This Is Not What I Have Been Thinking About

As of late, my brain has not been very well organized. In fact, it has been somewhat of a mess. It is as if my head is full of tiny, poorly-trained ballet dancers, and they are all intent on mastering the dance to a different song, so they are all leaping and twirling about to different music and running into each other, and then bickering about who was in whose way and why my slippers are better than yours and that is precisely the reason that you should learn my dance and turn off that silly music that you're hopping about to.

Needless to say, it has not been all that pleasant of an experience for me.

I have had many things I want to write about, which include my stress level, the book I am currently reading, why the world does not need a Grand Theft Auto 4, and my older sister. I am certain that I will discuss all these things in due time. However, I have decided that since I seem incapable of organizing my thoughts on any of these subjects, I will have to pick an entirely different topic.

Ahem. (I just cleared my throat.)

Presenting :

12 Things That You Probably Don't Know About Me Yet

1. Before I eat my m&m's, I arrange them in creative, map-like patterns. I start with the brown, and have red branch off a few directions off of that, then orange, yellow, green, and blue. I eat them from the inside out and always eat blue last.

2. I cannot turn a cartwheel. Okay, I turned one once when I was six. Once.

3. I sometimes sing what I mean to say, and it really isn't on purpose. It gets me some weird looks, particularly from check-out people and teachers.

4. When I was younger, I wanted to be an artist. I drew all the time, and I got really good. It's sad for me to admit that without the time that I use to have to practice, my skills are diminishing. I find myself going through old drawings saying, "Wow, I wish I could draw like that!"

5. Han Solo has been my hero since childhood, and he always will be. Indiana Jones is my second hero, a decision made before I even realized that they were both played by Harrison Ford. I try to ignore the fact that Indy is a player...

6. I think books are undeniably better than movies.

7. When I read books, I always pick favorite male and female characters. The male almost always inevitable turns out to be evil.

8. I have little to no respect for people who follow fads of any kind. I am a great believe in individuality, and that conformity should be avoided if at all possible. (By the way, it is always possible.)

9. The only time I have used a curse word was once in fourth grade, on accident, at recess, and I immediately went wide-eyed and covered my mouth. I still feel bad about it.

10. I want to kill myself every time I see a beautiful woman.

11. I once convinced my little sister that Santa Claus wasn't real. All the Christmas presents came from the Whiffle Bird, who would lay eggs that hatch into presents and leave feathers in stockings to turn into candy. Unfortunately, she had a fight with a friend at school about it and I was found out and forced to apologize.

12. I desperately want to own and wear a cute Lolita outfit! (If you don't know what Lolita is, you can look it up in wikipedia. :] )

<3 o.

Uncle Sam Says: "I WANT YOU... To Stop Whining!"

Okay, I never really got the Uncle Sam posters that said "I Want You" at the bottom... something about joining the army or buying bonds or something. (I do know that the guy in the original posters came from my home town, though!) Anyway, the point is, I think my last little post about America being lame was a little whiny and not very clear. My complaint was more towards the people here than the government. I have very few problems with the government. I disagree with some laws and the lack of some laws, but overall, I think the country is being run pretty okay. And I do acknowledge (and appreciate) many of the special opportunities here.

I guess that's all I have to say. Nothing has really been on my mind a lot of late... It's Saturday night and will soon be Sunday, when the new PostSecrets are up.

Well, one thing is on my mind. On the AOL homepage, there is an article about a guy who has been married 23 years and has never cheated on his wife. He has lusted over many women and enjoys sexual humor and the like, but has never cheated on his wife. I would like to know... Why is that such an incredible thing? I mean, kudos to guys not having an affair, yes, but... I really wish that it weren't so remarkable. I wish it was kind of more... a given thing that a man doesn't cheat on his wife.

It makes me seriously rethink my thoughts of getting married. I know this is a silly thing, but it is very hard for me to trust someone enough to date them... I can only imagine how hard it will be for me to feel confident enough in a person to marry them... and then to have them have an affair, I think would crush me. I don't want to have to deal with that. I don't know what I would do.

I still have plenty of time to think about marriage, though. It's probably not something I should worry about too much right now.

And a little shout-out to any married men who have remained faithful to their wives, mentally and emotionally as well as physically: Thank you for defying convention and being a good husband. I'd like to hear about you, just for reassurance that you exist. :)

<3 o.

Two Tickets to Canada, Please.

I remember when Emmo got American Girl magazines, and I would always check the mailbox every day before she did to see if it was there. (I did a lot of stealing her mail, didn't I?) I love American Girl magazines. "Celebrating Girls And All That They Can Be." What a sweet motto. :)

For those of you who don't know, American Girl is a company that makes dolls and magazines and books for girls that encourage strong character, mostly for girls ages 9-13, although personally I still love them. They have various characters for different stages of American history who find ways to use different facets of their character to face different challenges presented by whatever portion of history they are from. Their magazines are not superficial at all. They never offer make-up or hair advice, other than how to take care of it. They publish articles on how to feel better about braces, handicaps, loneliness, and the like. They even allow you to order custom dolls to look like you--buck teeth, freckles, and curly hair. Even different skin colors and face and eye shapes for different backgrounds. :)

Now don't get me wrong, I love American Girl. They kept me entertained and happy for many years (until Emmo started stealing them back). My family has been getting their magazine for over 20 years... but I'm not so sure that American Girl is the right name for it.

