What I Seek in a Figurehead

Before I go on, I have to acknowledge the fact that I am 16 years old. I cannot vote in today's election. But that has not stopped me from doing research on the 2012 candidates and solidifying my preference, something of which we are all capable. I may not have a vote in the 2012 Election, but that does not mean by any stretch that I do not have a voice. I have a voice, and it will be used to advocate as long as I see fit.

That being said, there are several things I want to be represented in a President. I want someone who stands for the true, diverse image of the American people. I firmly believe nothing should be denied of a human being simply because of his or her sexual orientation, and I don’t fancy having someone internationally representing my country that does not believe in this fairness. Both of these points speak to my views on equal opportunity. I believe in giving each American citizen proper health, proper education, and ultimately, the ability to do amazing things if he or she so pleases; and I understand that those struggling have a face. They have a story. There is no single category under which to place those who are less fortunate in one way or another. The only fair generalization to be made is that they all deserve help. And finally, as an point encompassing all of the above, I want to present the United States to the world as collected, compassionate, and constant; and frankly, I cannot understand why any American would want the world to see his or her country as anything less.

And it is because of all of the above points that I am eager to support Barack Obama. At the start of the campaign, I only favored Obama because he represented nearly everything I seek in a President and have enjoyed for his first term. But as the election drew closer, I found a new reason to support him: Mitt Romney represents everything I do not want in a President. If he were to be our leader, he would show the world the elements of America in which I do not take pride. I do not want to be associated with his temperament, his ethics, or politics (rather, lack of such.) And these are the instances that solidified that opinion.

It is clear that he defines America as white and affluent.

In a “secret” video released from a private fundraising event, Romney acknowledges his father George’s time living in Mexico with his parents, Mitt’s grandparents.

“…Had [my father] been born of Mexican parents, I’d have a better shot at winning this ... But he was unfortunately born to Americans living in Mexico. He lived there for a number of years. I mean, I say that jokingly, but it would be helpful to be Latino.”

Although I could initiate the useless argument regarding him “joking” about other races having a better chance in politics, what really got me was “Americans living in Mexico.” He began the statement with “Latino” – a race. Naturally he would acknowledge his family’s race as Caucasian, right? In his mind, that’s exactly what he did. “Americans.” Because he associates the Caucasian race and the term “Americans,” like many others do, when they should not. At least 20% of our population today is not white. In the 21^st century, there is no reason to associate America with one race, subconsciously or otherwise.

He categorizes 100% the “47%” of Americans who seek government assistance as one big, lazy, freeloading entity.

In the same video, Romney speaks about the 47% of the American population who will be supporting Obama.

“All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe that government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what... My job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.”

I have a problem with this, first of all, because he has decided that every single person seeking government assistance is lazy and dependent on government because he or she simply does not feel like working. People like that definitely exist, but can you possibly believe that every American on welfare is on welfare because they want to be? Of course. In Romney’s mind, and the minds of many others, there is no struggle. There is the money to pay for a car to travel to and from a job. There is the money for the day care to watch the small children while their parent works. This money exists no matter what, naturally! Anyone who receives money from the government is using it to freeload, not to complete any of the practical tasks necessary to his or her pathway to success!

My other problem with this is that he has decided it is his job “not to worry about those people.” First of all, as President, it IS your job to care about “those people," and you should probably label them as constituents while you’re at it. In what America is it acceptable for a leader to disregard “47%” of the citizens he is supposed to be leading? Interesting how those worried about Obama somehow becoming a dictator will vote for Romney and completely ignore the fact that he is eager to disregard half of America’s population, in turn disregarding their wants and their voices as Americans. What does a dictator do, again?

He has rigorously taken action against the rights of same-sex parents.

We have known from the start that Romney does not support gays. Fine, that's old news. The issue, however, is that it recently emerged that as governor of Massachusetts, he consistently demeaned the rights of families with same-sex parents. When gay marriage was legalized in Massachusetts in 2003, the next logical step was to make birth certificates of children born to same-sex couples accurate by officially relabeling the box for "Father" as "Father or Second Parent." The Registry of Vital Records & Statistics needed to keep accurate records of children and their parents, and if the child did not have a traditional "Father," the old birth certificate template would not serve its purpose. Romney "rejected the Registry of Vital Records plan and insisted that his top legal staff individually review the circumstances of every birth to same-sex parents. Only after winning approval from Romney’s lawyers could hospital officials and town clerks across the state be permitted to cross out by hand the word “father’’ on individual birth certificates, and then write in 'second parent,' in ink." I say Romney's action was rigorous and consistent because "the practice of requiring high-level legal review continued for the rest of Romney’s term, despite a warning from a Department of Public Health lawyer who said such a system placed the children of same-sex parents at an unfair disadvantage." 

