Journal

Who Are You?


All of these things around you

The things you have learned

Memories in your brain

Who are you?

What makes you tick?

Are the goals you have the ones you had?

When was it that you really felt pain?

That you understood what it meant to stand alone?

Have you felt true love?

Who are you?

What has your mark been on this world?

Will you exist after you die?

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Brain Jumble


The Scream (1893)

Con·fu·sion
kənˈfyo͞oZHən/
noun
 lack of understanding; uncertainty

If you tell someone a secret, the second you speak it, does that no longer make it a secret?

Why does one tell said secret to begin with? If it is worth protecting then I suppose it shouldn’t be spoken at all. Those given secrets are not to be trusted, to keep something safe from others is a near impossible thing to do. The beauty of a secret is how it can flourish into something no one ever expects.

If you tell someone’s secret does that make you an asshole?

Absolutely, but don’t worry about it, it happens to the best of us.

People aren’t meant to have secrets, people are never meant to have anything for themselves. Of course we believe we do, because we made so much stuff to have. People are entitled, to what? I am unsure.

En·ti·tled
inˈtīdld,enˈtīdld/
adjective
 Believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment
 Free music, cell phones, respect, happiness, all of these things we feel that we just deserve to have. As if we did anything to deserve it in the first place, there is no reason any of these things should be ours. Because you pay someone to have items? Does that actually make it yours?
                 There are many things we could be doing, yet we are building up a new way of life. Evolution at it’s finest. If Darwin himself was here, would he appreciate how we have moved forward? Is this innovation?
In·no·va·tive
ˈinəˌvādiv/
adjective
 1. (of a product, idea, etc.) featuring new methods; advanced and original.
  • (of a person) introducing new ideas; original and creative in thinking.

Well, if anyone can be innovative these days than I have a new idea, and it is original, it also requires you to think.

There are so many things you can be doing, living a life worth talking about in a few years. This life does not have to be confined to the tiny screens we have grown to love, there is a world that is yours to do whatever you want with. There are many things to learn, and they aren’t listed on Buzzfeed, they are the kind of things an article could never cover. The things you could experience cannot be shared online. There is no reason that we have to let our social media define us. We are all guilty of it, myself included, so why not make a change?

Is this the kind of life we want for our future? People looking for short cuts, not getting the real life experience everyone deserves? In ten years we will have lost many American values, because of this technology that surrounds us, will anyone care to recover them? Save them before it’s too late?

I didn’t think so.

Is this the kind of thing you were hoping to read today?

Change


Which one is true: People change, or do they always stay the same?

Obviously we change, develop from a baby to someone with hobbies and dislikes, preferences, and experience. Then again we sometimes develop habits that will never leave us, maybe this means we cheat, or like to have everything perfectly in order. Which on is true?

Can they both be true, applying to different circumstances or even different people all together?

I think everyone is so different in so many ways (obviously you know this too) but what differences really define us as an individual?

Example: I am a writer, she is a dancer.

In this situation our hobbies define us.

Example: He has cancer, she has been in remission for six years.

Does the condition define them, or life and death?

Example: Mom likes to drink, Dad likes to smoke.

Both can kill you, what’s the different?

I could go on and on for days with all the things that make me different from you, but at what point do you distinguish me as someone not in your circle? What makes someone really enjoy your company?

The question I suppose I really want to know the answer to is why does it matter?

Example: I like to write, and my sister likes to dance.

Different hobbies, same blood.

Example: They met during treatment, she is still fighting for him.

Difference?

Example: They picked up bad habits after the unthinkable happened to them.

We are all different, and for our own reasons, so what makes it okay for you to judge someone else for dealing with their life the way that makes sense to them? This life is so complicated because of the countless things that can happen right before your eyes, good or bad. We cannot sit by and continue to judge our fellow humans, instead we need to know when to help, how to address a situation, how to sit before someone and just be there with an open mind.

We are constantly finding reasons to dislike people, and I cannot figure out why. It isn’t more fun, it’s sad that people have become so cliche in such an inhumane way.

That we have to drill it into peoples heads to be nice, because it isn’t the natural way of things anymore. Reminders or happiness and hope are being spread by few to the many who have forgotten. When will we be kind? When will you smile?

Don’t Let This Go Viral


what

“It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority”

-Benjamin Franklin

We killed the news.

When you get on the world wide web, the first place you probably go is Facebook. You check to see what your friends are doing, see if anyone liked your Facebook status, Whilst scrolling along your super exciting timeline I am sure you see plenty of articles like this:

Why Your Second Love Deserves More Credit Than Your First

Nicolas Cage joins Borat director for Osama Bin Laden comedy

And at least four articles from BuzzFeed like this

Of course this is just what people want to read now and unfortunately that is very sad. These aren’t articles, this isn’t news, and it should not be what people care about. Yet these will be shared with countless young people but no way are they tagging each other on BBC posts. Surfing the internet has become a lazy sport at best, if it can be read in simple bullet points it’s worth one minute of internet time.