Modesty, self-contentment, friendliness, and individuality are no longer strongly encouraged traits in this great country of ours so much as conformity, promiscuity, selfishness, and superficiality. It shocks me how the country has changed. There used to be such a thing as a gentleman, and now it's weird to open the door for a girl. If a store carried pornographic material, it was kept behind the counter, but now it's everywhere, and no one bothers to keep it private because nearly everyone buys it. Women use to be expected to be modest, you were to keep nearly all your flesh covered except for your husband, now it's weird to not expose everything you have for whatever guy wants to see it.

America was founded on Christian values, but a survey of 104 of Hollywood's more elite and influential writers revealed that 99% of them believe that television should be "more critical" of Judeo-Christian values. Now, I don't honestly expect them to base their shows on Christian beliefs, that's completely unrealistic. But be more critical? Why do we have to criticize them? Weren't we founded on them? (I do have a source to direct you to for that little statistic if you want it.)

People first came here to be free. Free to practice different religions, have different beliefs, whatever. I don't feel so free to have my different beliefs. It seems like I get more crap for disagreeing with homosexuality than any homosexuals I know--and I'm not even mean about it. Do you want to know the last time I shoved any of my beliefs about homosexuality or any other contraversial issue down someone's throat? Never. I am just as nice to people who do things I don't agree with as I am to people who agree with me. But all those people who want me to "tolerate" different controversial things, which I already do, don't seem to be very tolerant of my opinions, which I keep to myself until asked. It's a bit frustrating...

Besides which, the rest of the world hates us. I can't say I blame them. Sometimes I feel like a goldfish in a dirty fish tank here, wishing someone would just freaking fix the filter! I bet all the other fish are tired of looking at and smelling our dirty water. Next war, I'm moving to Canada--I don't think anyone hates Canada. Besides, I like cold weather a lot. I would move to Europe, but it'd be hard to visit my family that way, not to mention I'm not comfortable with casual nudity. (Something I'd just as soon not talk about. I don't think they're evil, I'm just uncomfortable with it.) And when I move, I'll be taking my husband with me. (They better not have another war before I'm married.)

I hope they have a Canadian Girl magazine there...

<3 o.

More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls

I drove past the post office today and had an odd urge to go in. I didn't go in, but I definitely wanted to. It brought to mind my friend Becca, from California. Becca and I met in New York and became instant friends, and continued to exchange letters for a little while. We had plans for Becca to come visit the following spring with an internship-type program she was doing, but she had to quit because her father died and she had to help her family. Not too long after, I lost her address.

There is something special about getting a letter that is oh-so-more exciting than recieving an e-mail. E-mail is nice, yes, but a letter holds more than just the words on the screen. A letter says, "I took the time to hand-write every word on this piece of paper, find one of the last existing envelopes in this digital world, and pay some thirty-odd cents in order to get this to you." That's just special. In addition, you get to read your letter in the handwriting of that person, which is so personal compared to "Times New Roman" or "Verdana" or even "Kristen ITC".

My older sister, Emmo, exchanges letters with her friends constantly. Every time her friends are not home, the letters pour in, and her friends constantly are traveling, studying abroad, attending camp, or counseling at a camp. Japan, Germany, Alaska, Poland, Switzerland, various small towns... Emmo keeps all of her letters in a couple of different boxes, and when she lived at home, I liked to steal them and read them and pretend that they were to me. I loved those letters. Every one who wrote them put such personality into them: "Do you like the stickers? There is only one sticker left on the sheet for me to send to you!" "I found the cutest cartoon stamps! I am going to buy you some!" "Today I decided to write to you in green ink. Why, you ask? Because green is a good color."

I rarely get letters since Becca and I have lost contact. That is, I never get letters. I have a lovely collection of stationary (stationery?) that I keep in a mini-locker under my desk. Cartoon characters and stars dominate the collection, although I also have a few Fresh Inc. cards that I keep in case I need them. (FYI: Fresh Inc. = Best Card Company In The History Of The Whole Universe. Buy them.)

I also have a set of stamps that are themed Favorite Children's Books Characters. Emmo gave me two sets, but I only used one, wanted to keep one them, because they were so cute.

Stamps should not be kept in a locker. Stamps should not be kept in a box, in a book, in a folder, or in a frame. Stamps should be stuck to an envelope that contains an intimate letter, and shipped off to various corners of the globe to deliver messages to distant friends. Afterwards, they should be kept in a container with their envelope and letter, mingling and chatting with the other stamps, sharing stories of their travels and adventures, and reminiscing on "the good old days" when they were being flown about on a who-knows-how-this-will-end adventure with the post office.

I have decided that before next week ends, I will try to find Becca's address again, and if I do, I will write her a letter--with a Favorite Children's Book Characters stamp. There's nothing saying she misses me or that she's not content with the friendships she has at home, but there's nothing say she doesn't need another friend right now, or that she's having an easy time of it with her dad gone. I'll just have to remember to ask her to please not throw away the stamp. :)

<3 o.

p.s.: The quote in the title is by John Donne.

