Alyss Returns To Wonderland: A Metaphor

I am reading a book right now called Seeing Redd by Frank Beddor.

It is a sequel to this book:

This storyline is the "true" story of Alice Liddell, the model / inspiration for Lewis Carroll's (Charles Dodgson's) book, Alice in Wonderland, and it's sequel, Alice Through the Looking Glass. It follows Alyss Heart, the princess of Wonderland, as she flees from Wonderland in order to escape her notorious aunt, Queen Red, and ends up in Victorian England, where she stays for thirteen years, adopted by the Liddell family. During this period of time, she meets Charles Dodgson, who writes a nonsense book about her claims of Wonderland. After her story is made a mockery of, she becomes convinced that Wonderland wasn't real and loses the ability to use her imagination. When she is finally returnd to Wonderland, the entire queendom is depending on Alyss--and her imagination--to free them from the tyranny of Queen Redd. But, if you'll recall, her imagination no longer worked.

Can you imagine what it must have been like for Alylss, returning to Wonderland, trying to conjure and control things with her imagination, and not being able to? Something that came so naturally, almost instinctively to her in the past, had turned into something she struggled with. When she was younger, she could make toys turn into fountains, make people grow feathers, and conjure up different foods, but after being in England for too long, she wasn't even able to make a fan appear.

I think that that is what I have been feeling like lately, especially when it comes to drawing and writing. I know I have already talked about both of these things, but it is so frustrating: I am trying and trying and trying so hard to draw and write, but nothing seems to happen. In comparison with drawings from a year or more ago, all of my drawings now look stiff and dull. My writing is voiceless and choppy. I try to remember how I drew and wrote before, but I don't remember trying to write or draw--I just did it. So why can't I 'just do it' now?

I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. There are very few things that don't make me want to write or draw, but all that happens when I try to do either is that I get very frustrated with myself. I don't understand why it's so hard all of a sudden.

<3 o.

Today In Music Theory...

There was a boy in the row in front of me making fun of a boy next to me. He wasn't being too loud, so I don't believe that the teacher could hear him, but I, being between the two, could hear everything. After several minutes of putting up with Front-Row Boy telling Next-To-Me Boy that he was going to kill him, that he was stupid, and verbally musing over the nature of Next-To-Me Boy's parents having sex, I'd pretty much had enough. So, as Front-Row Boy leaned over to hiss yet another insult at the clearly embarassed Next-To-Me Boy, I poked him in the throat with my pencil. Not hard at all, just enough to get his attention, like a tap on the shoulder... but pointier.

And before he'd finished his comment to Next-To-Me Boy, he turned and asked me what I did that for. And I told him I wanted him to shut up because no cares about how cool he thinks he is and I was sick of hearing him talk. "So you poked my neck?" he asked, trying to make the point that my actions had been totally random and had no way of solving the problem. "Would you have prefered it had been your eye?" was my response. He told me he would have prefered his arm, and I told him that that was too bad, because I didn't really care what he prefered, and in that light, next time, it would be his eye. His friend on the other side of the room giggled at this, and he didn't bother Next-To-Me Boy for the rest of the class.

But I don't know what I will do if I have to put up with him doing that another day. All Next-To-Me Boy does is listen to me and my friends, and occasionally try to join the conversation, which we have no problem with. He doesn't do anything to deserve the constant bullying he reserves from Front-Row Boy (and Gang). If it does indeed continue, I wouldn't be surprised at all if Front-Row Boy received a painful reminder that there's always someone cooler than him--or, at least bigger, stronger, and more merciless than him--from a certain Han.

I was thinking about the occurence this afternoon and I said something about it aloud to my parents and Han. Mom strongly disapproved, saying I was only contributing to bullying. Dad said that he, being a teacher, thought it was the right thing, and that I was merely showing Front-Row Boy that his actions had consequences, even if he wasn't "caught." Han just wanted to know his name and locker number so he could "talk to him." (Han isn't really a violent person, but he can be very intimidating. Okay, he was violent once, under an extreme circumstance, but I wasn't there.)

Anyhow, I'm glad that Dad at least sided with me. It didn't evolve into an argument, thankfully. Mom did say not to do it again, and while I think she has a point, if Front-Row Boy does it again, so will I.

This was just something that's been floating around in my brain. I decided to share it so that I could focus on other things a little better. I'd love to hear your comments on whether what I did was what I should have done.

<3 o.

I Won't Be Sleeping Much Tonight

There are a variety of things to speak of, all very briefly.