If we want to argue constitutionality about Obama's policies, why don't we look at the way Romney follows rules?  Peggy Weisenberg, the deputy general counsel of the Registry department, told Mark Nielsen of Romney's general counsel that "crossouts and handwritten alterations constituted 'violations of existing statutes' and harmed 'the integrity of the vital record-keeping system' ... The changes also would impair law enforcement and security efforts in a post-9/11 world, she said, and children with altered certificates would be likely to 'encounter [difficulties] later in life . . . as they try to register for school, or apply for a passport or a driver’s license, or enlist in the military, or register to vote.'"

So what's the point? Romney's need to campaign against same-sex parents accomplished nothing. It broke rules, it made things inconvenient for the office, and it gave those children a disadvantage in the world. What I see here is a man who will be blinded by his hatred enough to continue inconveniencing and disrespecting everyone around him. We need someone as President who is open-minded, who compromises, and who understands how to differentiate his own interests from those of the constituents.

His platform is inconsistent.

People don't gain nicknames like "Flip Flop Mitt" for no reason. Obama may have changed his views on gay marriage since 1996, but he has admitted that he "struggles with" the issue, and then finally came out in support of gay rights. That is why we call his changing views an "evolution." Mitt, however, jumps from one end of the spectrum to another based on his present company. He has done this on nearly every issue: abortion, women's health, budget and economy, civil rights, education, foreign policy, you name it. If we cannot count on our leader to keep his own platform at least somewhat consistent, how can we count on him to cater to the people's interests, or to keep any national stance as something tangible?

And finally, he responds horribly when he is challenged.

In an Iowa radio interview, Romney defends his Mormon religion. I'm not sure why we use the word "defense" because that implies that there was an original opposition from the interviewer, Jan Mikelson, who is not agreeing or disagreeing and looks like he was simply trying to continue the dialogue. 

Politicians like to interrupt each other. As we saw in the Presidential Debate, Romney continually interrupted not only Obama but the moderator as well. No one likes to be interrupted, but he does not respond well to it. Each time, in several different settings, he demands that the interruptor let him finish instead of responding calmly.

What I see here is a very hot-headed man with few interpersonal skills. What I see here is a man who has directly disrespected fellow citizens. If he does that to his constituents, what will he do to foreign leaders and their citizens? I surely do not want to see him interrupting Prime Minister David Cameron and then insisting that he "let him finish." I surely do not want the world to see America as the entitled nation that talks over everyone else.

Romney does not fit any of my ideal criteria for President of the United States. He defines America as affluent and Caucasian and will continue to illustrate the "traditional American" image that is no longer accurate in 2012. He is eager to disregard half of America's population, and has made it clear that he does not care about them. He inconveniences those around him by catering to his own views and interests. He is inconsistent. He changes his views based on who he is speaking to, and he is hot-headed. 

I am a 16-year-old United States citizen and I do not want Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, or South America to see Mitt Romney as America. I want a figurehead that represents the American values of which I am proud. If the American image is one of exclusivity, apathy, inconsistency and disrespect, I no longer wish to be associated with it.

Fighting the Warrior Within

Yesterday I had past life regression done.

I sat down in an empty room above Breathe Books in Hampden at a table that was too short for its chairs, and allowed a woman I had never met to connect to my "higher self" and tell me what she saw. Within minutes of sitting down, she told me I was a Crystal Child, which I have been told before, but I haven't been called one in years. (Crystal Children are essentially old souls with kind, forgiving natures.) She said I was very special and that the angels in the room thanked me for being there, because I was "raising the vibrations."

Regardless, she asked me if I'd like to focus on figuring out anything in particular, and I mentioned my anxiety. I've had horrible anxiety since I can remember and I have always wanted to know why. So she connected to my higher self and told me that although we all have hundreds of past lives, I have more than most, and more than 40 of my past lives are contributing to my anxiety.

Lovely.

She read four of my past lives by the end of the session. In each, I was a woman. In each, I was a warrior. Apparently it's strange for someone to be consistently reincarnated as the same gender, but she told me that this was most likely just what my higher self wanted me to see at this point in time.