Two Knives And A Locked Door

All we did in Psychology today was take online personality tests. Out of curiousity, I took a Personality Disorder test and came out higher-than-average for Paranoid, Schizoid, Schizotypal, Borderline, Histrionic, Avoidant, Dependent, and Obsessive-Compulsive, of which the two highest were Paranoid and Borderline. Here is how the two are described:

Paranoid: Individual generally tends to interpret the actions of others as threatening (Individuals with this disorder often appear odd or peculiar)
Borderline: Individual shows a generalized pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image, and observable emotions, and significant impulsiveness. (Individuals with this disorder have intense, unstable emotions, distorted self-perception, and/or behavioral impulses)

Despite the fact that online tests are rarely accurate, this one (along with others at similarminds.com) have often proved very true for me.

I remember one time a few months ago, I was absolutely convinced I saw someone outside the house. Mom and Dad were gone and I had my little sisters in bed. Han came over at about 11:30 with two friends to check my house, yard, barn, field, pasture, and even the nearby cemetery. Before they arrived, I had both my little sisters move into the same room--the one whose window would lead them onto the roof and into my room if need be-- and locked myself in a room downstairs.
It's also not uncommon for me to have a friend stay on the phone with me while I search the house with a knife and flashlight, or for me to stay up waiting for Mom and Dad with a couple of knives.

I hope I don't really have a disorder, but regardless, I often wonder if I need therapy. The things is, my parents have three more daughters to put through college, probably five proms to pay for, not to mention a couple more cars and up to four weddings, and seeing as my therapy has never helped for more than a few months before and gas prices are rocketing upwards, I can't ask them for therapy that might not help again.

I once read a story about a lady who shoved her futon mattress into a corner and wouldn't leave it unless she had to, and if she was away from it for more than a few minutes, she had an anxiety attack, because the futon mattress was her "safe spot." I really don't want to turn out like that lady. I can just see myself in ten years, sitting on a mattress in the corner, with two knives and a locked door.

<3>

World Prescription: Daily Dose of Tact

I was trying to talk to Josie today in Psych, and I was telling her how I had never really danced with anyone before Prom. KC sits next to Katie, and she heard, and half-yells how weird that is and why don't I dance, what's wrong with me? Thank you, KC, for your impressive show of tactful restraint. What's wrong with you?

(Sit tight for a moment, there's a point to these little stories.)

In Spanish III, Kayla sits in front of me, and Kalyn sits next to her. Now it just so happens that Kalyn is homosexual. Personally, I don't believe homosexuality is right, but it is not my place to tell others what to do, and it is certainly not my place to make them feel inferior or outcast because of their choices. I am friendly with Kalyn, because she is nice and we both enjoy running. What I don't understand is why Kayla would think it is acceptable to sit there in class and complain about how gross gay people are. Kalyn is right next to her. What good does it do to make Kalyn uncomfortable?

In art today, Mr. Cox got annoyed that stray cats had been rounded up and neutered and re-released in order to control stray animal population. He didn't think it was dumb to bother with it, he just thought they should have killed them all instead. Now, if he'd said that he thought it would have done more good to put them to sleep or something more humane, I could have accepted his opinion, but he went on and listed several different very sick ways of killing cats. I love animals, and cats are one of my favorites. It really upset me to have to listen to him flippantly talk about killing them like that.

People say and do rude things all the time, often with little care for how it will affect others, or often just to make others uncomfortable. What good does this do? Okay, so this girl made a mistake, do you have to talk about her like she's not right there, or like she doesn't have feelings? Would it hurt to keep your tactless comments to yourself? Words have power, that's why we have presidential debates, and that's why people get beat up over things like cyber bullying. There are such things as emotional and verbal abuse because words have power.

I bet all your rape and sex jokes don't seem nearly as funny, now that the girl in front of you has read her poem about being sexually abused since childhood, do they? And you'd probably think twice about all your drug jokes if you knew your boyfriend was on steroids.

Maybe people should think about things like that before they make jokes and insults regarding homosexuality, rape, abuse, appearances, and murder.

Now sometimes, it can't be helped. You can't sidestep every potentially insulting thing you might say, that'd be impossible. I secretly get upset when other girls talk about their breasts, because that is one part of my body in which I am particularly insecure, but it would be unreasonable for me to expect all the girls to stop talking about their bodies at all because of that.

My point is, don't go out of your way to hurt someone. And don't talk about seriously painful subjects so flippantly. The high you might get from recieving so much attention for your witty comments might not make up for the embarrassment or shame you might cause someone else. There is nothing to gain by disregarding tact.

Remember to take your prescribed daily dosage of Tact, and don't eat yellow snow!

<3>

p.s.: The images are once again from postsecret
( postsecretcommunity.com or postsecret.blogspot.com )

Prom Night

I had only dance three times in my life before Prom:
1. Square dancing required in elementary school P.E.
2. One dance with a cousin at a wedding
3. 0.5 of a dance with Han at a different wedding.