Firstly, I was very unimpressed with all of the options our Drama class was presented with to choose from for our semester play--so I wrote one. It's called "Saving Wonderland and How Alice Did It." I'm hopeless, I know. I had Han take it to Mrs. H--he simply told her that a girl in the hallway outside her room asked him to give it to her. She did not mention it during class, but neither did we pick a play.

It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, really. I know that there is no chance on Earth that it will be voted on, even if she does mention it to the class. I don't know why I did that, I will only end up looking stupid. I only hope she doesn't figure out that it was me.

Secondly, I hate school. I hate it more than I thought I would, more than I thought I possibly could. There is no real reason. I am just distressed throughout it, from beginning to end, counting the minutes until the end of each class--literally. I don't know how long I can handle this kind of torment. Really, most of my teachers are very nice, and none of them are mean, and there has not been an abundance of homework--so I don't know what to do. I don't know what the problem is, so I don't know how to go about fixing it.

Thirdly... I don't want to talk about tonight. I don't want to think about it. But because it has made me think so much, I will tell you what part of tonight has caused the thought. It is all you will know about what happened.

I don't know why, but I started screaming. And I just couldn't stop.

And now, I'm miserable. Literally. I'm exhausted, but I don't want to go to bed, because I know it will lead to thoughts of tonight, and I don't want to think about it. I don't know what conclusions I would draw if I did, and I don't want to know.

Lastly, I'm on a new medication, Prozac. I think that's the one with the depressed rock in their commercial... I'm supposedly taking it for headaches, but I believe it's also an anti-depressant, so if it could help at all with my stress/unhappiness, that would be great... of course, I thought that that would happen with the Celexa, and then I had some kind of allergic reaction.

I'm pretty sure this has been the worst first week of senior year that I could have possibly imagined for myself. No, actually, this is worse than I could have imagined. Because anything that I could have imagined, I did imagine, and so I was kind of mentally prepared. I was so not ready for this. Not only was I not prepared, but I don't even know what's wrong... and since I don't know the problem, I don't know how to fix it.

Goodnight, blogging community.

Sweet dreams.

<3>

One of the Worst Friday Nights Ever. No, Really.

Exhibit A: When I went to Disneyworld, I spent a couple of days in Epcot. On the first day, I was heading back to our cabin/rooms to put something up and rest, because I hadn't slept well the night before. On my way towards the park exit, I saw a woman sitting by herself on a wall next to a garden. She had her head in hands, and I saw a few tears hitting the ground. In my opinion, no one should cry at Disneyworld, and I was almost certain that someone somewhere deserved to be punished for making her cry, but that wasn't my focus. I hung around that area for probably ten minutes trying to decide if I should do anything, or what I could do if I decided to. I eventually did ask her if she would be okay and if I could help her in any way. I will always wonder what happened to her. I wish I had been able to help her.

Exhibit B: Haleigh loves animals. She loves them so, so much. Not long ago, one our cats had caught a butterfly by the wings. Haleigh loves our cats, but she doesn't like to see anything in pain. She retrieved the butterfly from the cat's mouth as carefully as possible so as not to hurt it. I had huge holes in its wings from the cat's teeth, and I don't think it could ever possibly fly again, but Haleigh put it in some flowers out of the cat's reach anyway. She doesn't like to see any animal in pain. She is the main caretaker of our cats. She plays with them, feeds them, knows all their personalities and the differences between cats that seem otherwise identical. The only thing she won't do is give them medicine, because if they fight it or meow, she gets very upset and afraid that she will hurt them.

Exhibit C: I will not go into the nitty-gritty details, but I have an uncle who used to (and may still) grow, use, and deal illegal drugs. He sold these to my cousin, the son of a different uncle of mine, and he would get high in the basement while leaving his elementary-aged daughters upstairs by themselves. He's not a good person. He refuses to work, and so does his wife. He is thirty-some years old, and his entire life, my grandparents have payed for his food, clothing, water, electricity, taxes, housing, everything. He doesn't have his own money. He spends it on other drugs.

Exhibit D: Tonight was a Friday night. On most Friday nights, I go out with Han, because we don't see each other too much during the school days. Tonight, however, my parents went to help Emily with her house, and they were spending the night there. They asked me to stay home with my two younger sisters, Haleigh and Annalisa. I don't know if I have ever used a fake name for them before, but this is what I'm calling them now. They said I could go out Saturday night, so I said that was fine. I decided I could write a little, I could draw a little, get my room clean, relax... just take everything easy. It was going to be a good night.

