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.

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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. 

Want to Watch a Movie?


I really like watching movies, I’m not a huge critic or anything I just enjoy a good movie. I may be one of few who also enjoys the ten minutes of movie trailers before a movie at the theaters. Well, I was one of those people. 

The other day my boyfriend and I went to go see Godzilla, and during the previews we saw a new trailer for a football movie. Based on a trued story, sort of like all the other football movies you see. When the trailer started I was interested, and then the trailer basically showed me the whole movie, and I was no longer interested. Instead, I was thinking about why people created trailers in the first place.

To make you want to see the movie!

So why on earth is it that movie trailers are no longer, short and attention grabbing? It seems as though most trailers want to look really bad ass, or emotional so they put all of the bad-ass, emotional scenes in their trailer! Does that not defeat the whole purpose? Movie trailers used to always have an audience guessing about what came next, making you feel like you need to go see that movie. Most trailers these days tell it all, I could probably watch most trailers and come out with a fairly decent synopsis on the film in it’s entirety. 

Movie trailers are losing their glam, they spoil good ideas, they ruin the anticipation, and they’re shattering the original intentions, which I feel is a huge fail in the film industry. Trailers are now focused on having intense music, gripping, in order to somehow keep the audience involved. Maybe I just have high expectations for trailers, but a trailer is only supposed to be an advertisement, not a give away. 

Happy Anniversary!


Three years ago, I wrote silly nonsense. To show you how much I’ve changed as a person, and as a writer I have decided to take something I wrote in a personal journal and change it into something meaningful.

This light was so much brighter, yet it never felt as bright as the others in fact it didn’t feel bright at all. Even though this light was the brightest, it only looked as average as all those other lights which made this light seem like everyone else. This light never realized how special it was, and in the end burned out without knowing what it was like to shine. 

This is one of my favorite little scribbles, ya know, the random ones you find in the top corner of a page in your favorite journal. 

For me, looking back on this means so much to me, and reading it after I wrote this two years ago it means more than it did then. This would be my rendition of the original work.

Every day you see simple things. A light bulb in a pretty lamp, so simple, right? Wrong, that bulb, produces light. Providing something we all take for granted, that light bulb started out as a simple ‘what if’ and became someones success. We are all light bulbs, each of us starts out as a simple ‘what if’, and some of us burn out, some of us shine naturally. But what about the people who don’t feel like anything much? We see so many people who believe they are better than us, then there are the people who are better than us. I feel like just a simple light bulb, one that shines just as bright as everyone else. I walk through this life, doing what I’m told, doing what I need to do, but there is more to me. I am big, I am powerful, I started off as a ‘what if’ and I’ve overcome the odds. I’ve flourished where I could have perished. I shine so bright, yet I feel so simple. I want to know what it feels like to shine so bright, yet instead my glass has been cracked, my wires fried. I live this life, not knowing what it’s like to shine. 

 

Happy Anniversary, and thank you to everyone who has read my work, and encouraged me as a writer, and a person. 

Maybe This Isn’t A Revolution.


I fear that the internet has taken over my life.

Ever since the internet became cool to use, which was when I was probably about nine, maybe ten years old, it seems as though so many other things have been forgotten about. It didn’t really occur to me, that all of this technology could really be hurting us. I suppose people who lived more than ten years without the internet  may understand my fears, but there are a lot of people who don’t understand that living on the internet is not how we are supposed to be.

Any given stranger can take a look at my Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, or Tumblr and assume they have a pretty good idea of who I am.

Anyone with a smart phone can take pictures of any item in their house, and their phone can identify what that item it.

The internet has become a scary place, a place I don’t really want to be anymore. 

I like the idea of people having to write letters to each other, just to keep in touch. Or the idea of sitting outside and reading a book, playing with pets, doing things people did without the internet. 

My generation has yet again, screwed up, some people don’t speak correctly anymore but of course they are unaware of this because they are unaware they are doing anything wrong. The way we type, the way we have shifted the English language is ruining what we used to be. 

I fear what we may be in five years, ten years, even twenty. At what point will the rest of the world realize we are destroying ourselves? We are destroying thousands of years of progress. 

Soon people may forget how to properly speak aloud.

People won’t understand different tones for different emotions.

People will forget how to think for themselves.

Google can tell you anything you want.

Example:

I googled “What do I want to eat today?”

quizzes, and countless websites actually give me ideas for food. After taking a quiz on Buzzfeed, I was told what I want to eat a burrito.

Too bad I ate a burrito yesterday, Internet. 

 

My point is, how did we get here? How is it, that I can google anything I need, and I will more than likely get something some what useful?

 

I’m scared of what we created, and I’m scared of how it will end. 

Catch Up and Move On


Purl the right side.

Knit the wrong side.

Eighty stitches per row.

Blue yarn.

Green Yarn.

As you can tell, I’ve been doing a lot of knitting. Not many projects, just a blanket, and it’s been a really exciting project. For some reason it makes me feel really great, and I suppose that’s due to the fact that I am creating something. I am getting away from the world, and I’m making something. It’s an amazing feeling.

And maybe today I should be talking about my mom because it’s mothers day, but I just can’t do that.

So instead I will talk about knitting, or the mass amount of Grey’s Anatomy I’ve been watching.

I’ll talk about the twenty mile bike ride I went on, and how I slammed my leg into my pedal.

Today I will talk about things that aren’t so personal, because, well I cannot rip off the band-aid, and tell you all the beautiful things a survivor can say.