So, my lack of experience and self-esteem made it very difficult for Han and his friends to get me out onto the dance floor last night. Once they did, though, they could hardly keep me off of it. I love to dance with Han, I hardly got tired the whole dance (Although I can't say the same for him).

I wish I could say that I was the same way with bowling. Unfortunately, I nearly ruined Post Prom with my attitude about bowling. I am very self-conscious, so it's very hard for me to have fun doing something that I am not any good at. I am not any good at bowling. This clearly would mean that I didn't have fun bowling at Post Prom, which upset Han immensely. After a discussion and long amount of time in the bathroom re-applying makeup, we were better. I won some free laser tag and he won some free Cold Stone Creamery, so in order to make up for my mopey attitude during bowling, I am planning a night out on the town for the two of us to include bowling, laser tag, and ice cream. :)

Now that you have read all the boring details that mean nothing to you, I will tell you something. It is very hard for me to ever call myself pretty. However, I can honestly tell you that last night, I was not ugly.

Everything I have to say about beauty and the like is in the post "How To Be Pretty" and my basic feelings of myself are in the post "meet o.", but in case you haven't read those, this is what it comes down to:

I don't like me one little bit, and my appearance is a very large part of that dislike. I find the the standards for beauty to be impossible for me to fit into. So, while Prom had its upsetting parts, like bowling, and its energizing parts, like dancing, overall, the best part was feeling prettier than I ever usually feel.

I know that a lot of people, particularly my friends, consider Prom to be one big lame dance, where the pretty girls get to show off their off their boobs, and then everyone else goes and gets drunk, and that's partially true. It's probably the main reason that none of my friends would go to Prom this year. However, every girl should go to a Prom, just to feel prettier than she normally does. I'm partially happy that none of my friends went, because I know that none of them would have had that attitude about it.

You will probably not be the prettiest one at Prom, but you can take advantage of the opportunity to be abnormally pretty. Even though that may not be "How To Be Pretty," it will definitely help you feel pretty. And for at least one night, that's almost good.

<3 o.

Happy Bomb Threat Day

Today the threat arrived in the form of writing in the boys' bathroom. We were quickly evacuated to the football field, where I sat for a few hours acquiring the most inconvenient sunburn. We couldn't leave because our vehicles were too close to the school, so we had to wait for our parents to come and get us, which was a time-consuming process.

I used to enjoy Bomb Threat Days because it got me out of school. However, with the recent rise in school shootings, I enjoy them because it means that we got a threat. I am horrified to think of what would happen if we didn't get the threat, especially since they may have actually found something this time.

I am constantly afraid of what would happen if we had a school shooting. I can't decide if sitting next to the door is good--easier to escape--or bad--closer to an intruding attacker. I am constantly summing up the people around me to decide who would be least and most likely to pull a gun--then I try to position myself as far from them as I can. When I walk into a room, I remind myself of all the places I will hide if a shoot enters, depending on which door he comes in from or if he's in the room already.

Will I have to go through the rest of life being afraid of random acts of violence? Obviously, there is a choice involved, but it's very hard to not be afraid when they are growing more and more common. It seems that people have become so desensitized towards violence. We yell "rape" as a joke to get someone to stop poking us, and we pretend to shoot someone who annoys us. I don't know if this kind of flippant behavior towards violence is really to blame for things like shootings, bombings, and other kinds of attacks, but I know that it probably doesn't help attacks become less common.

I shouldn't quote statistics that I can't give the exact source of, but I'm not making an argument for anything but my fear. Here is the statistic regardless: 33% of all interviewed teenage males said they were willing to rape a female. 66% of all interviewed teenage males said they would be willing to rape a female if they said they could get away with it.
I know a lot of guys, teenagers all, probably close to a hundred. That means that I probably know at least 30 guys who would have no problem with raping me, and 60 guys who would do it if they knew they wouldn't get caught. That is really scary.

Does it make sense that I am scared of break-ins and being attacked all the time? The world is a scary place, especially for a young, small girl like me. I dread that someone with the potential and desire to rape or kill will see me and be provoked by my lack of stature, realizing that there is no real way I could effectively defend myself.

It's a good thing I'm always with Han, yes? Han is very tall and very strong, and moreover, I am completely convince that he would never do anything to hurt me. :) I still worry about being ganged up on, though, like in an episode of Criminal Minds that I once saw where a gang killed a man's fiance and forced him to watch.

I won't let my mind go there tonight, though. After all, if bombmen can leave warnings, perhaps I can yet manage to slip through all the random violence in the world.

<3 o.

Dear Nothing

I am well aware that it is more likely that when I write, I am writing to nothing as opposed to something. However, a new friend Peter (or worldman) has informed me that this may not always be the case (which was very friendly of him. Thank you, Peter. :] ). Still, for the time being, I can write to nothing as well as I can write to something, if not better.

The stories of how each of my friends have slowly drifted away from me are long ones, not quite worth the sharing except to vent my frustration, which I may in time do. Today, though, my only good friend left dished out to me a good, metaphorical slap in the face, and I have to admit that, despite my angry facade, it stung quite a bit.