But it was not to be. Because I get jumpy alone at night sometimes, Mom and Dad had Grandma and Grandpa come in and check on us, which is fine. But then, my cousin, the young daughter of my bum uncle, called my grandpa. My grandparents recently acquired a kitten, and she wanted it. Hers was sick, and her parents didn't have the money to take it to the vet. Grandma asked if she could have one of ours instead. She asked Haleigh this. Haleigh knows that their house is not a good place for a cat. We have kittens to spare, but we want them all to go to good homes, and Haleigh wants that more than any of us. In Exhibit C, I think I clarified that this does NOT qualify as a good home. So this was very, very awkward for her--she said she'd ask Mom and Dad and she came up to me to ask me what to do and see if she could call them. I could tell she was upset. She didn't want to tell Grandma and Grandpa, "No, we don't trust them to take good care of our cats, and we only give them to good homes," but there was no way she'd ever be able to let a kitten go to a home that would be unable to take care of it.

I call Mom and Dad, because I can tell she is too upset to do anything. I talk to them a little bit, told them that even though they don't mistreat their animals, they can't take care of them if they get sick or hurt, and pointed out that they have a habit of own multiple large, violent dogs at a time. They said that if we were really uncomfortable with letting them have a kitten, that was okay. Grandma eventually decided Zora could have her kitten.

Now, Haleigh was still kind of shaken from the stress of having to say "No" to Grandma, but she also felt bad--Grandma doesn't like animals very often, and she felt awful that Grandma was going to give her kitten up, and she also didn't like the idea of any kitten living there... Recall Exhibit B. Haleigh loves all animals, anything that is alive. She hates for them to be in pain.

After Grandma left, I tried to calm Haleigh down. She was upset about the kitten and felt guilty about Grandma giving hers away. She was doing okay. Her voice was a little shaky, and her eyes were moist, but she was doing okay. I suggested that she call Mom and Dad and give them an update, and told her that they would probably be able to help her feel better. So she did.

Ten minutes later, I walk into her room, and she is on the phone with Dad, in tears. And I am about to explode. Not only do I hate to see people cry, especially my little sisters, but I have spent over an hour trying to keep her calm, reassuring her that the kitten will probably be okay, and here she is, talking to Dad, whom we had relied upon to make things better, and it feels like all my efforts to calm her down have been wasted. Because now she is in tears. I felt so let down and betrayed--my parents are always saying to come to them with their problems, and here, we had, and things had only gotten worse.

So I probably over-reacted. That part doesn't matter that much. I got into it a little bit with Mom and Dad, but we smoothed it over.

But I cried. And Haleigh and Annalisa saw me. And I hated it. I can cry, surely. I can cry by myself, no problem. I can cry with my friends around. I can cry in front of my parents without too much problem. But crying in front of my little sisters--they're relying on me to be in charge, to be calm, to be able to handle whatever problem comes up. When I cried, I was not showing that I was going to be able to handle problems.

And Annalisa, who is ten, didn't know what to do. Both her older sisters were crying. I could tell she was confused. She just walked back and forth between our rooms, never looking at us, but obviously focusing on us. Now I will refer to Exhibit A, because she looked just how I felt when I was watching the lady crying in the park. Just wanting to do something, trying to think of something, not sure if she will be able to help. I felt so bad, and I felt like I had let her down. I know I always felt helpless and confused if I saw Emily cry... how must Annalisa have felt when she saw both of her older sisters crying?

So I felt let down by my parents, I felt stressed by Haleigh's distress, I felt as if I had let down my little sisters by crying when I should have been being an adult, and I feel disappointed in myself for not getting anything done. I also feel guilty that Grandma is giving away her kitten, and guilty that I got so angry at Dad when he wasn't being that mean. (At least, not as mean as he normally is.) There was not a single good emotion this entire night.

All in all, I would say this Friday night was a complete disappointment. Someone somewhere owes me a new Friday, I'm pretty sure.

<3 o.

The World is Made Up of Stories, Not Atoms.

-Muriel Rukeyser

Four years ago, I was fourteen. I was in Junior High, I believe... or possibly a freshman. And I thoroughly enjoyed The Phantom of the Opera--the book. I don't know if the new musical movie was out at the time, but I had become so intrigued by what I had heard of the story, that I decided to read the book. It was very difficult for me, and much that I didn't understand--but I loved it.

I loved it so much that I wrote a really lame fanfiction story that I don't really expect you to look at, but thought that I might provide for you in case you were curious. It was a sequel to The Phantom of the Opera, and it wasn't very good--I was fourteen, after all.

But it got a lot of really good reviews! I was so encouraged! I had a very elaborate plot worked out that I was proud of--meaning in all the weird things that happened. I think I even had an ending in mind.

