January 5 2017

I'm horrendous at keeping up with this thing but I kind of like knowing that it's always here in case I need to dump all of my thoughts somewhere other than my journals, the margins of my notes during class, or even sometimes on my arms when I'm absent minded and out of paper to doodle upon.

A whole year has gone by since I last posted on this blog.
And a whole lot has happened, naturally.

I finished my first year of college, my family bought a place in Chicago ( which has been a dream of mine to finally get to explore this city that my family is so deeply rooted in ), I spent my last summer at camp, I got fired from camp ( oops ), I moved into my first apartment, got dumped by my first real boyfriend, completed my teenage years, and was cast in not only 1, but 3 plays this semester.

Being 20 is fun and cliche and all sorts of sitcom-y. I feel like the center of the universe and completely insignificant all at the same time, which I think is sometimes a good thing? It's just like being a toddler all over again- stumbling and falling and getting bruised and scared but with a sense of invincibility that often overshadows my common sense. It's messy and unstable and I think it's really really good for me.

I've been sad for so long, and I'm still sad. But I think that with finally settling into this new phase of my life I'm learning a lot about me, and it's making me happier. I found a love for planners and organization. I've developed a sense of confidence with first impressions and my ability to promote myself. I've found friends that are genuine and teachers that don't allow me to fly by the seat of my pants.

At the beginning of last summer I legitimately thought that I wouldn't make it to 20.
But boy am I glad that I did.

At the turn of the new year people often say things like "2017 be kind, be better, be forgiving"
But I think I'm gonna stop asking things like that of the year and ask it of myself instead.
I want to be kind and better and forgiving. Happy. Involved. Present.

2017 will be what it is. But I will be what I choose to be.
So that's pretty neat, if you ask me.

January 3 2016

The first snow of the season drifting down outside my window, I find myself sitting by a fire, a fleece blanket hugging my legs, and completely surrounded by words. 

To my right, my copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice lies open on page 57. 

To my left, my own brown leather journal sits with my own personal writings currently hidden.

In front of me, a channel is playing Dead Poets Society- a movie speaking on the importance of peoples writing and words, along with their ability to impact people. 

I've always loved words. I love listening to people speak, how they talk, what they're saying. I love reading poetry, stories, prose. I love lyrics, plays, musicals. I love seeing all the ways that words can be strung together to say something... to say anything. 

I've just started reading Pride and Prejudice. I got a set of Austen's famous novels from my brother for Christmas, and 57 pages in I can already tell that I really like it. In all honesty, I haven't really read many classical novels such as P&P-so the change in language style is very interesting to me. Usually, I tend to find simplicity in communication beautiful- small and simple statements with big and complex impacts. But I'm finding that with the classical literature and the much more formal style of writing, is just as beautiful. In high school, I read a book for my AP Literature and Composition class called Tess of the D'Uberville's written by Thomas Hardy. Hardy writes in the same style as Austen, so I continuously am comparing my experiences with the two. I'm enjoying finding commentary from the authors hidden between paragraphs that the audience is meant to connect with- I'm relating sometimes consciously or subconsciously- either way... I'm finding myself not feeling so distant from these stories from years past. It's a beautiful realization that these words and these stories have lived through decades upon decades of people and literary trends- the words I'm learning to love were loved far before I was a thought, and will be

As for my own writing, I've been rather quiet. My words have been muffled these past few months due to a complete lack of connection to my own self. I've been basically on auto pilot since probably October. Reading through my entries of the summer, I've learned a lot about my own style and what I find important or satisfying with writing. I enjoy rhythm and simplicity, as I stated earlier. But I also want to challenge myself this year to try new things- new styles, new words. 

Dead Poet's Society is new to me, old to everyone else, but all around extremely profound. I find the fact that with just the simple introduction to the power of words, an entire group of people found a new found confidence that they never would have seen before. This movie also highlights one of my favorite aspects of words- performance. Speaking in front of other people, especially to entertain, to me is something that is so breathtakingly beautiful that I can hardly piece words together that will be enough to give it half as much meaning as it deserves. Passion is an intoxicating emotion and the fact that we can give it away through our words? It's something that I just can't begin to comprehend. I don't really want to question, though. Clearly for years it's worked with no objections, so who am I to try and crack the code. 

I'm surrounded by words and I'm filled with hope that this year I'll be able to read, listen, and create more of them. 

December 22 2015

For my graduation present my parents gave me a beautiful journal with an incredibly kind letter on the first pages. They know I've been writing poems and songs since before I even really knew how to spell, so they figured a journal would be a fitting gift. They were more than right. 

This journal got a lot of use over the summer while I was at camp. I was dealing with a slew of different emotionally tolling situations and my journal was the perfect place to deal internally while needing to be essentially a parent or cool older sister to a bunch of 12 year old girls. 

I haven't really written much in it since college started. I wrote one poem before hiding it in a drawer alongside the rest of my feelings. Today I looked through my journal for the first time in a while, and I figured I would share the last poem I wrote in there. Why not.. right? 

