Everything is Changing

Everything is Changing

There used to be a time where I believed nothing could stop me. I was on top of the world and I always would be, no matter what anyone else thought. I had the best friend I could ever ask for, parents that did the best they could, and siblings that at least tried to act like they enjoyed my company.

            But all the good things change, because here I sit now, my best friend long walked out on me and become little more than someone I sort of know. My mother is as far away as she can possibly be, down in Florida where she took off to right after I graduated. My sister hates me with a passion and no one wants me around anymore.

            There used to be a time where all that mattered was the movies you saw and the birthday parties you got invited to. There was a time when I was able to congratulate everyone as they got older. Ageing used to be the one thing that gave us a reason to celebrate.

            But that life doesn’t exist anymore. I was a sophomore in college and everyone around kept getting older, myself included, and none of it even mattered. The celebrations still happen around me. My best friend was turning twenty and we threw the surprise party of the year. Everyone put on pretty faces and smiles, all of them looking happier than I can even hope to be.

The false smile is plastered to my face like a well made mask. I keep it on all night as we sing and eat cake and drink. The group of people around me is lovely, a close knit group that makes me feel alone. I am their friend, but most only know me through association. I isolate myself inside my own head while keeping up the act on the outside. It’s not me celebrating with them, it’s a shadow of what I was in high school. The only piece of me left that seems happy.

And inside I’m screaming for someone to see how bad I’ve gotten, how depressed I really am. But these people will never see it, to them I am the life of the party. The girl who gets everyone else involved in games where we end up stripping. I’m the girl that keeps everyone else around me smiling all night. The one who is dying inside but still strives to bring joy to everyone she encounters.

When I return to my dorm it’s the sweetest feeling I’ve had all day. I change my clothing and collapse in a heap on my bed, not even caring what my roommate does with her time. The entire party I wanted to run away from the crowd, being around so many people used to make me happy, but now it’s just a cruel reminder of the days when everything was perfect. Of the days when the smile on my face was real.

My sleep is restless, plagued by the dreams of my mother and turning into her. I wake up four times, always in a sweat, looking over to see my roommate soundly sleeping. I wish I could be her. I wish I could sleep. All I want to do is go back to the way things were before Mom ran away from us. I want to get rid of the monster that hangs off of me day and night. But in a way, I’ve fallen in love with the monster. Sorrow and pain are the only things I feel anymore, and I cling to them like a security blanket that can protect me from myself.

 

I awake the next morning exhausted. I rub at my eyes, trying to wake myself up, but nothing will work. I drop from my bed like a zombie, booting up my computer without even thinking about it. Somehow I end up on my blog, the blank screen just waiting for something to be written upon it.

I blink, the motion lasting much longer that it should as my body attempts to black out again. But I can’t let it, sleep means more nightmares, and more nightmares means my depression is getting worse. I ignore the nagging demon in the back of my head, giving in to the urge of my fingers to type.

We Age and Life Goes On

December 1, 2012

 

I spent yesterday celebrating the birthday of a close friend. We broke into her apartment and decorated everything. Then we baked cake and waited for her to get back with her boyfriend. We spent almost two weeks planning it. Everything had to be perfect for her. She turned twenty, and although it was a big deal to us and it mattered to her, the rest of the world staid the same. She got an entire year older, one more year closer to her death, and yet, the world didn't care. Sitting there half naked after a stripping game I got to thinking just how little it all means. 

We all get older, we age, but life goes on like it doesn't matter. So when you turn 18 you're an adult. That's great and all, but the rest of the world doesn't care. At 21 you can drink, but does that really matter either? It seems at that point we stop keeping track. Our birthday only matters for a day and then everything moves on like it never happened. We age, we party, we forget. In two months time I'll cross that very same bridge she did. I'll turn 20. I'll move out of my teenage years and into that weird stage in between. It will be that time in my life where I'm not a teenager anymore, but I'm also not quite an adult. 