I cannot tell you that today is a good day, because today is an agonizing day, today I mourn what many others get to celebrate. 

I cannot tell you that I was sad the moment I woke up and realized I wouldn’t be making my mother breakfast in bed, as I’d done every year for a very long time. 

I cannot tell you that today is a day where I reflect on my pain, because today, I am soaking in my pain. 

And I don’t need anyone to tell me it’s going to be okay, no one is going to call me today and ask me how I’m doing.

I’m fine with that. 

People say it’s good to talk about things, get the sad things out of your head. I just cannot. 

My mother was a person that not many got the opportunity to meet, and I got to meet her. 

Not only did I get to meet her, but I got to love this woman. This woman who never really knew how amazing she was. I got to meet a woman who struggled, a woman who lived a very difficult life, yet every day woke up just for me. I got to meet a woman who knew what love was, who knew what family was. I knew a woman who taught me to be a woman. 

I met a woman who was taken from me too soon. Had I known she was going to go away I would have made sure she knew all the great things about her. People loved my mom, she was the one who could make anyone feel better when they felt like their world was in shambles. She would help anyone out in a moments notice, and yet for some reason, my mom had no one. My mom didn’t have anyone helping her when our world was in shambles, and it was in shambles for a long time.

If I would have known that I was never going to be able to talk to her again I would have said all the right things.

I would have told her that she was beautiful, the prettiest woman who ever lived. I would have told her that I will never meet anyone as strong as her, I will never see that fight in anyone else’s eyes the way I saw it in her. I would have said that I appreciated everything she gave up to make sure that my life was worth living, even though I only needed her in order to be happy. I would have told her that no one is ever going to be my best friend the way she was, no one will make make laugh, or cry, or scream the way she did. I would have told her that she could say anything, and I’d only be mad for a second, because every second we have in precious. 

Part of me doesn’t want to share this with you. Actually, all of my is screaming not to post this for the world to see. But then she wouldn’t be seen, and her whole life, no one saw her. No one saw that beautiful, strong woman that I loved with every inch of me, so I will not share my mother with you. 

I will share the impact she had on me. Knowing that woman, sharing her blood, her spirit, well, it’s made me into a person worth seeing. She taught me all the things no one could teach her, and I wish I could share that all with her now, but instead I will share with you. My fallen angel, turned me into something worth sharing.

 

A letter to the Writer


Dear writer,
You should understand that I don’t mean to cage you. I don’t mean to hide you away, in fact I urge you to come and play.  Oh writer the ideas that are within you are pure perfection,  and I’m sorry that I am not doing you justice.  I convey your thoughts as best I can, but sometimes it feels all too much.  How do I brinf these people you’ve created to life? How do I build the world around them?  Please writer, help me, help you. I want nothing more than to give life to your ideas.

Write back, dear writer.

#AprilMoon14: An Off Day


image

So today, I’d been waiting all day to see what word was to inspire me today. Being that the words from the past few days have been a tad difficult for me to write about. 

The word ‘Focus’ instantly scared me, it’s my day off work!  I’ve been dancing around my room, and playing outside with my dog. No way could I write about focus. Then I decided to write down whatever came to my mind, and as you can see, it was the opposite of focus for me.

So It’s quirky and odd, and somewhat off topic,  but it’s quite alright by me.

#aprilmoon2014


Ready for a confession of sorts?

This life that we’re stuck in, and yes I do mean stuck, forced me to build layers of courage within myself.
I am sick.
I am alone.
I am different.
I am realistic.
Now, before it seems as though I think the world is against me, let me explain myself:
My job, that I love,  expressed that it was okay to be sick, and that made me feel like I was working in a safe environment where my illness wouldn’t define me. I have been sent home, in hopes of sleeping it off, or finding a better solution. I have called in, knowing I would be hurting this business  more than helping if I went in said condition.  I am now on a medical leave of absence to get this “situation” under control, against my will.
My brothers and sisters are all over the place, living their lives with their families,  and while I love my new living situation,  and wouldn’t trade it for anything,  I do miss my sense of family,  the reality of my family. 
I like weird music, I don’t like getting drunk with my friends, I’d rather read a book or teach myself how to knit.
And yet I am not accepted by the general public,  people think I am hurting their business,  abandoning my family, or rebelling against society.  Courage to me, means waking up every day and proving the world wrong. One day, people will stop being so blind to illness, people will understand that life gets in the way, and that not everyone can mold to these expectations society has made up over time.
That you HAVE to go to college right after high school.
That tattoos are just regrets waiting to happen.
Piercings are weird.
Alternative medicine is just drugs.
Having an opinion that’s different is wrong.
That speaking up is innaproprate.
That one is my favorite.
Let me scream at the top of my lungs to high school seniors that taking a year off was the best decision I ever made.
Let me laugh at the ignorant,  while I tell them that I could never hate this ink within me. And that my piercings aren’t for looks.
I will some day tell those who do not believe in alternative forms of medication, that sometimes its the only solution when a pill full of who-knows-what doesn’t do me any harm nor does it help me. I will tell them that it makes me feel like my body isn’t about to burst into millions of pieces, because it’s the only medicine that helps. Then I’ll laugh, and tell them it’s the best way to calm the fuck down.
Let me some day converse with those who disagree with me, let me tell them that their opinions are well and respected,  but they are not mine and that should be okay.
One day it might be okay, but until then I will continue my battle, I will keep my head high and no one will knock me down. 

That’s what courage really is.