September 17, 2015

"I'm trained in trickery, well versed in lies-

with an ability to hide in a daily disguise.

Painted on smiles and hollowed hellos-

I wait for freedom from my buried woes.

I'm small, I'm sad, I'm scared, I'm sinking-

Everyone watching but hardly blinking.

I'm crying, I'm screaming, I'm begging for help-

But apparently I'm left to save myself.

Grow up, adjust, move on, let go-

All things I'm already supposed to know. 

So day to day I dry my tears-

Don my disguise and face my fears."

I'm in a much better place now than I was when I wrote that. But I still feel as if I have to put on this front of being okay all the time. That being scared and not knowing what to do is something reserved for freshman in high school and not in college. I think that I wanted to post this so that I could openly admit that sometimes I still feel like I have to be someone for everyone. I have to be what people expect or what I think that they want... But in reality I don't really know what anyone wants or even what I want? I do hope that by openly admitting that I feel like this and that I rely on my theatrical inclinations to hide in plain sight, I will have a sort of motivated self obligation to stop doing so. 

Or maybe I just wanted someone to notice. 

December 13 2015

Today I received one of my infamous 3 hour lectures from my dad. 

My dad and I have a very interesting relationship- we always have. He's the best friend you always want on your side and the enemy you never want to be piss off. But the reason our relationship is interesting is because we're so similar we don't know how to get around each other. 

We both hate being wrong and are extremely sensitive- so arguments, you can imagine, go really well.

Tonight's lecture was about the walls I've put up and how my dad finds my recent behavior towards him to be "highly disrespectful, and completely unacceptable". He's angry that I get easily overwhelmed, don't let him in, and that when he asks me simple questions my guard goes up.

I'm not disagreeing with him, because he's not wrong. 

The thing that hurt me the most tonight is this accusation: 

"You've thrown glass shards around you so that anyone who even tries to get close to you gets hurt before they even get to you."

Another thing I'm not disagreeing with, because he's not wrong. 

I guess my point of writing about this is that I know that it happens, but it's not a purposeful thing. If we're sticking to the "glass shards" analogy, the glass shards are literally me. At the beginning of the semester when everything fell apart and I finally broke down... That's when the glass shards appeared. 

So. For anyone who reads this and has gotten hurt by my shards of glass around me... I'm so sorry. I've been slowly picking them, and myself, back up. 

For anyone who reads this and doesn't know me well- please don't let this post keep you from trying to get to know me. I promise that I'm more than broken. Just give me a chance to pick up my pieces. 

November 30 2015

I tried to think of something to post.

I could complain about school- about how these last two weeks are gonna drag me physically and emotionally through a wringer that I don't want to go through. About how, despite turning in my Final today... I still have to go to a "Final Exam" period 3 weeks from tomorrow that is keeping me from seeing my favorite person for an extra day. 

I could complain about my home life- about how my dad and I continually get into self esteem shattering arguments that he attempts to mend 15 minutes later. About how my self inflicted comparison with my cousins has gotten to the point of me being scared to see her over break because I don't think I'm a good enough member of our sorority, family, or planet even to compare to how people see her? But like why do I care? No one else but me does?

I could complain about Theater / Performing- about how I can't get into a show or fit into a theatre department. About how the one thing I was undeniably incredible at I am now considered so untalented that I'm not even worthy of an email telling me that I'm not on the team. 

I could try and find silver linings. I could try and focus on the fact that in 30 minutes, it marks 5 months dating the best boy I've ever met. Or that I'm getting good grades or that I'm finally getting into some solid friend groups at school. 

I tried to think of something profound. To make me feel like I was able to put something good into the world for today. 

But the best that I can give is the lesson that I've been telling myself for a couple of months now:

It's alright to have bad days. 

November 26 2015

Today is a day that is filled with encouraging words, gratitude, and way too much food.

And, often, Thanksgiving is one of those family holidays where everyone tends to tiptoe around the bad things that happen in our every day lives to focus on things such as saying encouraging words, being thankful, and eating food.

While I was scrolling through Tumblr during my post-dinner laziness, I saw something that caught my eye and I decided to not sweep it under the rug for the sake of a Hallmark worthy holiday.

I want to preface this all with this: I'm not upset while writing this at all. I found an odd sort of... peace with the ultimatum that the quote gave me. Anyways.. the post read:

"Every 7 years, the cells in your entire body will be destroyed and replaced with new cells. One day I will have a body you will have never touched"

Whoever wrote this had their own reason for doing so, and I commend them for being so brave.
Whether they are mourning the loss of a relationship and realizing that things don't last forever, or they wrote it as a coping mechanism... I applaud their ability to look forward. Something that I am awful at doing myself.

This quote to me gives me a sort of finish line, as morbid as that may sound.

Though I don't plan on taking 7 years to sort through all the emotions and realizations I've had in the past 7 months, I find comfort in the fact that there is an expiration date on any sort of physical remain between me and the three of you.