Two months, then for 24 hours everything changes and we party. Then it all goes back to normal and life moves on. It doesn't matter if I'm turning 20 or 30 or 40. The change only lasts a single day. The world doesn't notice. It doesn't make a difference. Age is just another number, marking away our days until we finally end up in a pine box underground. It's a number used to judge how we are allowed to act. At 6 it's time to start putting away the baby blankets and the stuffed animals. At 10 we begin to act more mature. By 13 we are expected to be attracted to members of the opposite sex even though not everyone wants to be so excluded. At 16 we are meant to drive, at 18 we can take care of ourselves and go to college, at 21 we are responsible enough to drink and by 26 we should have a job and a spouse and planning for children. By 30 we should have some of those children and host holiday parties and have friends from the office that we spend time with. 

Age is mundane, boring, planned out. I don't want to conform to what age wants me to be. I want to hold onto my stuffed animals until the day I die. I don't want to drive yet. I can't really take care of myself yet either, I know how to, but I'm not financially able to. I'd like to think I'm already responsible, when I feel like showing it. Why should I follow age the way society sets it out? It doesn't make any sense. At 13 I was falling in love with my best girlfriend and faking a crush on the most popular boy in school so I could fit in. I was miserable. At 16 I was too busy thinking I was a fantastic writer to worry about my license. By 18 I was in need of someone to hold my hand and all they did was tell me I was too old to be treated like a child. 

So f**k age. F**k the boring schedule I'm meant to follow. I will not follow these rules that keep me in check. You can't control a woman who can't even control herself. I am strong, rebellious, and everything those that follow the norm wish they could be.

 

I don’t know where the words came from, but I do know I’ve accessed a deeper part of me that I tried to ignore. I’ve finally tapped into the well that is all the things I really feel on a daily base. And not just that, I’ve made myself able to understand them.

            I feel that I finally have the ability to fully express myself, at least briefly, in every blog post. It is this realization I cling to in this moment. For a short period I forget how much it hurts because I have a means to get the pain out a little bit at a time.

 

It takes a week for me to write in the blog again. A full week before more ideas root themselves in my mind. And the emotions come from a simple movie I hadn’t sat down to watch since I was a little girl.

            My roommate and I were sitting in our room, both of glued to our own computers. Pandora is playing on my computer, a mix of Disney songs that make us both nostalgic. Once Upon a December comes on and I find myself singing the tune sweetly without realizing that I still know the words.

My roommate turns back to face me. “I haven’t seen that movie in ages.” She comments, pausing a minute before she goes back to work.

“Is it on Netflix?” I ask her, I know that if she finds it I’ll have to watch it. Anastasia had been one of my favorite movies when I was young.

She opened up the website and searched, turning back with a frown. “I can’t find it here, but I have a movie site that has a lot of movies like that on it, give me a minute.”

I can’t help but smile at her. I had planted the seed in her head and now she wouldn’t stop until she had the movie up and ready to go. A few minutes later she had found it and I pulled my chair to her desk, sitting in it backwards and leaning on the back of it.

We both sang alone, engrossed in the film like we were children again. I wanted it to go on forever. This piece of my past was enough to make me remember the times when everything was simple. Back when all that mattered was what you saw on the screen and what was for snack at school.

It ends after what seems like sweet hours. I drag myself slowly away from her desk, dropping into my chair back at my own. I frown, wishing we could watch another but knowing my roommate has too much to get done. I would start something on my own computer, but the temptation to watch would be too great for her. So I go the only place I can, the blog coming up quickly.

 

And Suddenly I Remember

December 6, 2012

 

I sat back today and watched a movie I haven't seen in years. Anastasia, that lovely film about the lost Russian princess as she discovers who she really is. As my roommate and I indulged our nostalgic sides, I realized that despite how long it has been, every single song still played in my head just a hair ahead of the movie. It was as if I knew all the words, and I did. Once Upon a December slipped off my tongue with ease, and In the Dark of the Night still struck the same cords of my memory it did back then.