Even stranger than always being reincarnated as a woman was always ending up as a warrior. Only in one of the four lives did I live in a culture where women were expected to fight (coincidentally, that was the only life in which I did not enjoy battle.) She told me that there is a spiritual theory that states that within all of us, there are 12 archetypes, one of mine being the warrior archetype. Warrior archetypes are naturally inclined to behave as such. They will find battles to fight, and their actions are motivated by their defensive nature.

Whether or not you believe in reincarnation and the like, this makes a lot of sense. I am a ridiculously defensive person. I can never tell when someone is making a joke; I take everything far too seriously, including myself. I'm very opinionated and although I've become more relaxed and open-minded over the years, I'm quick to defend my views. Most definitively, I am independent and self-reliant. Perhaps it's a mix of past-life baggage and present-life experience that has led me to be so disinclined to trust anyone besides myself, but it is the way I am. It's the way many people are.

However, anyone who shares that trait will understand the setbacks that come along with it. Being your own warrior is fantastic; it's empowering, it's reliable, it's something you can depend on. Being on the defense 24/7 protects you. What else protects you? Walls. Barriers. Distance. As a warrior, the only thing you cannot battle is your loneliness.

I like the warrior nestled within my higher self. That warrior has gotten me places. That warrior has helped me overcome many obstacles. We have each others' backs.

Unfortunately, that's all we have. Each other.

Native Tourism

"I feel like a tourist in my own life. 
Everything has changed but me. If I had told myself a few months ago that I would be dating Jeremy right now ... and disliking my home life and being tired of theatre... I wouldn't have believed any of it ... I can feel the people around me judging me. Everything around me is changing, I know I'm still Emma. I am still in this wretched town but people have come and gone, people have changed and so have expectations. People look at me like I'm the foreigner, more than they did before. I have always been relatively outcast by the majority, but this isn't the same... I don't even know how to describe it. It's like I'm in a production - consistent setting, consistent roles, and a consistent character for me. The issue is that the actors have changed. Almost like the structure has remained but the actors have interpreted the text differently and have different subtext and character choices while I'm the same. The dynamic has changed. Under those circumstances I would have to tweak my own character... but does that still stand in this real-life situation? I like who I am and I'm making the choices that I see fit, but that would hypothetically be the same with a character. Seems that drawing parallels isn't doing a damn thing to help me figure my shit out. 
If everything is changing but the setting... perhaps it's time to change that too."
5/17/12


Change has been a big theme in my life recently and this journal entry is a good description for how it makes me feel, even though it's almost a month old at this point.


I still haven't figured this out, but I've been been floating with the tides. No point in resisting change. Resistance to change inevitably leads to disappointment and frustration while being flexible to it opens new doors in life. 


I'd rather open curious doors than sit in the corner and sulk.

Changes

"10:40AM. Seniors are walking around outside because they just had their graduation rehearsal. I have a weird feeling in my chest and upper stomach that I can only describe as a reaction to change. It's a bit of excitement, a touch of confusion... but the knowledge that this change is necessary. I wanted this change. I wanted this year to end and I would be miserable if it didn't... but... I don't know. People are passing out of my life. Time is passing. Change is an odd thing."


Pieces have been cut from this next section for my privacy:


"Ten months ago I was head over heels with infatuation for a man ... I was hating myself over things I couldn't control, like the year I was born and the personality I developed in earnest. I was staunchly straight edge. (insert name here) was just a Facebook friend and Jeremy Ruth was but a distant memory. Autumn was an acquaintance, meanwhile, I was completely anti-social and harbored disdain for my peers. I ate like shit but dressed like a queen every day of my life ... I had no idea what true, dark, deep depression was like. Crying was just starting to increase in frequency and I had very little skill in controlling my emotions. I was heading full speed towards a dead end. I was only subconsciously aware of the fact that everything was going to fall apart.


How would I describe my current position? I'm a young girl with scars ... and a heart that is just beginning to straighten itself out. My hormones are running rampant. I am dating a punk-ass 18-year-old with the softest and sweetest heart I have ever known ... I'm undoubtedly meant to be with him at this time and I've felt that way since I met him nearly a year and a half ago. I am feeling a way I have never felt before. I'm full of hope for this summer and for my fragile emotional condition. I have fantastic friends and a stable friendly and a lot of people who care for me. That man ... is hardly an entity in my life at this point and I like it that way. It seems that my life is on the ascension right now and I hope it continues." 5/25/12


For purposes of clarification:
The "man" mentioned is referred to here.
The story of Jeremy Ruth (the "punk-ass 18-year-old") and I is here.
Autumn is one of my closest friends and I don't know how I would have gotten through this year without her. She's a truly beautiful human being and so full of light.