Then I got one bad review. It was the longest one I had yet to recieve, and it was rather upsetting at the time. Soon afterwards, I had reviews that said not to worry about what that person said--develope the characters how I wanted to. It is my story, after all, and I am the one writing it. So I tried. I really did. But the sixth chapter just never did meet completion, and now it had most certainly been lost forever, since all our computers have certainly been reformatted since then--probably more than once--and I don't even remember which computer I was writing on.

But tonight, I felt this urge to write, and I was looking around on a few writing sites for some ideas, and one of them was fanfiction.net. I remembered that I had put something on there before, so I decided to go for a moonlit stroll down memory lane. I read all five chapters, and then I went back and read the reviews.

And I wished I could finish it. I wished that all the people who were online four years ago would be guaranteed to still be online... just like I wasn't. I wished I knew how I should end it. I wished I had not disappointed all those, "Please post the next chapter!"s and "I can't wait to see how it ends!"s.

And even more so, I wanted to write. I wanted to write so bad. I wanted to be able to pull an intriguing thought out of my head, and organize it into an intricate plot, and share it with anyone who would be willing to spare a few minutes. I wanted it. And I want it now.

Unfortunately, my brain feels so garbled right now. My head has hurt regularly, without fail, every night for several nights in a row now, and I am so stressed with school starting. I have never been more upset about the beginning of school.

I have started and worked on so many stories, but never to complete one. I've tried. I've mapped out chapters, done character designs, descriptions, and sketches. I've illustrated covers, drafted scenes, written prologues. I have worked so hard, but I just can't seem to accomplish anything substantial... I lose my momentum, I forget about, I lose my papers... and it's back to square one.

Always on square one.

<3 o.

Too Many Q's, Not Enough A's.

Inspired by a lovely, pensive post that can be found here, written by the amazing Elsa.

They teach you 1+1 and other mathematical phenomenons. They teach you for years how to form the perfect sentence in English, and then they start in on the Spanish. They teach you the names of the states and have you label a map. They teach you how to find the percent composition of magnesium oxide. They teach you how to draw and shade cones, spheres, and cubes. They might even teach you how to play the clarinet.

So is it any surprise that most seniors are so apprehensive about graduating? When did they ever really teach us anything that will help? We have other questions that need answering, other things we need to know!: Can you maintain relationships with friends that are hundreds of miles away? How do you balance more schoolwork than ever with a work schedule that you need to pay for it? Where do you find an affordable, but safe, house if you need one? Are there any food alternatives to ramen noodles? But most importantly, what comes next?

And thusly shall my little project be called: What Comes Next? I will come up with or find questions or confusions relating to school / graduating--questions that most people don't bother answering--hopefully averaging one question for every week or two. Because Elsa is what made me think of this, I expect her to help. (Oh ho ho, I bet you thought, "Oh I feel so wonderful, I inspired a series of posts, eehee!" Well I got news for you, sister! You have to WORK for that honor!)

I will only do this when I have time, and I will probably not spend too much effort deliberating over questions. If I come across a question or something comes to mind, I will seek out a solution, but don't expect me to be consistent. The answers I find will probably not matter to most people who read, so, more than an advice column, this will be more of an opportunity for me to try to prepare myself mentally and emotionally for the challenges ahead.

SUBJECT CHANGE

Tomorrow is the first day of my Senior year of High School. It is the beginning of the end. And it is the end of naps as I have come to know them.

Tomorrow I will walk into an all-too-familiar building full of all-too-familiar people, and they will all see a none-too-familiar face.

Because today I got my my lovely, waist-length hair cut to shoulder-length, and I now have bright blue streaks throughout. Aside from the fact that I have wanted blue highlights for years, there is a kind of reason for this.

Everyone has their pre-determined idea of everyone else. I don't know everything that everyone thinks of me, but I do know this: Many, many people think of me as the perfect, straight-A student, who would never do anything that wasn't what I was told to do. I kind of want to break that stereotype. I do take pride in my grades, because I put a great deal of effort into them, and I do believe that there is a lot of good to be said for being conservative in certain areas. However, that doesn't mean that I am not fun-loving (which I am) and it doesn't mean that I won't make my own decisions (because I will).

My hope is that perhaps the shorter hair and the blue streaks will make people look twice, and maybe, if they look twice, they will think twice. Hopefully, some people will realize, "There is more to a person (me!) than I had known," and they will rethink some of their assumptions.

