My Varying Interactions With Men

It feels good to be blogging again.

I'm currently partaking in this activity called "vacation" which typically involves relaxation, but as I have been sleeping on an uncomfortable pull-out couch with a menstrual teenager, relaxation doesn't seem to be an option.

A few days ago I was checking out the local mall just for kicks. I went into a store that had various tee shirts of 90s groups displayed in the windows and started browsing through the women's shirts which, as I have learned from dipping my feet in the Hot Topic culture, are just slightly less masculine tee shirts usually with some hue of pink incorporated. Nevertheless, I came across an Offspring tee that I liked and went to the counter to pay for it. I don't usually pay in plastic, but I had no cash on me, so I handed the tattooed cashier the Visa. I like to make eye contact with those serving me as to not seem arrogant or ungrateful, because I do appreciate what they're doing, so I glanced at him. I think he had a pierced eyebrow, but he had kind green eyes and was moderately attractive. He advanced from "moderately attractive" to "attractive" when he looked at me, smiled tentatively and said "Offspring. One of my favorites." I smiled back, but naturally, all I could say was "Yeah." Keep in mind... I haven't paid with a card in a while. I don't really remember what to do. He hands me a pen to sign the receipt. Right, I have to do that. But where is the receipt? Oh, it's there. The strangely lengthy piece of paper being printed from the register. I tore it off as he handed me... my receipt. I was confused but signed it without hesitation. The cashier then smirked at me and said, "Do you want to keep that long piece of paper or what?" Still confused, trying to remain composed, I blankly stated, "I guess not." He snickered a bit and said, "That's everyone's purchases from the day. I was, like, wondering what you were doing." I gave a little half-laugh, exchanged goodnights and walked out, all the way thinking, "What just happened?" I'd like to compare it to a naive puppy being let out of its kennel, not having a clue what it is doing in this strange new realm. And probably ending up nervously peeing on the carpet.

Within the same theme, I have a male friend who is four years my senior. We talk mainly about philosophy and existentialism, sometimes even launching into full-blown debates. He is intelligent, he is talented, he has a good sense of humor. Yeah, he's attractive. I've had feelings for him on-and-off since the summertime, but that isn't my purpose in writing this. He makes me feel insecure, insignificant, and unimportant. I don't think I feel this way based on anything he's done, but rather the way I've interpreted things he's done. I've only felt this gnawing insecurity with a male once before, and I ended up dating said male for a while, which unfortunately crashed and burned in a gruesome manner due to this feeling of insecurity. This feeling that I cannot even place is an issue in my relationships, but I haven't the slightest idea how to remove it. It isn't similar to the former situation because in that case, I was in uncharted territory. In this case, I am familiar with these waters, so why would I be feeling so uncertain?

I have another male in my life that I have also had feelings for, and when in the moment, that insecurity doesn't taint the relationship in any way. Although he is most definitely out of my league, it is all smooth sailing. I feel rejuvenated and meaningful after a conversation with this man, as if everything that was once wrong is suddenly a nonissue.

I don't know why my reactions to these relationships differ so much. They are both dangerous territory in different aspects, but fundamentally, they're the same concept.

A few days ago, after a sigh-worthy conversation with Philosophical-Debatey Male, I muttered to my mother, "Guys are annoying." She gave me a high-five and responded with "Finally, she understands!"

I suppose I'll be dealing with this issue for a while.

Lost Girl; Responds to "Emma"

Who am I anymore?

I have photos hanging all over my walls. One with my best friends in eighth grade and two with them in ninth grade, one with ensemble members, one with cast members, one with my sister, and many of my snapshots from Costa Rica. I specifically chose each photo to represent some part of me, so if any time I could not remember that beautiful part of me, I would be reminded. 

I don't know the girl in these photos.

In one photo, she is smiling coyly and forming a typical peace sign with her left hand. She looks happy, content, and calm. In another photo she is jokingly flexing her muscles and baring her teeth at the camera. She has a sense of humor, and above all, a sense of the whimsicality in life. In another, perhaps the most striking, she is grinning hugely, slightly leaning back as if in laughter with her arm around two friends. What was making her so damn radiant?

I ask because this girl has been lost with that "spark," whatever the hell it was. 

A Conflicting Day of Theatrical Thoughts

"I'm so frustrated... My theatre work hasn't hit a wall. It's as if the world has just opened up and I am falling in to an endless abyss with nothing to hold on to. The world is suddenly so big and somehow, I know I won't make it. Nothing is concrete anymore. I suddenly don't know anything about theatre or about myself. I feel so small, and I have no idea why. Do I even have a purpose anymore?" 12/21/11, approx. 8:20AM


At this moment I felt empty. In class, we were discussing what we would like to improve on in the coming weeks, and I feebly said, "My physicality, and removing myself completely from the character." It is so difficult to put my artistic goals into words.