Things are okay. I've been exercising to strengthen my body and practicing loving thoughts to strengthen my emotional state. I have learned to appreciate given circumstances. I've been listening to a lot of uplifting and deep music (check out Incubus's album If Not Now, When? Honestly one of the most brilliant albums in existence, absolutely flawless) and that practice in itself does wonders. Like I mentioned in the above journal entry, summer looks promising. I don't have plans other than to get as many hours in at work as possible, break out my German Rosetta Stone, enjoy the company of those I love, and relax. I don't doubt that I deserve it, because this year has kicked me in the teeth repeatedly and I've been lying on the ground in my own pool of blood for too long. Recuperation is necessary.


I feel strong. I've removed many of the toxicities present in my life, I've been teaching myself not to stress over things out of my control, and I've learned to be thankful. I believe in enlightenment. Enlightenment yields strength. My strength right now is the belief in myself; thus, I have created a nice cycle.


Viva el verano, viva la vida.

To Women and Girls Everywhere (Julie Zeilinger Article)

"Three Reasons Why 'Feminism' Is Not A Dirty Word" by Julie Zeilinger


My fellow teen gals should read and absorb this. Embracing your strength as a woman is one of the best things you can ever do for yourself, and spreading that message of strength is a huge step towards local, national, and even global change. It's a cause worth representing no matter what religion or political party because you are representing yourself and fellow women around the world.


I agree with literally everything Julie says in this article. Yes, being confident in your womanhood will help you get through high school. Yes, sexism is STILL alive and well. If your rights as a gender aren't worth fighting for, I don't know what is.


"For me, feminism is anything but a dirty word: Honestly, I don't know where I'd be right now without it."


Where would we be without feminism?


We would be in floor length skirts, condemned to be homemakers, and constantly disrespected by the husband we were forced to marry.


Research into global sexism will give you a good idea as to how far feminism has to go. If you aren't motivated to do that much, you don't have to look far; there is sexism right in your backyard with the white male Republicans who are aiming to eradicate the woman's choices regarding her reproductive health. 


Who has the right to tell us we are less? No one. Will they continue to attempt to limit our rights unless we assert ourselves as a strong group? Yes.


You know the saying "grow some balls," meaning to toughen up? Well, I think that phrase should rather be something like "get a vagina," or perhaps "grow some ovaries." Our reproductive system can take a beating like no other.


We are women, we are strong, we are one.

Placebo Life

Well... What's to be said? Things aren't exactly great right about now.


I'm currently on three different medications to try and tackle my depression. It seemed for awhile that they were working, but right now I feel as though I'm right back where I was in August of 2009 when I was first given crazy pills, if not worse.


My theatrical career may or may not be kicking off this week. I have an audition this Wednesday for a professional theater's season, and I'm very confident about the work I have to present. Why am I unexcited? I don't know. Perhaps it's the end of a chapter, and I'm in the doldrums of the falling action. I sincerely hope that's what it is. I really can't go on feeling like this for long.


I know I should be feeling refreshed after a week off from school. I had a good time in Williamsburg with my close friend Autumn, yet I feel worse than I did before break. The break was just too short, I suppose, or maybe at this point, no amount of time would allow for full recuperation. 


Yesterday I broke down crying in the passenger seat on the way home from a grocery run with my mother. I told her that I felt like a failure, which has been a constant feeling in my life for a while. My grades are horrid, and I have absolutely no capacity to complete my work. I have no motivation and I get stressed and shut down before I can even begin the work. She said, like she has said before, that I shouldn't label myself a failure because of what I've been through this year. "You are one of the bravest people I know," she said. "It has taken a great amount of courage for you to get up every morning feeling the way that you do. You have endured what most people twice your age would crumble under." I suppose so. I don't want to pat myself on the back. I haven't exactly been strong. If I were an aqueduct, my structure would be cracking and eroding while water spurted out from the weak points. There have been times that I have been able to do a few quick fixes and get myself just strong enough to move along, but ultimately, those mean nothing. Ultimately, I'm not fulfilling my purpose. Ultimately, I have failed. 


Although I'm publishing this on the Internet to be viewed by hundreds, I have never felt more alone than I do at this moment. 