It made me wonder, how is it, that even against all odds, we remember these little things? I can't for the life of me recall what I had for dinner last Tuesday evening, but I still remember the way my friends and I used to laugh while we sang American Pie on the swing set. I don't remember my Great Grandmother on my mother's side, but I can still feel the chill of sitting in the huge mounds of snow that would form on my elementary school playground. 

What makes them stick? What is it about the taste of the lasagna that my mother used to make that makes it so memorable? It certainly wasn't the best lasagna in the world, but yet sitting here thinking about it I can recall even the texture it had. Maybe it is the way these things recall the good times in life. I remember my parents fighting, but never what they fought about. But when I look back I still remember the exact conversation I had with my sister when she asked me what day the fourth of July was. I have no recollection of the hardship we went through when I was growing up, but I remember exactly how excited I was every time we got a package of cookies in the food bank box.

These little things call to something deeper inside of me. A young girl that still thrives in the dark recesses of my mind. She used to come out to play often until her mommy ran away. But these things, the way Anastasia dances across the screen and the smell of my grandfather's pipe, they make her come alive again, if only for a moment. These precious things, though insignificant to my life, are what make her want to smile. And she shall smile, only for a second, and if you look deep enough into my eyes you just might see her there, calling out to the little child that still lives in you. 

Reviews

[...]

Getting older sucks. When I was a kid, I always wished I was grown up, and adults would tell me 'You think that now, but wait till you're my age.' I never believed them. Now I'm an adult myself, and I see what they meant. Life is so much simpler for a child. I remember how carefree I was as a kid. The feelings I felt were so powerful and new. The world was a beautiful place.

As an adult I feel jaded. The world has a darker hue over it. Nothing is new anymore,and now there is a burden to earn your own living. As children, everything is provided for us, and we're guided every step of the way. As adults, nothing is certain. Life is in our own hands. No one is there to help anymore. It's a struggle not only to survive, but to have a happy life. People die miserable all the time. It's up to the individual to earn their own happiness.

I have a bit of my inner child alive inside me. You have to protect it. The world is cold and ruthless. It will take that inner child and rape it throroughly. Some people get broken by it. They live their whole lives miserable, forgetting why they even wanted to stay alive. The child in us is our hopes and dreams. It's what makes us who we are. It's the naievety and innocence that we all use to have, but somewhere along the way it was stolen from us. If we don't try to hold onto the things we enjoy, and the dreams that make us want to live, then what are we doing here? We might as well be dead. There is no point in living a miserable life.

Thanks for sharing your ideas. I'm sorry I didn't read your other novel. Even though we don't talk much I still think of you from time to time. I have fond memories of when we use to chat together. I remember when I had to stay up all night at McDonalds and you were there to chat and keep me awake. :) I remember sharing poems with you and joking around and stuff. I remember sending hentai pics to you, lol, and that weird time when I just went way overboard during masturbation and realized I was at least partly gay. There were good time and bad times together. I apoligize for the mean things I said. I was just trying to help but sometimes I go overboard.

Anyway, I think that life is good in the end. It's a good thing. Right now you're in a rut, but you'll get out. I have faith in you. We're both young. I'm in a rut too, and I have faith I'll get out. As long as your still alive life isn't that bad. Just try to be happy with what you have. Don't crave acceptance from people that don't matter. Get it from the people you love. And if people put up with you, it's because they love you. I really hope that you are happy again soon. The weather is warming up, so I think you'll get happier from that. Before you were bubbly and quirky and fun to talk to. You still are sometimes. I think it's just an off and on thing. I'm the same way. Anyway, this has gone on waaay to long. I'll cut it short. Good writing! I read all of it. Thanks again for sharing.

[Krisen Lison]

This is so amazing. You made my day and helped me feel so much better about the place I'm at right now. I miss talking to you all the time and how I always felt we just became great friends from the get go. We need to try and stay in touch more.