I explained the feelings above to my instructor, Mark, and he said, "That's a great place to be." 


Um... what?


Tears were forming in my eyes as I said, "It's a terrible place to be." I was truly scared. What the hell is happening to me? I thought. If I lose my last solace, I don't know what I will do. 


"No, it's a great place to be," he repeated. 


He explained that this free-falling was beneficial because it would create exhilaration and would lead me to experiment more with my work, which has been a necessary course of action for quite a while. I have been so obsessed with precision and perfection of my pieces that I hold back newer, stronger choices, which inhibits the very thing I want to do: grow.


"I just performed my Electra monologue and pretty much threw everything out the window and just went with my impulses. I wasn't hindering my voice or physicality, I just let everything fly. Harrison said that the new choice really worked. He wants me to keep it, and even asked me to take it a bit further in some aspects." 12/21/11, approx. 1:30PM 


It felt so good to simply let go. Let go of that need for perfection, let go of that expectation, let go of any preconceived notions. I literally slumped down to the floor and portrayed Electra nearly going mad over the news of her brother's death. My vocal life seemed to go in every direction, and my physicality felt sloppy, but I trust that it was fine from an outside eye. 


It definitely needs to be worked or refined, but I'm glad I made that choice today. The weak walls that I have built over the past few years are finally being torn down, and the cavalry of my inspiration is storming through without hesitation.

SOS

I don't know how to organize my thoughts today.

I'm feeling so many things at once that when an explanation is attempted, the thoughts escape as an ineloquent string of words. I can't stand having days like this, because the only way these emotions can find their freedom is through words. Right now I think I may explode.

Most people in my life are talking at me instead of talking to me. I continue to hear what I should be doing, what I need to be doing, and what would be stupid of me to do. I don't need to hear what is wrong with the way I live right now. I need someone to see my problems for what they are, and sympathetically assist me. The constant judgment isn't necessary. It is what it is.

My theatre work has reached a standstill, in my opinion. I don't know what the hell I should do to improve, which I'd like more than anything. I want to get better. Being "good" only gets one so far.

I need guidance or some form of support. I need someone I know and trust to reach out and honestly say "I understand how you feel, and this is how to make it easier on yourself." I'm struggling emotionally and it has nearly reached a boiling point. 

My school work is suffering and I'm beginning to think that I'll never attend a college or get a theatre education. My mother approached me today and said, "While we were in Giant earlier, I couldn't stop looking at the slightly overweight cashier and thinking that could be you." Yeah, of course it could be. It most likely will be. I've already fucked up most of my life, why not just dash the rest of it? Who cares anymore?

I feel like I can never do anything correctly, like I never meet the standards of others. Hell, I don't even meet my own standards. 

I just need someone to help me out of this rut. I'm finding it so difficult to continue being strong on my own. 

"Just smoke some weed!"

I've noticed, particularly since Twitter became popular, that a ton of my schoolmates have been posting about drugs and other nefarious activities. Suddenly, #JustSmokeSomeWeed is a trending topic.

I will explain my feelings with two memes:

Seriously? You look like a douche.

I'm not saying this simply because I don't smoke or drop acid. I'm saying this because in ten years, these kids will look back and realize what idiots they were. They will realize that in their attempts to seem like adults, they made themselves seem more childish.

They may say they are trying to "support the cause" or talk about their own personality, but they're similar to those people who discover a band, and suddenly, that band is their entire existence. (We all know someone who has done this. Hell, we may have even done it ourselves.) These people latch onto this activity/material thing only because they have no substance to their personality, or simply cannot find their personality. It isn't a sign of weakness, it's just average adolescence. Insecurity runs rampant, and it sucks, but find solace somewhere else, and try to refrain from informing the Interwebs so often.

If you are reading this, and you happen to know that you are one of these people, here is how you make an ass out of yourself by publicly advertising your illegal activity:

• First of all, it's illegal. If you put that out there, you are really just asking to be charged with possession. Right now you say "Fuck the police! I don't care!" but once you get put in juvie hall with people who actually don't care, you may rethink your priorities.
• Secondly, it's trashy. Girls, these guys aren't attracted to you because doing drugs is attractive. They simply like the fact that you do these things because they do these things. Do you honestly think Mr. Broseph Stoner is so worth impressing that you risk being caught?
• Lastly, it exposes your insecurity. Whether you realize it or not, you are posting these things to gain the attention of other drug users, thus giving you a crowd to justify yourself. It's very likely that half of the people that do this aren't even fans of drugs, they simply crave the attention.