I've found myself relating more and more to Lana Del Rey's Born To Die. "Fate, don't fail me now, take me to the finish line, oh, my heart, it breaks every step that I take... Walkin' through the city streets, is it my mistake of design? I feel so alone on a Friday night..." 


I can't help but think, is this my problem? Was I just born flawed, like a dud toy is accidentally created with damning deficiencies? If so, what does it matter? There isn't a shred of hope for me. The world doesn't stop to fix a broken toy.

Victimized, Whiny, and Illogical (Explicit)

God, fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!


Never has someone made me feel like such a victim. You asshole, you.

I suppose all of this anger has just been lurking, just waiting for the one emotional catharsis that would bring everything to the surface. It has been waiting for the day that I truly understand how much you have fucked me up emotionally. For whatever reason, that day is today.

I wish you knew. But then again, you couldn't give a shit, could you? You egotistical bastard.

When considering the situation, I realize how fucked up it all has been. I guess all this time I've just been blind. I've been so infatuated I can't even see straight. Have you even realized how wrong this all has been? How inappropriate it is? I'll bet you have, and you've drawn your line in the sand. It's far from what is acceptable, but just close enough to me that you have been able to tear me to pieces.

The way you push and pull, the way you bait me with some precious shard of personal communication, it's all about you. You couldn't care less about how it makes me feel, could you? It's all about the attention you receive from me, the attention that I've been so naively ready to give. You have known all this time that all you had to do was say the word and I would be there. You had me wrapped around your little finger.

Do you realize that all this time I've been so close to living for you and you only? I've sat and I've waited for you to reply to my messages. I've jumped from conclusion to conclusion, hoping that maybe you were just busy, hoping that we would fall back into the same routine of casually talking. I know it didn't mean that much to you, but the fact that you went out of your way to communicate with me meant a hell of a lot to me. Because that's what you did. You went out of your way, far past what was appropriate, to talk to me. Every opportunity you had to be the mature one in the situation was thrown out the window and you cannot deny that. The sick part is that I wanted you to throw out those opportunities because I always wanted you as close as I could get you.

I'm not even sure how you did it, but you managed to fuck up my personal relationships. Everyone that knows about you really can't stand you because they saw what I wasn't able to a long time ago. They saw that you had your best interests in mind and no one else's. I'm not sure why you would jeopardize yourself so much in the process, but I guess that's what you would sacrifice for this kind of attention that you were able to manipulate so easy. The guy I've been seeing? He would like nothing more than to knock your teeth out. I've told him everything, and he realizes how fucked up it's been, and how much you've fucked up for me. You have left me emotionally tangled, which sucks for him, because he's the one who has to be here to help sort it out. Maybe that's why you hardly stuck around to be there for me. You knew you would have to get far too close.

It's funny that even though you were relatively detached, you hurt me so badly. I don't even know how you managed to do it, but you did. Congratulations.

The verdict's in. I wish I had never laid eyes on you. I would give up everything I've learned from you just to take back all the pain you've caused. Maybe my parents wouldn't have to blow their paychecks on medication and therapy sessions if you hadn't come around and broken me. Maybe I would be able to have a healthy romantic relationship without thinking about you, or just have a healthy romantic relationship period.

Maybe you'll read this. I doubt you will, because you have more important shit to worry about than that stupid little girl that you played around with too much and broke. If you do, I'd like to remind you of your own words. "Don't scar that heart of yours," you said. Well, it's far too late for that now. I became far too vulnerable, so I suppose it's partially my fault, but it doesn't change the fact that you took advantage of my emotional vulnerability. I didn't realize how much potential you had to scar me so badly because I was too infatuated. For once, I wish you had acted like an adult. I wish you had seen reason. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone else.

But you deserve to know that I am aware that it isn't just me, either. You've done this before, and you'll do it again. You would have to be stupid not to realize what you're doing, and you are far from stupid, so I know you're doing this intentionally. You never gave a shit about us like you implied you did. You fucked with all of our heads. Just know that I'm the one who will never shut up about it. I'm the one who won't let it go.

God, you're so worthy of my hatred. You deserve it.

I just wish I could give it.

Story of a Boy, as told by me last June

I was looking through a journal that I used at the end of last June into July while I was in Costa Rica, and I found a little story of a boy I used to know. I liked it, so here it is:


"Sup?" asked the blue eyed innocence standing in front of me. He tripped a little over the slight incline on the edge of the parking lot, but continued to smile.
There was something about him that was extremely comfortable, and seemed like a worthy, becoming characteristic to have in a friend. He had only come to visit, but it was the first warm day of sunshine in February and I needed to go with him.
We jumped into the back seat of his dirty car along with his best friend and mine, and drove off without a care in the world. I don't remember feeling that free a moment in my life.