I know that this sounds super morbid, and borderline dramatic. I kind of thought it was ridiculous the first time that I read it through myself. But after thinking about it, I really do appreciate the fact that there will be a time where, physically speaking, there will be no part of me that they will have touched.

I'm more than confident that 7 years from now I'll be able to fall asleep the night of the 3rd to the 4th of every month. I won't cringe when I get invited to a bonfire, sit in the middle of the backseat of a car, or get invited somewhere by someone that I'm only kind of friends with.

In the past 7 months I've gotten better about staying calm and trusting people and realizing that it wasn't my fault. I'm realizing that it's normal not to be okay 100 percent of the time, but that it's also normal to catch myself feeling okay. I'm letting myself love a boy who loves me- I'm getting better about not feeling too broken for him to love me.

I've come a long way in the last 7 months - so I know that 7 years will only be filled with more statements like "Getting better" and "Learning to"... and, again, it may sound a bit morbid but... it can only go up from here?

And once these 7 years are over my body will be 100 percent free of any trace you boys would have left on me. My skin won't know any of yours and that is the finish line I can't wait to cross. Emotionally I will be so beyond what you've all done that I might not even realize that its physically (and finally) over because I will have had 7 years to get better, smarter, and stronger than you cruel and disgusting boys could ever hope to be.

So today I expressed my unbelievable gratitude for my friends, family, and boyfriend.

I read some very encouraging words from this anonymous author.

And ate way (way) too much food.

November 24 2015

As a 19 year old I've encountered a fair amount of people in my life.
And I know that the number will continuously grow for the rest of forever, I suppose.
But, at 19, I already have names of people in my mind that I know I will always remember no matter what.
Whether they be friends, or boys from relationships, family members, teachers.. and so on and so on.

I'm old enough to know a decent amount of people and what their roles were / are in my life.
Which brings me to todays post.
A name that, despite her role as one of my biggest obstacles of the entirety of my high school career, will forever cross my mind every once in a blue moon.

There was a girl in high school that I spent a solid 4 years in fear of.
We shared classes, friend groups, interests, some personality traits, and even casting characteristics when it came to the politics of high school theatre. We even shared things such as anxiety and insecurity - these were not spoken aloud, of course, but I know that we both suffered similar ailments but on two opposite extremes.
Though we had all of these overlapping circles in our lives, I can honestly say two people could not be more different.

The 4 years we went to the same school was a constant back and forth of snappy remarks and side comments that didn't start off as much but eventually started to gain weight in my mind as the years continued on.

Sophomore year we attempted to be in the same friend group but that lasted literally one day.
I'll never forget the phone call I received that night from my friend Hannah explaining that the lunch table might be a bit "broken up" for a while. It was scary. I felt as if I was to blame. The problems had arisen before I was in the group, but still I felt as if it was somehow my fault.

Then Junior year was mostly unspoken competition in things such as theatre or forensics. Tense and uncomfortable were understatements. Then named as co captains, I knew immediately that we would crash and burn. All I could do was my best and then hold on for a rough couple of months.

Senior year is when everything blew into insane proportions.
I'll spare the stories and the details for sake of time and, honestly, not wanting to dive into that chaotic memory pool.
I did, however, learn how to stand up for myself. I found the squeak of courage I needed to speak up and confront. Even though my efforts were quickly extinguished by her simple statement of how it "wasn't her fault I felt this way". I may have not gotten the justice I craved, but I did find a voice. Which is much more valuable in the long run than some sort of petty revenge towards my high school enemy.

At the end of the year I walked away with my diploma and a smile as I realized that this girls name will never have to cross my lips, mind, or path again. I felt taller and lighter. It was a weight off of my shoulders that I hadn't recognized before that day because it had been there for the entirety of my high school career. I was relieved to know that her name did not have to matter to me anymore.

But here I am 6 months later still thinking about her and who she is in my list of names.

Now let me emphasize that this is not a spiteful post. This is not a "I still hate you for making me feel the way you did for 4 years and I can't get over my damn self" post. This post, to me, is trying to piece together why I still wonder about how she's doing and if she's still as angry at the world as she was in high school (openly admitted, might I add). I saw that she was unhappy and I still wonder if that has changed. Though I may not have liked her. Though I may have wished that she wouldn't have been in my life. I never ever ever wished her to be as upset as she always seemed to be.

And I think that's why 6 months later I'm still wondering. It has nothing to do with our essentially blood stained past in the slightest. I just find myself hoping that she finds a way to be okay. Because she's a very talented girl who could love life, I think, if she let herself.

I don't think anyone deserves to feel as awful as she has claimed to feel. I've felt pretty bad at points in my life, and I would never truly wish any dark feelings upon anyone. I think that for the rest of my life I'll hope that she ends up okay. Even though her name won't cross my lips or my path anymore- it'll cross my mind every once in a while.