Thoughts: What I've Learned

Once there was a girl who lost herself along the, lost her heart, and so she wanted to die. The story told gains the title of cliche and partakes in recycling, but retains truth and honesty....yet no one wants to hear it. Depressing, guilty topics require depressing, guilty people with shame enough to talk or hopelessness enough not to give a damn anymore. Perhaps both. I believe I belong to both. Always both. Both light and dark. Both good and evil. Both religious and doubtful. Both christian and homosexual. Both depressed and incredibly happy due to the heart of a woman I love more with each day. I love her.
      When I was still a little girl, at least in mind and heart, I believed everything would be okay. Everything would work out. I would have a happy life, completing every dream that I chased. But I learned different. I learned that people abandon more often than they stay or choose to help. I learned that life is very disappointing, as disappointing as it often is beautiful. I learned that my parents were far from being perfect people and that I was just like them. I didn't want to be like them. I still don't want to be, but I am. I learned that sometimes dying seems insanely more comforting and promising compared to living. I learned that splitting my skin and leaving scars numbed the pain, but brought out judgement. From myself as well as others. I learned that food holds the evil of the world and purging, starving, lying....feels better than consuming....at least for a time. But it quickly takes over. It quickly consumes you. Everything consumes me. The only grace I have is her....her smile, laugh, embrace, kiss, love, protection, understanding, gentle hands, beautiful mind....everything. I love her. And that is enough to reduce the devastation that I've learned. Enough to reteach me hope, and love, and a future. So I will stay, always for her. I love her. Only her.

White Noise

They say that sometimes silence is the best thing for a person,
But I've found that what they mean is white noise.
Any constant sound that can fool a person surrounded by chaos into believing that it is silence
But listen closer.

Do you hear the sound of the ceiling fan osicillating as you stare, blankly at the plastered sky of your apartment?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A drone to constantly beat your thoughts away, a hum to drive you away from the ground for awhile.

Do you hear the sound of the rain on the window, the roof, the leaves, the ground?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A falling wave to erode your emotions and numb your pain with it's consistency.

Do you hear the breathing of your lover, the heartbeat of your other half?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A promise of a future to erase your present misery and past destruction.

But it is still distraction.
None of it is silence.
It is all white noise because the truth stands without saying
We are afraid of silence because it holds all of our demons, without regard for relief until broken.
Whether it be you, or it.


~A.J.G

Heavy. Pressing. Stagnant.

        Heavy. In a word, it sufficiently depicts the state that I am in. Simple, heavy. Not heavy in the physical sense, though that is probably true as well, but heavy as in I can feel the weight of my little world pressing in from every corner. Ask me and I'll be the first to admit that this little world of mine, created and constructed inside the corridors of my musings and walled-in memories, seems to be rather small; however, this particular world I know to be peculiar and cruel- suited for a face carved from granite. I am neither a stone nor am I a statue, so it only stands to reason that eventually I must move on to another landscape- to another sector and portion of my conscious existence. As of now, I am retired by the most lamented and lonely set of terms that I have chanced to lay my eyes upon. Explain this to me- how is it that a person, once bright with compassion and inspired by intellect, can become so stagnant and indifferent to the incredible passions of the heart, the dizzying processes of the mind, and the inspiring persuasions of the soul?

        I wish to continue but my eyes have grown tired and my words have been dammed by nothing other than a bout of apathy. I apologize if my writing seems rather...cold. It's just more simplistic for me this way. I am exhausted and, even with my desire to return to the creative weaver-of-words that I once was (though that is a very audacious and obscene claim to make considering any single list of ramblings that I have ever construed may as well be dust floating on a winter breeze; insignificant and unseen), I cannot collect an ample amount of energy to return to that motivated and inspired state. If you're reading this, then I suppose I should thank you. Thank you for any time you've allotted to skim my words. Hopefully your hours are spent better than mine. Again, thank you.

~Amanda

Pieces of my life and the wounds they have created.