After promising she'd go to prom with me, Elsa had to cancel a couple of months before. I was upset, but accepted it. Now, though, she refuses to even come and see me at Grand March because she wants to watch the movie Prom Night on actual prom night.

There is a lot I could say about how much that hurts me and why. It can pretty much be summed up in the following:

And that it really hurts that none of my friends do care enough. Even when I tell them that it hurts me and why. (It hurts because none of them care.)

I have witnessed and experienced so much unhappiness in the past twenty-four hours with various people, just on a very basic, surface level. I hate to think what is going on behind the walls of them. Why do people hurt other people? Why would you not help another human being if you possibly could? I know that I have hurt others, and I know that I have not always helped where I could have, but I still don't understand: Why? Why should we be afraid of doing a good thing?

<3 o.

p.s.: The pictures, once again, is from postsecretcommunity.com

One Time I Had a Dream That I Could Breathe Under Water...

...Guess what? I can't breath under water.
-Grace Polk, Joan of Arcadia Season 1

Last night, I was in the school restroom, inside a stall, and there was a teenage boy outside it. I asked him to leave multiple times, and he always refused. I was practically begging, head against the stall door, for him to leave me alone, and he kept saying he wasn't going to leave. When I told others about the dream, I told them it was because he wanted my chapstick, because later in the dream he took my chapstick, but the truth is, I felt so helpless and weak. Afterwards, I went on to dream about a kitten whose fur could turn into popcorn when it was wet, but that is beside the point.

I don't really take dream interpretation seriously, mostly due to dreams like the kitten with popcorn fur and the shaggy dog from 101 Dalmations falling on top of and squishing the vultures from The Jungle Book. However, I do know that dreams are subconcsious thoughts, and that sometimes they are us working out our emotions subconsciously. I can tell you flat out that that dream was an expression of my feelings of helplessness, weakness, and worthlessness, because that's how I felt. However, I wonder if the fact I was in a bathroom stall meant anything? One website said that bathrooms are a symbol of cleansing, and I don't know if the boy represented a specific person or just the male race in general. If I had to take a guess at a deeper meaning, a specific boy (and I have someone in mind) is keeping me from ridding myself of feelings of helplessness, weakness, and worthlessness. I think it's not a bad interpretation, myself. :)

Would you like to know a secret? Of course you wouldn't, you're not even reading this. However, since you're not reading, I'm sure you wouldn't mind my sharing it anyway: I sometimes look forward to having nightmares. Why is that? I tried to research it, but I couldn't find anything. It's not even that I enjoy them; I don't; I hate them. I get so scared over nightmares, and upset, and it makes me think of things that make me even more paranoid than I already am. So why should I go to bed and wish for a new nightmare almost every night?

I know that no one is going to answer that question, so I don't expect anything to happen in response to this. It will simply float on through the void of cyberspace, probably never to be discovered beneath the billions of gigabytes that will cover it within hours, similar to how my memory will be lost to eternity.

I am a worthless pessimist, am I not?

<3 o.

The Matching Bra and Panties Type

Today I decided that I needed a new undergarment. A bra, to be exact. And because I was feeling especially un-cute at the time, I decided to look for an especially cute one. I found one, and it just so happened that there were matching underwear to go with it (The kind that look like really short shorts). I rarely splurge on myself anymore, particularly where clothing is involved, and I decided to go ahead and buy them, too.

I had never before seen myself as the matching bra and panties type, but I had never before thought about it either. And now that I am thinking about it, I can't imagine many girls not being the matching bra and panties type. I will tell you why.

Matching bra and panties are cute. Even if it's subtle or basic, a bra and panties that go together well is just charming, and all girls secretly (or not-so-secretly) want to feel cute and charming, so it makes sense that all girls would want to have that reassuring feeling that underneath their clothing, they do look cute and charming.

So I bought this totally adorable set of matching bra and panties, thinking it'd be a good way to give my mental attitude a little boost, but for some reason, knowing that I had a bag with stellar undergarments waiting for me behind the seat of my truck didn't make me feel any better tonight. I hope they work when I'm wearing them, or else that will have been a waste of twelve dollars.

<3 o.

Living Too Fast

Sometimes, I find myself neglecting sleep and relaxation to get things done. We all do that from time to time, don't we? Some of us do it for work or school, which often times is why I do it, but sometimes we do it because we feel have to get things done. I will still up all night drawing, writing, reading, or whatever, because I want to get it done. That way, I can move on to my next drawing, my next book, my next whatever, even though as soon as I get to the next book, I will go through it as quickly as I can to get to the next one. I always tell myself, "If I can just get through high school, then I can start really living." But I know that as soon as I get to college, I'll feel the same way. I think that most humans do that.

I am almost eighteen. I can't believe it. That is so old. Where did my childhood go? My high school years? What have I accomplished in these eighteen years? If I die tomorrow, what will be left of me on this earth? These are the kind of thoughts that lead me to the desire to do something. But then, once I become obsessed with doing something, I will go back to pushing myself to get stuff done, filling up all of my time with so much doing that I don't have time to appreciate all the things that have been done.