Here's a tip: Find you within yourself. You aren't going to find it in a colorful little pill or a burning piece of paper.

Societal Repression

"My heart hurts. I just want to hug him and tell him everything that has been going wrong since we parted ways. I'd tell him that I want to get out of school and why. I'd tell him that I cannot focus on anything anymore and why. I'd tell him that I'm always tired, and that I cannot blink without thinking painful thoughts. I'd tell him that I may be losing my best friend, that I am always so lonesome, that I have no idea where my life is going, that I feel worthless, and that I need him. I want to give voice to all of these thoughts with my head resting on his chest while he strokes my hair. (If I could ever be placed in that situation, I would never be upset over him again. I would be absolutely content.) I would fall asleep there on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breathing, knowing that I was loved. No music playing, just two humans in the silence. That's all we are. Two humans, neither greater than the other. Just people with matching pheromones. That's all." 12/14/11


It's true. That is all any of us are - one hundred percent human.


It is my opinion that people take life far too seriously under all the wrong circumstances. Respectively, what you feel is what you feel. This is nature, for God's sake. I'm not promoting barbarianism, but it isn't exactly a fine line. Things exist that are absolutely natural and are societally rejected for hardly any reason at all.


I have never understood society's determination to destroy everything about us that is truly human, and I don't think I'll ever understand. But this is who I am. I feel things, I make mistakes, I learn. That's how life works. The more we pretend the humanity within us doesn't exist, the worse off we will be as a civilization. 

My current relationship with the education system

College, college, college. 

That seems to be the root of everything recently, and I can't say I appreciate that. 

As we were driving home, my mother mentioned it by saying, "You know if you maintain the grade point average you have now, you'll probably end up with no more than two college choices?"

I know this, and as foolish as it may sound, I don't really mind. I responded with "I'm content as long as I'm getting a theatre education." I'm sure that is what I want to pursue in life, so what exactly would be the point of wasting my time with anything else? She says, "This rebellious attitude is really only hurting you," but it isn't a rebellious attitude, it is a personal choice.

I'm not simply narrow-minded... I'll try anything once. I tried math and couldn't stand it. I tried chemistry and I couldn't stand it. My brain simply isn't made that way, and I'm not going to push it. I'm doing what I'm made for; thought expression, philosophy, and art. It's been said that all of us must push through the things that make us unhappy, but why? Who is to say that our happiness shouldn't come first?

The conversation with my mother carried on as such, and I finally made the comment "I'm sick of trying to fit the system. The system exists for me, not vice versa. I'll do what intellectually benefits me. That's the purpose of education." Hell, I'm learning about the stock market on my own time, I'm trained in CPR and AED, I speak conversational Spanish. I've been around the world and met people of all kinds. I'm not unintelligent, I'm simply uninterested in this area of information.

I occasionally get a pang in my heart while thinking of these things. Maybe I could do better, maybe I could be proud of my accomplishments, maybe I could actually make something of myself... Maybe I'm worth something. These days it is so difficult to tell.

Everything is a huge, jumbled mess. I hardly have room to think anymore. This stress has reached a point where I would like nothing more than to jump in a hole and never emerge again. I simply cannot handle these things.

When I was younger I imagined I would have made something of myself by now. If present-day Emma met five-year-old Emma... God, I don't even want to think about the disappointment that would breed. Perhaps I have high expectations, but at this moment, I'm nothing more to myself than a fuck-up.

This fucking sucks

Yeah. Here I am, sitting at my desk, Blink-182's "I Miss You" on repeat, scarfing down the last of the Boston creme pie, opening and closing our chat window, wishing to God that I could talk to you.

If I do not message you, I'll feel slightly empty when I lie down to go to sleep. I'll end up thinking of what could have been said, what should have been said, what I wish I could say and what cannot be put into words. I will be awake until after midnight, pining, and pining, and pining.

However, if I do message you, two things could happen:
You could just ignore whatever I say. That seems more likely than anything. If that were to happen, I'd be kicking myself for the rest of my waking hours, wondering why I was so stupid as to contact you in the first place.
The more hopeful outcome would be for you to respond. Kindly or unkindly, at least you acknowledged my presence. That alone has become a rarity.

We both know there is still much left to discuss. Our communication was cut off so abruptly, so naturally the feeling is similar to quitting Zoloft cold-turkey. You should know, right?