  • Stop being lazy and read more
  • Being able to write a relate-able bullet point list doesn’t make you a fantastic writer
  • Your article will go viral for a few days at most, after that you are a ghost
  • Complaining about the things you don’t have should not be cool, and you should find something more interesting to write about.
  • Try harder.

There were people who were and are still laughed at because writing is a waste of time, there is no real talent in it. With the way things are written these days, who could disagree? There is no time, so effort, or skill put into some of these articles. Just the woes of few about things that don’t matter. Why not write about some amazing finds in medicine? Environmental Issues? Current Affairs?

Oh, I apologize. Am I boring you?

#reverb14: Love yourself


It’s all too easy to put off loving where we are until everything is perfect. What can you love about where you are now?

I am sitting on a couch right now, thinking about the lovely day I had with a person dear to my heart. I have a book in my lap that I plan to read tomorrow, I have a knit project to my left that I am so proud of. I am sitting here thinking that today was a good day, and I love that I feel this way. I have a hard time focusing on myself, its natural to put my energy into others. My stress level reached a point that put me in a place I was not comfortable being in, a place that was changing me into someone I have no desire to be. So I packed a bag and I left, since then I have had a lot of time to reflect in my life. I have let go of the feelings that bring me sadness, and focus on any thing that will make me smile. I love that I have found my true self, I have not forgotten the person I worked hard to be. I am just sitting in a room while everything else continues to happen, and I am feeling love in my heart and joy in my soul.

Brain Matter


A simple idea is formed in my mind every few seconds, I don’t know where they come from, I usually don’t know where they intend to go, yet I appreciate every one so deeply. My mind sometimes feels like a busy New York street, buzzing and beeping! An awful thing here a delightful thing there, an infinite amount of action and not enough time to see it all happen piece by piece.

I kick myself from time to time because I do not sit down and jot anything down, all those thoughts wasted.. erased. So long New York, you talented state, I waste you away and I cannot give you one good reason why, this life is throwing everything at me and I think I have nothing. That’s wrong, I have my writing, my knitting, and a cute little puppy. I find comfort in the negative, again, not sure as to why. Forgetting there are things in my life to be proud of, sure I didn’t send a robot to the moon, or write the latest pop break up song. Yet by simply being me, by simply being here, that is enough to be thankful for. Hope is only a tiny little person walking down Bleecker Street, and one thought will only get ya so far. So here’s to you, you lazy shmuck, don’t forget to live the life you always said you would. There are people out there who are counting on you to fail, for their own feeble minds are ready to dine on your woes.

**Please share feedback, I’m having conflicting thoughts on this one. Thanks!

I Love Words


I am so excited to be able to participate in another one of Kat McNally’s wonderful writing shin-digs!

This is the second round of August Moon for me, and honestly last summer it helped me liberate myself in more ways than I was expecting. So I’m taking another journey in hopes that more writing, and sharing will help me find myself.

Anyhow, today’s prompt is What do you love?

Well, that’s an interesting prompt for me, especially with all of the things I actually don’t like discussing.

Write to hide the pain

Write to stay sane

Write to lose myself

Write to keep myself

Write for so many different reasons

Write enough to make my hands hurt

Write to make your heart hurt.

Write to feel nothing

Write to give everything

Write to be me.

 

A View


I can’t pretend this is hard to see

It’s actually quite clear, but why, oh how, did it get this bad? 

I cannot pretend to understand

But, how do I even start?

There is broken pieces of life every where I look

Misunderstood souls.

I cannot pretend that I am a hero

Yet why do I feel the need to get out the glue?

Every day it’s something new

It’s tragic, or a little magic, it’s never what we need.

I can’t pretend it’s hard to see

It’s all around in me,

in you.

I’m telling you there’s got to be a reason behind this madness.

How, oh how did it get this bad?

So bad that we have forgotten our humanity, and for what?

For who?

I cannot pretend that I am a hero

then again

neither can you.

A Moment With the Real Me


Usually for the writing done on this blog there is no plan, no outlines, no pre-writing. This is the place where I just write, whatever usually comes into my head, and I never usually share my personal writing because I’m not sure how people would react to it. Some of my more personal work is dark, twisted, morbid, but what the hell, why not.

But please remember, this is all fictional, none of this is real.

She said this time she’s really leaving.

                Sometimes she says that.

                                                                It’s always hard to tell if she’s bluffing.

                She’s got two suitcases packed.

                                                                                                She’s serious.

                                Maybe I should tell her to stay.

                                                                But they said we don’t need her anymore.  

So really she should just go.

                I’m sitting on the floor, I think I can see her crying.

                                And I think she might be yelling.

                                                                                It kind of sounds like she is asking me to try.

 

 

But why?

 

Why would I want to try and make her stay, if we don’t need her anymore?

 

                                                                                The door slammed.

