand and let some of this random anger out towards a good cause. I am glad we bounced the idea around in our meeting, because we decided the protest was most likely going to cause more animosity on campus and it would not be a good way to create peace. I needed rational people to keep me from letting my emotions take over. We came up with the idea of talking to one of the Religion professors and asking for their help to select a quality movie to show religious tolerance. I don’t know how it is going to go. I kind of feel like not everyone in W.P.I. is totally enthused about it. I kind of feel like even the president is having her doubts, but I think we are going to see it through, because several of us are passionate about showing it (I am one of them).

On another note, I had to meet with my literature professor Friday morning to get help on a paper. He is the one that is dating my favorite English professor from last semester. Apparently she told him I was considering and English major and he asked me about it. I told him I was growing more and more passionate about it, and I was fairly certain that was the direction I was heading. He gave me a list of professors that could help me sign a major that would also help me tailor it to fit my interests (He is moving to Miami next fall to pursue his doctorate, so he can’t help me past this year). He gave me his mentors name for one of them. He said his mentor knows him and his girlfriend and that I could drop both of their names and they would put in a good word for me. I was so excited and motivated after talking to him, because it was so nice of him to help me out like that, and I was surprised his girlfriend told him I was interested in an English major. I talked to an academic advisor on Friday as well, and she seemed very supportive of an English degree. I think I am going to major in English with a focus on Creative Writing and a minor in Religion, although I still have to talk to someone in the Religion department to get more information on that. I received an e-mail from my literature professor last night. He e-mailed me to tell me about a special academic advising type of program that the English department is putting on called, “What can I do with a major in English?” He told me that one of the professors he recommended I talk to would be there, and he suggested I go introduce myself. I can’t believe how helpful my professors have been in all of my classes here at Central. Any of the professors that I have taken the time to get to know and ask questions are tremendously helpful (I usually don’t get to know my big lecture classes professors, but even my Bio lecture instructor was helpful…intimidating, but helpful). I also developed a friendship with my Biology graduate assistant; because I got to know her really well, since I always had questions and she was really good at being very approachable and available, and it turns out we have a lot of things in common. I still stay in touch with her. I just can’t believe the type of help I have received in my classes from my instructors. For being a bigger school, I feel like I have received a lot of one on one attention from professors whenever I need it. I was very impressed that my literature professor took the time to personally e-mail me to tell me about that English event. I know people think that all of my struggles this year are because of being away from home and college, but I really do like Central. My professors have all been helpful, I like the campus, I have seen a tremendous about of intellectual speakers, as well as comedians, and TV stars here, I love my club the W.P.I, and the dorms are nicer than any other school’s that I have visited, the cafeteria in my dorm is better than most, I have an amazing workout facility in my dorm (TV’s on every treadmill), a computer lab where I get free printing, and being further away from home has forced me to become a little more independent and made me stronger. I do not regret the distance at all (well it does suck when I am super anxious to get home, or a big event comes up that I have to miss, but still I wouldn’t change it). I also like the fact that I am not up here with a ton of people from high school. I think that would have really restricted my growth.

I went to an official licensed psychologist yesterday, and that was quite a strange experience. I felt like I was in a movie with the stereotypical shrink that takes notes while I sit on a couch, well actually a loveseat. She had a couch and a loveseat, but the couch seemed to cliché and creepy so I selected the loveseat. She asked me tons of questions about a wide variety of topics, and some of them made me so uncomfortable that I was sweating…a lot. Adam says that’s the sign of a good therapist, though? I thought I had really gotten over my fear of talking about personal things from my last therapist. I thought I had covered all of my strange phobias and issues and was getting to be a pro at talking about them, even to people I probably shouldn’t have told them too. It just was getting to a point with all of my apathy that I just didn’t care what people thought anymore (It sneaks up on me later and then I care, after it’s too late). Well, my new therapist is very intuitive. She picked up on my guilt issues without me even saying the word guilt at all…which I guess is not that spectacular. They are pretty obvious. She also seemed to know just what to ask for things I didn’t want to answer and for things I couldn’t answer. I was thinking I was really self-aware after this year, minus all of this depression stuff, but she seemed to rip away that front pretty fast. I think it could help me, as uncomfortable as it is, but I am upset about her location. I was told it was in walking distance, but luckily my friend offered to give me a ride yesterday so I could figure out just how far it is. It seems like too far to walk, and I thought about biking, but I have to take this busy road that has no sidewalk and hills…so I think that would be a problem. I set up an appointment for two Thursdays from now, but it is going to make me late to class, that is if I can even find a way to get there. I think I am going to try to walk there with James and Beth on nice day (provided we have one). Although, even if I can walk eventually I will either need to skip my 11am class or have a ride back to go straight to class. Maybe I can walk there and have James pick me up? I don’t know. It is tough, because she fills up quickly, my schedule has not been fitting with her well, and then the issue of getting there is a problem, because should I bum a ride I have to check my friend’s class schedule. Plus, I just don’t feel comfortable asking my friends for a ride every week. It just doesn’t seem right.

I really am trying to take care of myself, because I just don’t feel healthy. I have been trying to eat healthy and eat vitamins, but I have not had time at all this week to work out. I did go for a run outside on Sunday morning for the first time all year. It felt really good, but I am still sore from it. I am looking forward to going home this weekend. I am hoping to lay low, but that never happens when I go home for a short weekend. I am excited, nonetheless, though.

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.