I feel, sometimes, that by trying to fit so much into my life, that I'm racing time... and what is the point in that? All I'm going to do by doing that is get to death faster. But if I slow down... I won't get as much done. What is a person supposed to do?

We had a discussion about this in English, and my teacher, Mrs. H, was commenting that she was almost 40, and she felt like it had been no time at all since she had been in high school, and that it just blew her mind trying to figure out where all of her years went. All I could think was, "That's going to be me someday. That's already me." I know I should be too young to be thinking about these things, but getting old is not going to settle well with me. If and when I have a mid-life crisis, I can already tell you that it's going to be bad. If it's possible, I might already be having a quarter-life crisis.

Until now, I've always been one of those people who believe in "aging gracefully," but I already have a slight indentation between my eyebrows from constant frustration. My self-consciousness about my appearance, in addition to my feeling that my life is worthless, is going to make it very hard for me personally to age gracefully.

This post doesn't really have a conclusion. I have gone over my problem here, but I failed to present a solution to it, mostly due to the fact that I don't have one. I guess I just need to remember that there is more after this, and that death is not necessarily the end.

For if that last day does not occasion an entire extinction, but a change of abode only, what can be more desirable?
-Marcus Tullius Cicero

Let us be very careful not to fall into the trap of the world. The world views things only relative to man and to self. The Word of God views things relative to the Father, Son, and Spirit. Mankind is not the center of all things. No matter how great anyone's name might become, it is still far behind His. Our name comes from His life; the name of our Lord comes from the resurrection--the event unique to Him. The world has a problem; it seeks to honor, uphold, exonerate and generally praise itself. Our place and the place of the entire world system is to praise and exalt God. When people of the Bible caught a glimpse of Him, their lives were changed. Perhaps our lives remain stagnate because we do not spend enough time looking at Him.
-Roger Anderson

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p.s.: The image is from postsecretcommunity.com.

Sometimes, I Stay Up Really Late Being Lonely.

I should not be doing this right now. I should not be posting on my anonymous, secret, and pointless blog, I should be making sure that the MLA citations are correct on my English paper, or trying to get Criterion to work so that I can get credit for a rough draft (Even though I didn't write one--Ha!). I should be working on finding answers for the history test tomorrow to add to my notes, because there are people counting on me to finish the notes. But for once in my life, I don't care. I have decided that this one time, in the last three years, I will not stay up until all hours of the night pushing myself to do more than I am capable of. I will stay up late, but it will not be doing stressful schoolwork. The consequences of this will come later. (As Hikaru Utada would say, "Hold me, Whatever lies beyond this morning, Is a little later on, Regardless of warnings, The future doesn't scare me at all, Nothing's like before.") I stay up late almost every night, but if it's not for homework, it's usually not intentional. A lot of times, I can't sleep, or I can't stop crying, for whatever reason happens to strike me that night.

Tonight, I am looking at PostSecrets. I think PostSecrets are the most magical things in the world, don't you? I love so many of them, even though a lot of them make me want to cry. The main reason for this is that I can relate to so many of them. I love the feeling that I am not alone. :] I get that from reading PostSecrets.
I have planned so many of my own postcards to send in to PostSecret, but I never have gotten around to actually doing it. I don't know why. I think that, while it would make me feel better emotionally to send in a secret, especially if it were posted, mailing a piece of paper with words about your problems written on it isn't going to solve the problem. I can see how it would be the first step to finding a solution, though. PostSecret also offers several teen helplines. (Go Frank!)

I say that I hate people a lot. Not specific people, but the world, the universe, etcetera. This isn't really true though. In actuality, I love people. I don't necessarily love to be around them, but I care about almost every person I have ever met, however brief or negative a period. I don't like to let people know this, because I don't wan to be made any more vulnerable than I already am, but I know that I should. I know that people need to know that someone cares. I realized this one summer when I went to a convention for "young leaders." I met so many selfish people there, I couldn't believe that these were the teenagers chosen to have real leadership potential. So many of them seemed to have the insensitive They-Need-To-Get-Over-It attitude. The kind where they don't care how what they do affects other people, as long as it's good for the economy. It really upset me to hear just how coldly some of these people spoke about the feelings of others. I don't care if the reason that a person is upset is unreasonable, you can't just ignore someone's feelings because you don't agree with them. That's wrong. I realized during that convention that I had to actively care about other people, because if I didn't, then who would? This soon became a lonely endeavor. I didn't like the feeling of being the only person in the world who wanted to help others. When you're the only person who sees the importance of kindness, you don't recieve a whole lot of it. I don't care what people say about getting kindness in return for kindness. I'm telling you, in high school, it doesn't work that way.
Paul Dunbar spoke at our school recently. His speech was meaningful to me, but in a different way that it was to most, I think. I was just very reassured to know that I was not the only person who cared, or the only person who wants to make differences in people's lives. Thank you, Paul, for letting me know that I am not alone in that!