Of course, there will be those people who will just be encouraged in their thoughts that I am crazy, and that's okay. I kind of am. :]

<3 o.

On The Subject of Hattie and Marcy

Emily, my older sister (also known as Emmo), has a roommate who is also one of her friends. Her name, for the sake of this entry, is Marcy. Next door to their house, there is an elderly couple who owns a dog, some variation of a lab. They are unable to walk the dog, so Marcy walks it, and sometimes when she is walking the dog, Emily will go with her to keep her company and get some air herself. Well, Marcy is moving, and the couple was talking about who would walk the dog when she has moved. Emily had told them she would do it if they like, and they expressed their concern to Marcy about Emily being rather small. That is a reasonable concern, because our whole family is "rather small." Emily and I are both 4'11 to 5', but we have had dogs before, and Emily works out. But, Marcy's response wasn't, "Well, I think Emily could probably handle it, she has experience with dogs," or, "She does work out, though, so she's pretty strong for her size." No, what Marcy said was, "Well, sometimes when Emily goes out with us, I let her try to walk the dog."

"Like I'm ten or something," Emily said to Mom later when relating this story.

Marcy's habits of doing and saying things like this to belittle Emily reminds me of my friend Hattie, who behaves similarly (though it took me a few years to realize it).

Hattie was my best friend from second grade through the beginning of high school. Probably in Junior High, we starting having some harsher quarrels than in the past, but in High School, her behavior at times was infuriating. It escalated from telling me I couldn't sing in fourth grade (which I found out about a year ago, isn't necessarily true) to getting really angry if I didn't want to walk to band with her in Junior High to telling me she couldn't go to the Relay For Life with me because she had work the next day during Sophomore year (oh but, by the way, she could go to the midnight showing of Spiderman 3).

I find it somewhat ironic that both Emily and I had/have close friends that have a rather strong reputation of trying to belittle or discourage us. Both Marcy and Hattie will take almost any situation to make themselves look as good as they can... or at least better than Emily or I, often in the form of making us look incompetent, unintelligent, foolish, selfish, ignorant, or weak.

Sometimes I wonder what would have been different about my childhood if I hadn't spent so much time with Hattie. For instance, would I have felt differently about my height? She always called me Shortie in elementary school. Would I have done more summer musicals at the Community Theater? She was always telling me I couldn't sing. Would I have made more friends? She was constantly complaining about or making fun of other people when they weren't around.

I don't want Hattie to sound like a complete monster. She had her good times. She has a good sense of humor and was usually encouraging about my drawing. It's just that as we got older, she seemed to get less and less encouraging and more and more belittling, to the point that, like on the night of Relay For Life, she just came across of flat-out rude and inconsiderate.

It's not really a big deal anymore. We don't hang out very much now, and she's been rather upstaged by Elsa's somewhat sweeter personality. Hattie will occasionally call and try to make plans, but between Han and Elsa, I'm nearly always booked.

I could go into more detail about how Hattie can be frustrating to be around, but I feel I've been negative enough for the day. I was thinking about it because of what has been happening with Emily and Marcy, and how interesting it was that both our friends do that. I wonder if it is them or if it is us?

<3 o.

If It's Not Broken, Don't Fix It

That's what somebody ought to tell them.

Tim Burton is making a new movie--an Alice in Wonderland movie. Now, I like Tim Burton, I think his movies are very good in many aspects, and he has made a few of my favorite movies, but I don't think he has any business messing with Alice.

Because, let's face it, Tim Burton's work is dark. And it's creepy. It is dark and creepy, and Alice in Wonderland is a children's book. Okay, sure, Lewis Carroll was on drugs while he wrote it--but the book isn't about drugs. One of my main concerns is that he will forget that and focus on the acid-tripping aspect.

Alice in Wonderland has already been made into some very good movies. The Disney cartoon is sweet, charming, and innocent. The atmosphere is light and fun, and it's a very good children's film. My favorite Alice film, the 1985 Alice in Wonderland, is just phenomenal. The songs and music are exquisite, and the cast that they got together for that is just miraculous. I don't think the odds of another cast like that being put together again is very good. Included in this cast were Red Buttons, Sammy Davis Jr., Martha Rave, Imogene Coca, Telly Savalas, Jayne Meadows, Ringo Starr, John Stamos, Steve Allen, and Jonathan Winters... to name a very small amount.

Both of these Alice videos are classic masterpieces, and there is absolutely no need for a new Alice take. Maybe I would be more open to it if Tim Burton didn't have such a record for dark, morbid films... and if the girl cast to be Alice wasn't 18 (Mia Wasikowska). The only hope I am holding onto is that I believe Disney is involved somewhat, and the scriptwriter is the same as the scriptwriter for The Lion King.