I miss having someone that can inspire a light at the end of the tunnel. I don't know where the hell I'm going in life anymore. At one point, I wanted to go somewhere, somewhere that you had already been, and it helped so much to have that knowledgeable guidance and companionship to fall back on when I became confused. Now I feel as though my head will explode at any moment.

Now "2AM" by Anna Nalick came on my Spotify playlist and I'm in tears. Damn it, Anna Nalick.

I remember everything you've ever said to me. It all meant more than you could ever know, and I wish I could tell you, but I am literally forbidden to. I'm trapped inside my head with all of this shit you left behind, all this shit I left unspoken. Who else could I express these things to? Where is all of this thought supposed to go? It's all worthless, just like this blog post.

I was never one to grovel, but here I am. I fucking miss you. You will never end up reading any of this and I don't blame you. Why should you care?

Now, the Boston creme pie is gone and these tears are burning the dry skin on my face...

I never thought I'd have a chance to visit Hell.

Man, I wish I was beautiful.

Picture beauty. Picture it right now, and don't attempt to censor yourself. 
I'd bet a good amount of money (if I had any to spare) the image that came to mind was a blonde, blue-eyed, big-titted, long-legged chick, probably of Russian or German descent. Right? Right.


Since I chopped my hair, I've been thinking of how positively average I am. I can't be that beautiful girl that walks into a room, swinging her long hair and making jaws drop. If you've ever heard the song "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet, which you probably have, this exceedingly sexy girl has big black boots and long brown hair. I have the boots... not the hair.


Don't get me wrong... I think I'm attractive. In some way, I guess. I'm kind of cute, like Ellen Page, but definitely not beautiful, like Zooey Deschanel. 

I used to be somewhat beautiful... Now what?

Now... I am a baby.

Well, there it is. I realize how infantile this sounds (It's just hair, right?) but it's a thorn in my side. Without conceit, I haven't had an issue finding attractiveness in the past, this is the first time I haven't felt beautiful. I don't know where it has gone over the past month or so... 

Intellectual Inadequacy

I feel like a failure. Why? Because I can't understand my chemistry homework.


I know many would say, "That's a juvenile reason to feel like a failure" but I disagree. In a society that implies the youth should know everything, these things can get a bit personal.


Let's start from the beginning. I'm extremely right-brained. The only left-brained quality I possess is organization, which I have attributed to my use of anti-depressants. I have never been skilled in mathematics or science (with the exception of eighth grade, because I had the most incredible science teacher). These subjects caused extreme frustration because many things came naturally to me, but these did not. I have a vivid memory of entering the lunch line in first grade, sobbing, and having the lunch lady ask me what was wrong. I was crying because I had to go to math class after lunch. Pitying me, she gave me a free package of Curious George fruit snacks. I still cried for the entirety of lunch, and I wasn't a child that cried much in public. In fact, all the instances I can remember crying in school were caused by academic frustration.


I still haven't learned how to properly handle this frustration. As strong as I am, someone could put a trigonometry packet in front of me, add a certain amount of pressure to do well, and I am reduced to tears. Simply thinking about that right now is getting me watery-eyed. 


That "certain amount of pressure to do well" comes from my parents. Not even a few moments ago, they entered my room and informed me that if I do not get my shit together in school, we won't be celebrating Christmas this year. This doesn't make my task any easier. I am not resisting the work because I'm lazy, I am resisting the work because I cannot wrap my brain around it. I wasn't meant to function that way. I don't see why the public school system believes all students should be able to. We aren't all going to become chemists or engineers, some of us are bound to become the actors, the artists, even the trash collectors. 


So what's the point?

An Accurate Description of High School

I keep a journal religiously. I was idly flipping through pages and found my entry from November 28, this past Monday. I was rambling about my experiences during freshman year and finally decided to summarize in the last paragraph of that day's entry. I think it's quite realistic, and definitely a variation of an idea that has gone through every teenager's mind.


"If I could sum up what I learned about life during freshman year, it would be that nobody is perfect and no situation will ever be precisely to your liking. High school has a way of destroying one's faith in the world and hope for the future. It just blows. We wake up at 5AM after not being able to sleep the previous night due to stress and angst. We get on a bus with obnoxious assholes to go to a dejected school and see more obnoxious assholes. We have pointless information shoved down our throats for six hours, only to go home and do more work on bullshit about which we don't care. It's such an idiotic system, when you boil down to it. So why is it unchanging?" 11/28/11


Thoughts, anyone?