"We're driving now," his voice came through the phone. "I think we passed your house."
I quickly instructed him to turn around, and ran to the end of my driveway to meet them.
A dingy Burger King seemed to be the best option although we were approached by beggars in their winter coats, craving the warmth of the day before.
Back at my house, I laughed harder than I had in a very long time. He told me almost everything, and kissed me while the third wheel stepped out for a smoke.
I didn't understand the comfort I felt. I was one hundred percent myself, not stifled as I was in usual company. It was like relaxation therapy. I wasn't at all self conscious. 
We intertwined on the couch in the most awkward positions which felt right to us. I didn't know loneliness anymore.


He said he was sick. It seemed like an eternity that I didn't see him, although it was less than a week.
He came to visit on a Thursday. I saw him park and walk toward me, then walk right by me. His mind was in another place.
He slept all day and wasn't returning my calls. I didn't realize yet, but my fairytale was crashing to the ground.


"I'm talking to her again. The same feelings are coming back," the text message read.
He was slipping away from me, returning to the manipulative witch that had put him through hell. I blindly grasped at whatever tactics I could think of to keep him, to make him see sense. I didn't realize that he had already made up his mind.


The once comfortable group of three sat in the same living room, this time nearly in silence. There were a few moments in which a spark of fun and carelessness returned, but it was hardly the same as that cold yet lovely evening which seemed so long ago.


I walked them to their car, which was parked around the bend. We started lightly arguing. I didn't mean to, but I called her a bitch.
"Why do you care so much?" he angrily inquired.
"Because she's in Colorado while I'm right here," I replied, slamming the car door.


As I walked away, I saw my shadow's contrast go in and out on the pavement. He was flashing his headlights, to which I replied with my middle finger. Angered, he laid on the horn.


"Fuck you!" I hollered back.


He sped off into the dark as I ran home. I wasn't crying. You don't cry when you are completely numb.


I didn't see his name appear on my phone for weeks. I don't know if I wanted to talk to him. We had only known love. We had only known our attempts to cure each other's loneliness. 


The next I heard from him, we went in the usual group of three to the mall and Qdoba. I hardly said anything because I knew it wouldn't be heard. He said I was attractive. I didn't answer him. When I left, I simply told him goodbye.


She felt threatened. She made him stop talking to me altogether, which further pushed my point that she was insanely manipulative. I didn't really care; at least, not at the time. He was under her spell, and as long as that was the case, he wasn't worth having around. I had someone new in my life that could potentially take his place.


He disappeared entirely from all of our lives for a while. She had his heart and mind, and he didn't have the energy for the rest of us.


She left him and he instantly came back into existence. He began acknowledging my existence, as well, with a friend request on Facebook.


The next day, I saw him. I wasn't at all expecting to. but we went for a drive with a friend. He told me that I had been right about everything, to which I replied "I know." He acknowledged my lack of hair and told me I was beautiful. I wasn't beautiful for him, but he didn't know that I had made the decision to chop my long, curly locks partially because I didn't need the reminder of his fingers immersed in them.


I knew he was simply telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. It wasn't as real the second time around.


When he dropped me off where I needed to be that evening, he got out of the car and gave me a huge hug. I felt a spark of comfort there in his arms. "Where have you been?" I jokingly asked him. He said he didn't know, but he did.


Now the only conversation we have is the exchanging of "I miss you"s, yet neither of us has made a huge effort to close the distance. We have different priorities. He is focused on his new job, getting drugs into his system and looking for quick fixes to his loneliness while I am focused on getting a job and figuring out who I am and what I really need. He abandoned his aspirations a long time ago while mine are still very much alive. Sometimes I wonder if we need each other. It would make sense, since we are nearly polar opposites and could open each other's eyes to so much.


It's strange, because he seems like such a large part of my life to this day, even though our relationship was not infinitely deep and we were together for such a short time. I think I love him. I'm not in love with him, but I care for his condition more than he knows. I have all of the solutions to all of his issues, but I know from experience that he doesn't want to solve his problems, and that I have to let him live out this stage in his life on his own. Maybe when he figures his shit out we could fall in love. I don't know. I'm lonely just like he is, but I'm allowing time to get everything together in my life before I can be anything in someone else's. We're all so young and it's ridiculous that we should feel this old and this heavy.