I just don't understand why we need a new Alice in Wonderland film. The already existing movies are all so wonderful and classic, nothing now will be able to do them justice. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which Tim Burton also directed, was good--however, it was still darker than the book, and I don't think it was as good as it could have been. For a Roald Dahl book, it was good--but I love Alice. I don't want anyone to hurt that story.

I could go further in-depth into the whole "Carroll was on drugs, Carroll was a pedophile" thing in corrolation to how Tim Burton will make the film, but here's it: I don't care that he was on drugs, it is still a good children's story, and it isn't actually about drugs, so whatever. I don't believe that he was a pedophile, he took children's portraits, and some of them were nude--always with the parents presence, and before it was considered immoral by society. I don't want Tim Burton to make this film, because I think Alice is a perfect children's story with already fantastic renditions in existence, and Tim Burton isn't exactly known for his charming children's work--and the fact that an 18-year-old is playing Alice isn't exactly reassuring me any.

Alice in Wonderland isn't broken, and Tim Burton doesn't need to try to fix it.

<3 o.

Dear Mr. Sandefer,

As you have probably not been informed, my locker is no longer next to your classroom. Surprisingly, this is by far the largest disappointment of my senior year. My locker was terribly convenient, since it was on the end, but that was the least of its mighty virtue. The greatest thing about my locker was that you, being one of the friendliest teachers, said good morning to me every day and asked how I was doing. Out of politeness, of course, but if I am not next to your classroom, no one will tell me good morning, and no one will ask how I am. And I really enjoy being told good morning!

The "good morning" exchange is just one thing I will miss. Being no longer in your class, I will miss our occasional little arguments--Me complaining about the government, and you trying to convince me that it's all the best it can be. I know you're right, and I knew it when we argued. However, sometimes I just enjoy being negative, and in addition, it was a good way to get to know you better.

You are a very difficult teacher to get to know. You are caring and polite, but at the same time, not very personal. (I assume you are like that because the last chemistry teacher we had eloped with a student and moved to Kentucky.) However, you were the best science teacher I'd had since Junior High, and one of the best teachers I've had ever, and so I wanted to know a little more about you. What I said about teacher's pay and how I feel about it is true--one of the few things I said during our arguments that I think actually deserves some attention. However, I am glad that you became a teacher.

I think you are an exquisite teacher. As with any teacher who tries to teach, there are students who think that you are too demanding, but you are one of those great teachers who really wants the students to know what you are trying to tell them. If you expect a lot from your students, you are also willing to help them meet your standards in whatever way. I remember the day when you were so sick, and it was obvious that you felt horrible, but you stayed at school when you easily could have (and probably should have) gone home, because you wanted to get all of the classes caught up.

But this is just the beginning of how you struck me as an amazing person! I believe you talked about your wife two times during the year I was in your class, and each time, you expressed such admiration for her. It was the sweetest thing, Mr. Sandefer. I always wished you would talk about her more often, because one doesn't see a husband talk that way about his wife as often as one should. I hope that, when I get married, my husband talks that way about me.

As I draw this little letter to a close, there is just one thing left to say: I just remembered that I have a friend, Elsa, who is taking chemistry this year, and it is possible that I will accompany her either to or from that class. If this is the case, I hope you tell me "good morning" when I get there! Or at least "hello".

<3 o.

p.s. : I am sorry for any times I fell asleep in your class. It is nothing to do with you--Sometimes I am just exhausted and can't help myself. I tried hard to stay awake, and I think you probably noticed that I was fighting it, and that's why you usually gave me a few minutes before making me wake up. Thank you for those few minutes. :)

Love Me Never Leave Me

is an excellent book written by Marilyn Meberg. I am not even half-way through it, and it has already helped me in a big way.

I purchased this book at a Women of Faith conference just a couple of days ago. There were so many books that I was interested in, but this one just didn't seem to want to leave me alone, and it came along at just the right time.

I posted recently about my constant tears, fears, and the like. Well, I have been thinking about that, the first half in particular, quite a bit, and amidst all of this thinking, I have had a few thoughts.

One is that, I'm really not ugly. I may not be gorgeous, but I'm not ugly. And if I cry or shudder when I look in the mirror, it's not because I am ugly, it is because I am not pretty--at least, I am not the kind of pretty that is admired by the world.

So I think that the source of this insecurity is not in my appearance, because there's really nothing wrong with my appearance. I think the source of this is more that I would like for others to acknowledge my worth. If I want my appearance to be different, it is so that others will notice me, acknowledge me, and thus, acknowledge that I have value.