                                No more sweet Allison at night.

I don’t need her, she was crazy.

                                                                               

                                                                                                                                She will be back soon anyhow.

 

I get up off the floor, and move to the bathroom.

I taped a blade to the bottom of the bathroom sink a few months ago.

                                I haven’t seen my own blood in weeks.

                                                                I closed my eyes once the cold blade was in my hand.

And I cut.

                                                                                                I cut deep into my arm, and I inhale sharply.

I don’t open my eyes, but I see my blood.

                                It looks like Allison.

And it looks like my brother.

                                                                                It looks like what has been stolen.

                                                                                                                                                And what I’ve lost.

I crawl into the tub and I lay there, letting my arm bleed.

                                They tell me by doing this, I can see. I can see everything they want me to know.

So I take the blade, and cut once more into my thigh.

                                The blood looks like my stolen childhood.

                                                                                                                                It looks like drugs.

Like sex.

                                                My blood looks like everything I have ever done wrong in my life.

Everything that makes me human.

                                They make me feel as though I’m not human.

                                                Like I’m just a host for them to play around in.

               

 

                                                                                               

 

                                                                                                                They’ve taken everything from me.

When I was nine, my brother told my mom about Stella.

 

Now Stella was not the first one that came to me, but she is the one who started this mess.

                                At first, I did not talk to them aloud. Archie, the first one that came to me, told me if I talked to them with my mouth that someone could hear me, and they would not understand.

                I guess I was the only one who could see them.

Tucker, my brother, once heard me fighting with Stella.

                                We did that a lot.

                                                                                Looking back now, Stella had a lot of passion. She was always getting me to try and do things I knew I shouldn’t do.

 

Like talking to her with my mouth.

Tucker told mom that I was yelling at myself in the bathroom for an hour.

Tucker could tell on me because he was thirteen so he was obviously entitled.

Mom asked me why I was yelling at myself in the bathroom.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom asked me if Tucker was being a liar.

                I said this time Tucker kind of is a liar.

Mom asked me what I meant.

                I said I was yelling, but not at myself.

That’s when Stella told me to shut my fucking mouth.

Mom asked me who was in the bathroom with me.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom said, if you weren’t yelling at yourself, someone had to be in there with you.

                I said she was right.

Stella began screaming so loud in my head.

Mom said something but I couldn’t hear her.

                I think I screamed.

Moms lips moved some more, but she didn’t look scared.

Stella was still screaming.

                I dug my fingers into my face and began to scream.

 

I have a scar under my left eye from that day.

                                                Weird how that works out.

 

 

 

He was really good at hiding it, we had no idea what was going on until his brother mentioned he was arguing with himself in the bathroom. 

It Gets Better: Part Two


In 2011, I stumbled across a project, many celebrities partake in this project as well as many kids who have been bullied. It’s called the It Gets Better project, and it’s from people who have made it through all the hard stuff they faced in life for people who struggle through the day. I fell in love with the idea, and did a video of my own.

Unfortunately I was embarrassed and took it down. In this video I shared with people the pain I’d been through when I was a kid, I exposed my open wounds, my past being bullied. I took a moment to share with everyone that despite the fact that I got teased, being told I looked like a boy, being mocked and laughed, I made it. I shared with everyone that you can make it through really difficult things.

Now it is 2014, and I am in this really destructive mind-set, that everyone I’ve ever needed is gone. I try every day to think that things will get better, and ultimately I fail. I get angry at myself because I’m not living the way that everyone else is, and therefore, I look like a failure. I come up with great ideas to make things, learn to knit a new project, or do something inspiring, but I knock myself down because I can hear people chastising me about the cost of supplies, or how this isn’t a “future”. 

This is worse than bullying, my life has been warped into this idea of school, more school, work, bills, and death.

Why do you get to judge, criticize, and damage me, because I see this life differently? I do not see all the money, the obligations, I see that no matter how hard you work, no matter if you pay your bills on time, no matter how picture perfect you think your family is, bad things will still happen. Bad things will still happen to all the people who did life the “right way” because that is how life works, so someone please take a moment to explain to me, why I am wrong? Tell me why I am wrong, for thinking that I should spend my time exploring this beautiful place, and doing things to enrich my mind, body, and soul, and not my damn bank account?

It is 2014, and things are not better, things are a whole new slew of worse, but I will not let that stop me. You people can judge, mock, laugh, do whatever you need to do to feel good. I am done pretending, done molding to your expectations, I want to live my life the way I was intended to. I want to go outside, and not worry about all these stupid rules we have. I want to be able to live my life, without people telling me I am wrong for it. 

So, I suppose things are not better, and they won’t be better until I fix it myself. You cannot rely on anyone to be there for you, even if they are your person, your family, or ‘the one’. You can hope that you picked some good people to support you, but they cannot do the work for you. Things will get better, it will get better, and when it does, I will have no one to thank other than myself.