I do wonder quite a bit if he ever thinks of me. I highly doubt it. Maybe I will ask him about all of this someday, someday when neither of us will take it so seriously. That's part of my motivation for recording these events. I'd like to see how my feelings change.


I don't know if I'll ever show this to him, or tell him how all of it made me feel. It doesn't really hurt that much anymore. Lastly, I want to remember that strangely, I never cried over him. Maybe someday I'll know what that means, or if it means anything."

Iceblink Luck

"I'm seemin' to be a little bit alive
I'm happy again, caught, caught in time"


I've been thinking a lot recently of what my life will be like in ten years. 


I've been thinking a lot recently of what my life will be like when I graduate. 


I've been thinking a lot recently of what my life would be like with you, but we'll scratch that for now.


I've been thinking a lot recently of what my life would be like if I were happy and healthy. I must be getting there, as there was a time that I was unable to see any light at the end of this tunnel. I can see that light right now. There are plans laid out to resolve most of the things that have been causing stress in my life and my suitcase is lying open on the floor, halfway packed for a weekend adventure in New York City. My life is under control, if only for the moment. That in itself is a relief because I've been on a runaway horse for quite a while now. At this point I have hopefully taken the reigns of said horse.


I suppose this is what Elizabeth wanted. The Cocteau Twins are available for any emotion, however obscure, when you seek musical reinforcement.


"Thank you for mending me, babies"

Scent

I smell you at the strangest times.


That musky, almost sweet smell of your cologne, which I have forever attached to the thought of you, will  occasionally envelop me without any forewarning. 


Often it happens at work, and although it has become more and more frequent as of late, it still catches me completely off guard. 


I inhale and quite abruptly, you. You come to mind. Whatever I was doing prior to your rude interruption automatically ceases. After a few seconds of suddenly questioning my current location, I realize that I may look like a statue at the moment and that I should probably get back to whatever I was doing. 


But really. It is very inconsiderate to drop by at times when I would love nothing more than to be rid of you, if only for a moment. Although, I must admit, I do take some pleasure in your scent. It's you, and I tend to like anything about you. 

Hopelessly/Hopefully

I haven't updated in a while, so I figured I'll do just that.


I find myself becoming angrier by the day. My knuckles are currently bruised and swollen from the incessant boxing I've been doing every day after school. Several people around me have been plucking at my nerves quite a bit, and strangely, I'm not completely sure how to handle it. The issues strike a chord very close to me and naturally I get very fired up, but no one knows other than my handy Everlast heavy bag (God bless it.) The boxing helps in exempting the anger, but not getting rid of it entirely, so I'm not certain what's to be done with the remainder. 


I had a prospective romantic interest at a point over the past month and it fell through quite quickly. What's to be gathered is that during the brief and hopeful episode, I thought I was finally releasing my emotions for someone who has been very prominent in my life in the recent months, but after the fact I realized he had been on my mind the entire time. C'est la vie, I suppose. There's always going to be that one soul present, even if just peripherally.


Tonight, though, I saw Fifty Words performed at Everyman Theater. The plot centers around a young married couple with a 10-year-old boy whom the audience never sees, but hears about quite a bit. The husband is an architect with a project far from home that causes him to be on the road, and the wife is in the baby steps of starting her own business on top of motherhood. This is their first night alone in a very long time, and it begins as a seductive endeavor but quickly goes south. It turns out that the husband has a prolonged affair. The wife, though, who one would typically side with in such situations, has terrible methods within the relationship and tends to be indirect, manipulative, and indecisive. The relationship is dysfunctional because her methods are unacceptable and his methods for dealing with her are equally unacceptable. The moral, quite frankly, is that men are stupid and women are crazy. 


The female character pressed an already existent point in my brain: Being direct with most thoughts in a relationship. In all honesty, one would have difficulty finding a female as direct as I am. I express uncertainties and thoughts that tend to eat up a relationship hastily because it's simpler for both parties. If you beat around the bush with things hoping that somehow they'll be remedied, you will 1.) drive yourself crazy and 2.) create a bigger issue than what was originally present. Although it's a fairly simple concept, I'm still surprised by the amount of people that handle their problems in a passive aggressive manner. What's the point?


Anyway... I've been feeling pretty hopeless lately. In relationships, in my education, and in my life's journey. I've gone on a new medication, though, which holds a lot of hope for the future. I'm praying that it pulls through. I need something to help me out. I'd like a someone to help me out, too, but that seems like an unattainable goal at the moment.