I also think that this is a desire that goes much farther than my longing to be "pretty." For instance, when I cried as a result of AOK's remarks about a movie character, it was not because the girl was prettier than me, exactly. It was that this girl was getting attention and admiration for her appearance, which was unlike mine--which meant that I was unworthy of that kind of attention or admiration. And if I am unworthy of this kind of admiration, and there are other girls who are worthy of it, then what is to stop Han from spending his time and thoughts on those girls over me?

Now you are probably thinking, "Hold up, o, I thought we were talking about your insecurity, and now you're talking about Han?" Yes. Han does not make me insecure, that is for sure, but my fear of him leaving is a very fertile place for insecurity to take root. That is what is has done, and it has flourished.

I knew both these things before reading Love Me Never Leave Me: I was highly insecure and I did not want Han to ever leave me. What I had not quite realized was that those two feelings were so closely connected.

Love Me Never Leave Me is a book about abandonment, but not just abandonment like being left on an orphanage doorstep. Marilyn, who has two master's degrees and a private counseling practice, goes into great detail about emotional abandonment and the fear of abandonment. She says that nearly everyone copes with abandonment issues in some way, even if it's subconcious, even if it's emotional, even if it's just the fear of abandoment, and that some struggle with it more than others. I think she is right. I can't explain it the way she can, so you should just go buy the book and read it.

So at around probably midnight or a little later last night, I've figured out that my insecurity is some form of an "abandonment issue", because it stems largely from my fear of being left by Han. And then I read this part of Marilyn's book, an account of how she felt after stealing communion crackers from her church's kitchen:

I didn't know it then, but I was suffering from shame. I feared that somehow I had so deeply offended God that I was not worthy of forgiveness. Surely only an unworthy pagan would steal symbols of Him. And if God wouldn't, or couldn't, forgive me, then He would surely reject me. He would abandon me, and I'd get left with all the other worthless sinners who had offended Him so mightily that He cast them away from His presence, never to be allowed readmittance.

And I thought, "Wow. I feel like that all the time." Fortunately, Marilyn's book is also full of scripture that reassures of us God's faith, love, and forgiveness. Thank God for Marilyn Meberg.

Anyway, I started thinking again, because I need the practice, and I was thinking about a time recently when I was crying, specifically for the fear of Han leaving me. One of the weirdest things about that night was that Han was with me (I don't usually cry in the presence of others). So I gave a great amount of thought to his reaction.

He was half upset, because he hates it when I am sad, and he hates it even more when I cry. But he was also half amused, because he sees my fears of him breaking up with me as unfounded and silly. He kept saying, "Honey, I'm not going to leave you, I love you. I've already told you that I won't break up with you, you don't need to worry about it."

I wonder if that's what God is doing when I fret and cry for the shame that Marilyn wrote about. So often, when I am miserable for that kind of shame, I envision God ignoring me... abandonment. But if God is who he says he is, then I had it all wrong, and that is not what would he would be doing at all. He would be more like what Han was doing, hugging me and, half-laughing, reminding me of things like Isaiah 41: 9 ("I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, 'You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you.") and 1 John 1:9 ("If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.") I know now that that is what he is really doing, and I think it will bring me so much peace in the nights to come.

<3 o.

p.s. : I highly recommend this book for anyone who does or does not think they have abandonment issues. Marilyn is a clever and witty writer, who knows how to incorporate just the right doses of humor with moving and influencial writing.

Are You Calling Me Irrational?

Because I'll tear your head off, Daniel! I'm gonna tear it off, and I'm gonna... throw it over that fence!

-Kim from Freaks and Geeks

When writing in my blog, I often try to restrain myself from sounding too whiney or irrational, because I don't want to come off like that to anyone who will read it. It is a good practice, because when I try not to seem whiney or irrational, I actually think things through better, and I think that will make me less selfish and narrow-minded in my day-to-day life.

I have to remember, though, that I am not writing in this blog for the sake of others, I am writing it for me. If my main focus is to impress anyone who reads this, then I probably will not be able to fully benefit from my blog.

So, at the risk of once again sounding whiney and irrational (though not quite as whiney or irrational as in my post 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight? Oh Wait... No'), I am going to write exactly what I have been thinking, so that I can get it out of my system.