I'm talking about being alone a lot tonight, aren't I? I really hate being lonely. I guess it's because, when I'm alone, I'm the only thing here. I really don't like me, and I'm not exactly sure why. I think it's because my life is wonderful, nearly perfect, and definitely worth envying, yet I'm not happy. I think that my reasoning is, if I'm not happy, then there has to be a reason, and if everything in my life is good, then there's no reason to be found except in myself.

But I don't really want to think about that.

The problem is, I know that as soon as I get off of here, that will be all I think about, and I will cry myself to sleep, just like any other night.

Most nights I stay up really late being lonely. I thought that tonight would be different, just because I decided it would be, but as it turns out, deciding something doesn't necessarily make it true. I can decide to change my life by sending in a PostSecret, but sending in a PostSecret won't necessarily change my life.

I guess loneliness is something that just can't be escaped.

<3 o.

Some People Do It All At Once, Some Do It A Little Bit Every Day

I don't want anyone to think that I am suicidal, or contemplating suicide, or that I am even drawn to self-mutilation. Not that I don't think of that from time to time, because, let's be honest, everyone has. However, I find it odd that even though I have no desire to to end my life, I often have suicidal ideas. For instance, I keep a razor blade in my dresser drawer. I don't know why it's there, sometimes I have to cut paper or cardboard, and it comes in handy. From time to time, I'll be rummaging in my drawer for a hairtie or something and I'll see it there in the sliding tray, and I'll think, "I should cut myself." It's not even that I really think it, actually, it's like someone stuck it in my head or whispered it to me. There was no thought process up to it, I just had this idea. Other times, I'll have my window open for fresh air, and I'll be looking outside at the sunlight or the stars or the clouds, which are nearly always pretty outside my window, and I'll suddenly think, "I should jump." I don't understand these urges, since I really don't hate my life enough to destroy it like that.

I can only imagine what a pastor says at the funeral of a suicide. In actuality, I can't even do that. Not a single thing comes to mind that would be the right thing to say. Of course, there is hardly a right thing to say when someone dies, but a suicide seems doubly worse.

Some people kill themselves out of sorrow. They have no hope left that their life will ever get any better, and they figure they might as well get it over with rather than endure more suffering. Other people do it out of anger, at other people, at God, at the universe. They commit suicide as a last little "I'll-Show-You." Some people kill themselves because of a mixture of the two feelings. There are also the people who don't put an end to their mortal lives, they simply stop living.

This last form of suicide is often overlooked, and is sometimes even unintentional by the victim, but I believe that there are many people today who live there life after committing this kind of suicide. In some ways, this is the best kind of suicide because there is still hope for being revived. Often, they don't continue to endure the suffering as harshly as they may have before, but instead experience a kind of ongoing apathy towards everything.

What are people thinking when they say things like, "Go cut yourself" or "Just kill yourself already"? I wonder if those people ever consider the weight of their words on the people they're said to. I wonder if those people really were to seriously harm or kill themselves, if the people who told them to would think, "Wow, I made a huge mistake... Would they have done that if I hadn't given them a hard time?" or if they think, "Go figures. Moron. Good riddance," and go on with life.

I know that people shouldn't blame themselves for the actions of others, i.e., someone shouldn't feel guilty because someone they knew or loved has killed themselves, but what if you were a source of the suffering that pushed them toward it? I think that if you are among the people who neglected that person when they were obviously upset, or especially if you made their life difficult or even told them to kill themselves, then you'd better feel guilty, and you'd better feel guilty for a long time. It's true, you didn't force them to put the gun to their head or pull the trigger, but you sure encouraged it. Isn't that just as wrong?

One of my worst fears is that something I do or say might make someone feel isolated or unwanted. I would hate to be part of the emotional deterioration that pushes one towards suicide. I don't know what I would do if one of my friends, or even just someone I know, killed themselves. I would always regret not being nicer to them or not doing enough to help.

I guess that's all I had to say. I'm sorry this was so depressing. I don't know who I'm apologizing to, since I don't believe anyone will ever read any of this, but that's irrelevent. :]

<3 o.

The Ever-Present Symptom of Psychotic Thinking

The Curious Savage by John Patrick is a short, meaningful play about sanity, insanity, and what the two really are. It is the story of Mrs. Savage, a widow whose husband has left her millions of dollars, and her step-children, who are willing to do anything to get it from her. When Mrs. Savage uses the money for a ridiculous-sounding Memorial fund, her step-children have her instituted. What becomes evident throughout the play, however, is that although some may believe that a life-size doll is their son, and others may refuse to speak while compulsively taking apart radios, and still others may spend millions of dollars on foolish wishes of desperate people, it may be possible that the ones who are truly insane are not these, but senators, judges, and models, who will knock over chimneys, dig up lawns, and cut apart stuffed museum displays to gain superficial possessions.

Insanity is not a medical term, which is really a good thing, since no one knows what it is. For instance, I'm supposedly crazy because I don't want to have sex before I'm married. But aren't the truly crazy people the ones who have intercourse with partner after partner after partner, looking constantly for validation, thinking that this will bring it to them? If having casual sex is going to bring you self-contentment, it would have done it by the third or fourth time, yet people do this for years and years. I think that's insane.