When in doubt, I just breathe. Focusing on one's breathing is a simple cure that many of us take for granted. 

Social Network Anxiety

As I slip my rings off my fingers for the night and turn on some Anna Nalick, I realize you haven't replied to my Facebook message after at least a day. My heart drops. Then, I'm fairly sure my heart has dropped even further into my stomach as I become aware that you are currently online. You go offline as soon as I go online, and I begin having difficulty breathing. I try telling myself it isn't anything personal, but naturally, I jump to the worst case scenario. 


As a vague example, this is how it goes:


Message: So how are you?
(No reply after ten minutes.)
Thoughts: I guess he just isn't online.
(No reply after two hours.)
Thoughts: Did I say something wrong?
(No reply after five hours, seeing him going on and offline.)
Thoughts: Oh my god, he must have had an epiphany of some sort and decided that he isn't going to talk to me ever again. 
(No reply after a day.)
Thoughts: I really, really miss him and want to talk to him, but I don't want to be more annoying than I already have been.
(No reply after a day and a few hours.)
Thoughts: I guess he hates me now. I shouldn't even try. Why am I so stupid?


I realize how desperate this sounds, but when you're seeking the attention of someone you care about, you tend to become very sensitive to this form of unspoken virtual language. There is a plethora of reasons why the message has not been acknowledged; they may not have an opportunity to reply, they may not know what to say, they may not want to talk at the moment... But of course, the brain will immediately jump to conclusions and tell us that we are eternally damned for sending an innocent message.


As ridiculous as it sounds, I know a good amount of people who have felt this way before. I have heard of cases in which the girl has jumped to the conclusion that the recipient isn't responding because he detests her, and she says something like, "I'm so sorry for whatever I did. Can we talk about this? Just please respond to me." Surprisingly, when placed under these circumstances, it takes a great deal of self-control not to send a message that extreme.


This is one of the many burdens that social networking has caused. It's times like these that make me wonder if it's more of a curse than a blessing that we have access to each other 100% of the time.


(And after I finish this post, I check Facebook and see that I have one new message. I get unnecessarily giddy before I realize it is from someone else...


Let's see how neurotic a human can become before they explode. We might as well make an experiment out of this.)

Taking Chances (Weekend Update)

Surprisingly, I feel content.

On Friday I was invited to attend a casual Harry Potter marathon (which was right up my alley) at the house of one of my co-workers, Mike. Given that he's five years my senior, I struggled with the decision. I didn't know any of his friends and had no clue what to expect.

When he extended the invitation, I said, "You're serious?" He replied with "Why not? There shouldn't be a lot of thought involved. You are welcome in our home."

I realized in that moment that I take life far too seriously. Life is for taking chances, experimenting and experiencing, fucking up and learning, succeeding. 

Why not?

I showed up Saturday afternoon and was in Mike's basement with two of his friends on whom I had never laid eyes. We began in unpleasant silence, but after a few hours we were nearly crying from laughter (and we hadn't even drank.) I was ridiculously comfortable with all of them, and I felt free to be myself.

I'm so thankful I decided to take that chance. I suppose sometimes you'll never warm up to the water if you don't jump in feet first.

New goal: Take chances. Worry less. Venture with the tides. Remember that you have nothing to lose.

Home Is Where the Inspiration Is

I am back in Reisterstown.

The air is dry and bitter.

My room is oddly small.

The floorboards make the same doleful sounds they always have.

My clothing lies in the same haphazard piles in which it was left.

The same skeletons remain in the small, harshly fluorescent closet.

I forced myself to forget that all this shit belonged to me.

This is the main reason why I don't enjoy vacations much. It's similar to drinking too much; you forget all stresses momentarily, but you inevitably come back to yourself, and then those stresses seem so much more prominent.

I don't have coping skills and I don't have anyone to lighten the burden.

I need help, I need help, I need help.

This home isn't where I belong. I belong where my heart wants to be. I belong in a place that isn't going to cause brackish tears to sting my face as they are right now. I belong in a place that inspires me to live, inspires me to prosper, and encourages growth rather than stifles all inspiration and cultivates nothing other than self-destructive thoughts.

To me, home isn't where one happened to be born. Home may not even be where one's family resides. Home is where one feels strong, insightful, and inspired, even if only for a moment. I've felt like that in this house earlier on in my life, but right now, this isn't what my soul needs.

Never have I felt so childishly vulnerable.

I need help, I need a hug, I need help.