Let's talk about Elsa. Elsa has every reason in the world to be unhappy. If I had limited mobility or had to be dependent upon others, I would be unhappy all the time. It seems so difficult for her to make good friends, maybe because they feel awkward around her, or maybe because it is difficult to find people who can offer the extra help she will sometimes need, I don't know. It just seems that with nearly everything she has to do, there is a challenge involved... but she is still content a lot of the time. She has somehow been able to accept and move on. I've said that before, I know. I'm not done.

Elsa gets unhappy sometimes, like anyone else, often depending upon different things that are going on. She is miserable on occasion. (To me, unhappy is emotionally upset and miserable is crying.) I know those little facts about her because I asked. So why is it that Elsa, who has pretty much every right to be angry at the world, can be content, and I, who have almost no right to be angry at anything, can barely go a day without tears?

Am I really that unreasonable? A lot of times, my misery will stem from something relatively small. For example, today:

I am visiting Han at the hospital, and his friend, AOK, and his girlfriend, Tina, come in to see him also. While I am there, AOK starts randomly talking about some barely-clothed character in a movie, how hot she was, blahblahblah. I don't know about other people, but to me, that's just... really rude. And kind of insulting. It makes me very unhappy to know that Han's friend is willing to just sit there and talk about other women with both their girlfriends sitting right there... I mean, I understand that boys will be boys, and they have thoughts and whatever, but it would be nice if they could try to limit their fantasies about other women... or at least keep them to themselves?

Moving on, Tina didn't seem really bothered by it. Okay, so she's used to it, or she's sure enough of herself that it doesn't concern her. Not so much with me. It was a little occurrence, but it has just gnawed and gnawed at me for hours. It was like being pecked to death by ducks. It grew from annoyance with AOK to embarrassment of my appearance to insecurity about my ability to meet others' standards to distress about all three. So, in the end, I was in tears for probably an hour because Han's friend made a few remarks without really thinking (which he does a lot).

Can that possibly be normal? I have this feeling it isn't... but if it isn't, is it my fault? I know that I shouldn't be so sensitive/insecure, but it's not like I try to be. In fact, more often than not, I try not to be. It doesn't seem to be something I can help...

But, little o, everyone gets insecure, even to the point of tears, at times! Well, yeah, but where is the demarcation for unnaturally insecure? Depending on circumstances, I would not be surprised for some people to be so miserable, let's say, once or twice a month. And in certain cases, maybe if there is a specific long-lasting insecurity, I would think crying once a week would probably be reasonable. What kind of criteria would have to be met for someone to cry every day or every other day? I don't like to think of myself as self-centered, but I can't think of many other explanations.

I don't think I can be that self-centered. I mean... that doesn't even make sense. I care about people. I want to help people. Self-centered people don't care about or want to help people. Not really. And I actually make a conscious effort to not be self-centered.

Okay not really. Okay maybe. I don't know. Define 'mental illness.'

Bottom line: Something is so not right. I don't care if it's normal or not, crying six nights of the week over various insecurities and/or fears is just not right. I really hate it when people talk about their problems as if no one else has problems, and I'm afraid that that's what I just did. I just don't get it. I really don't understand why things get to me so easily... It's so easy for me to get upset, it's not even always other people.

It's like a nightmare. Except for the part where you wake up and it's all over.
-Adrian Monk from Monk

No, seriously. You know those nightmares where, when you wake up, you're still half in it, and you're kind of half-panicked because you haven't really acknowledged that you were asleep when it happened? Sometimes, I kind of get stuck there. One time, I had a dream that someone killed my dog, and I woke up crying over my dead dog, and it took me several minutes to remember that I don't have a dog. But... I do that a lot, and more often than not, I'm not even asleep when it happens. I just randomly have these horrifying nightmares, but while I'm awake. Someone is breaking into my room and he has a knife, Han cheated on me, I just recieved a phone call that my parents died in a car crash. Whatever it is, it's like I'm having the nightmare, but I'm not asleep... which makes it very difficult for me to wake up and acknowledge that I was asleep when it happened, because, um, I wasn't.

It's very confusing and very distressing. It is sometimes very hard to convince myself that whatever it was wasn't real. I have called Han at 2 o'clock in the morning and I sneak into my parents' and little sisters' rooms to make sure that it wasn't real sometimes. I have to, or else I just sit on my bed trying to remember if it really happened.

So the nightmare thing is a lot different from my oversensitive insecurities thing, but they are both big contributors to my constant misery, and I don't know what to do about either of them.

I don't really expect a response to this, mostly because it was entirely for my own benefit, but I also can't really imagine how anyone would respond to it. ^^; Have a lovely evening!

<3>

p.s. : Both images are from postsecret, which can be found under my Things You Should Click On list.