It is my belief that society no longer understands 'insane' to mean 'lacking in sanity,' but as anything that isn't what everyone else does. If we were to really call people insane who behaved in ways that made little to no sense, especially repeatedly, the only sane ones would be the ones that are constantly called crazy for deviating from the norm.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.
-Angel Monèt

What of the people who are undeniably crazy? People who hallucinate or talk to themselves? Surely we can label these 'insane' without argument? They certainly deviate from the norm, and they definately have no grasp on reality or how to face reality's challenges. I believe, though, that many of these people simply got lost on their way to finding satisfaction, as the all-too-sexually-active teenager and the workaholic adult have. Many adults compulsively work harder than is healthy in order to feel financially secure, when working only part as hard would probably suffice. This is not all that different from a student answering all Cs on a multiple-choice worksheet (despite knowing the correct answers) in fear that he'll die if he doesn't. The adult thinks he will fall into poverty if he doesn't continue to work harder, harder, harder, and the child thinks he will die if he doesn't put C. In many situations, both are wrong.

Well, regardless of whether or not you agree with me, I still encourage you to read The Curious Savage. :] It doesn't take long to read, and in addition to being meaningful, it's very humorous.

<3 o.

How To Be Pretty

I see Pretty every day. I see it on tv, in magazines, and on ten-foot cardboard cut-outs in mall windows. I see it on billboards and manakin displays and photographs and paintings. I hear about it in conversations, jokes, and music. I see and hear Pretty every day. I know what Pretty is and I know what Pretty looks like and I know that Pretty doesn't look like me.

I also happen to know that there is not one thing I can do about it.

It's really a horrible to thing to live in the world as a female right now. Right now is when who-knows-how-much money is spent developing computer programs that can rank your appearance, someone or some group is always being judged on how they look, and whether you're 'hot' or not can actually affect how much you are payed--or not payed. But have you ever Googled 'How To Be Pretty'? Sure, a couple things come up, but let's face it--while you may be more attractive when drinking lots of water and sitting up straight, this is not the same as being Pretty. Some people may disagree, in fact, many people would. There are lots of people who would define Pretty as 'healthy and happy.' But let's take a look at the environment that we women are forced to deal with daily: Healthy, happy women are not nearly as idolized as busty women with sexy, smoky eyes, or scantily-clad women who know exactly how to shake their assets. You can tell us all you like that it's important to smile sincerely and take care of our skin and hair, but let's face the truth everyone: We don't put the people who smile sincerely and take care of their skin and hair on a pedastal. We put the ones who are willing to walk down a runway half naked on one.

Of course, all women and girls face insecurity with some part of their appearance, some more than others. And I have to say: No one can truly understand that feeling but the girls who face it more. There is no way to understand the feeling of worthlessness that is being thrust upon those until you've had everything that you don't have and never can have shoved in your face daily by nearly everyone around you.
Wouldn't one think that having someone tell you that you're beautiful repeatedly convince you that you are? Someone whom you know you can trust and that you know loves you? Surprisingly, for some of us, no. Isn't it sad to know that the effect that the commercials and the music videos have on us can't always be countered? It is sad. It is a sad, sad thing when a girl or woman is so convinced that they are ugly and unworthy of affection that not even the most important person in their life can convince them otherwise. That is something I would call the epitome of sad.

The most common error made in matters of appearance is the believe that one should disdain the superficial and let the true beauty of one's soul shine through. If there are places on your body where this is a possibility, you are not attractive--you are leaking.
-Franz Lebowitz

As melodramatic, whiny, and pessimistic as everything I have just written sounds, I hope that no one who reads it takes it for untruth. Please realize that even if a girl or many girls that you know doesn't agree or claims she doesn't agree--there is at least one girl out there who feels this way, and for certain, with the other 3 billion girls on the planet, she cannot be the only one.

<3>

Meet o.

I am a very scared girl. When I say that, I mean I get scared easily, and I am scared of many things. Windows at night, people getting into my house, losing my hair, crickets, reflections behaving wrongly, being killed, being responsible for the death of someone else, and all manner even more ridiculous or unlikely things. Up until now, my three greatest fears were getting cancer, getting paralyzed, and getting married. (Well, for a while I was really afraid of running out of PostSecrets to read. But then it happened, and life went on.)

Recently, however, I realized that not only am I a very scared girl. I am also a very unhappy girl, which has lead me to the discovery of my real greatest fear: Staying a very unhappy girl.

My friends don't realize that I'm unhappy. For most of my friends, I am the source of their cheer. I don't intend to hide my unhappiness, but I don't know how I'd confront the questions they would ask. But I realized that unless I did something about it, I would stay an unhappy girl. I'd just go on being unhappy and nothing would get better, only worse.

My Philosophy: If something has to be done, then do something. Even if you don't know what to do, don't just do nothing.

I was losing traces of sanity. I had to do something. I had to get rid of it. I couldn't talk to my friends, couldn't tell them what was inside me. I couldn't let them down, that their happy o wasn't really happy. They need the cheer they get from me so badly, most of them.

I have decided to create this obscure blog, one that will never gain any kind of attention for more than a moment from passersby, to spill out in.
I hope this works.

<3 face="Trebuchet MS">