It will never cease to amaze me that some people- some special, bright, and beautiful individuals- can exist. The words they allow to spill from their lips onto the canvas of other people's lives, the hope that their simple existence can bring, the wisdom stored inside of them from everything they have been through....it will never cease to amaze me. These people are everywhere, wrapped up in little cacoons and veils of light. Sometimes we can easily spot them. We hope to meet them, to befriend them, to simply be able to have known them- at least I desire to have the privilege to know such people. Meanwhile, there are others that are more difficult to spot. Not so much as a shining beacon, but like water. Necessary, beautiful, reflective, deep, changing everything around it, changing itself, sustaining, understanding in how it almost caresses the object of it's present affection. I cannot even begin to describe these people. They bring hope. Both types bring so much hope and inspiration and joy. Just a single smile can bring a smile to a tear-stained face. Just a single one. And while I wish that these people, once met and integrated into my life, could remain with me I have come to realize that they simply cannot. They are like rain. Beautiful, telling their stories and sharing past wisdom as they pass....but they do have to pass. They have to continue forward, no doubt touching others in this world, because that is who they are. They are the bandages to a broken world. They are the embrace to a lonely heart. They are hope to a lost soul. They are joy to a beaten and depressed mind. And while I desire it for them to stay I know they have to go.
            As sad as the occasion always turns out to be I always watch the forever traveling footfalls of that new-turned-old friend. In the blink of an eye they leave, but the memory remains. Like a planted seed...the hope grows up in the spring with every water of the memory and after every cold winter. These people are not simply forgotten. Sometimes our paths cross again, many years later. It is these unexpected reunions that hold the world for me. Once again seeing a person who filled me with such hope, who brought me such joy, who pulled me from underneath the waves and into the sun once again....It's a breath of fresh air. A reminder and a testament to who I was and who I am and who I can become. It reminds me of my old dreams.
            I guess tonight is a meloncholy night, a lonely one. Scattered with minor chords constructed of bittersweet memories. I'm not really sure what I feel tonight, what my heart possesses in it's depths in the current moment. I find it difficult to capture my heart. To hold it up to a light and reveal everything inside. To write every single confession out is one thing, to share those confessions is another. An event like that is so rare, as I am usually very reserved in what I reveal about myself. Even now I am with-holding an immense amount of information- confusion, hurt, exhaustion, new found hope. Yes, hope. Not every emotion in life is negative, though  I sometimes lose sight of that.
            I guess I've been struggling a lot lately with my identity and my spirituality. As far as my identity goes, it's safe to say that I am completely lost. I don't know who I am and I can't seem to come to terms with that as of now. Maybe, when I learn to be content with who I am in the current moment, I'll learn to be okay with not knowing every little thing in my life and every little thing about who I am "supposed" to be. No....I'm not "supposed" to be anyone. I am myself and it is that simple. Now I just need to learn how to love that person. How to be proud with that person. How to be okay with who I am as a human being. When I say that I am struggling with my identity, I mean that in many different ways. I struggle with what I will eventually do with my future- college, career, family, etc. I'm lost in that department and I am willing to say that I am lost because I do not have enough confidence in myself to pursue any of the things that I love. That lack of confidence will always stand in the way of my dreams, so that is something that I will have to progressively have to work on. Teaching myself to think differently, to see myself differently. But when I say that I am struggling with my identity, I also mean that I am simply struggling with my sexual identity. While that particular identity is just a single part of who I am, I am getting lost in all of the confusion and possible labels and my desire to just know. If I'm completely honest, I'm pretty sure I know the answer to the big question. However, I don't want to say it out loud. I don't want to admit it. There is a point where it goes from trying to accept myself, to trying to fit this new idea of myself into the old mold of who I was. Now...here's the funny thing, ironic really, I constantly get hung up on how a person's sexual identity doesn't change who they are as a person....yet here I am, unable to accept myself if my thoughts are true. I have been raised my entire life in a christian home. In a christian home that is very divided on this subject. My father is against it; he believes it to be a sin, an unforgivable one at that. To him I would go to hell for loving who I love, even though I cannot change that. Now, I can understand why he believes this. I really can. We all have a choice. We can control whether or not we act on our desires. I could choose to marry a man someday, have kids, and try to live a happy, "normal" life. Yet....I doubt that I'd actually ever be happy that way. I have fought these feelings for around 4-5 years now and it's wearing me down. I'm so worn down now and unhappy. Hiding it, constantly fighting it, dealing with the internal struggle between religion and love, always being paranoid that someone will find out, being terrified of losing friends....it's stressful and tiring and enervating and hopeless and it just hurts so much. The pain sears through every little happy moment of a day simply because I feel out of place, wrong, deceitful, manipulative, and ashamed. There have been many days where I have wanted to end my life because of how alone and simply wrong I've felt. It's difficult to not even be able to accept yourself. I'm afraid to. And I'm honestly so confused. Finally, my spiritual life has altogether crashed and in burned. In the midst of my sexual struggle I allowed myself to slip away from God. I felt to ashamed and condemned and out of place in any institution devoted to religion. I felt as though I couldn't be around my friends from church because it felt as though I were lying to them. Also, a lot of events went down at my old church and my family decided to leave the home church to go to a separate campus, one on it's own. This arrangement worked for awhile, but I still felt the sting of what I saw at the time as a betrayal. With that fresh wound, and with the annoyance of my parents, we eventually left the church. We set out looking for a new church to attend. We tried places like the Refuge, University City, Trinity Church, Living Water. However, we never settled at any one place (and we still haven't), so I continued to drift further and further away. At some point I didn't want to go back. I got to the point where my heart was so hardened and skeptical that I did not want to be a part of religion anymore. I was tired of the droll show and dance of the churches I'd been to. I was tired of the constant judgement and playing face to keep appearances. I was just tired. So I stayed away for nearly a year, maybe longer. To appease my parents, I would attend whenever they decided that they wanted to go one Sunday. However, the words of the worship team and the pastor always fell on deaf ears. Nothing got to me. I wouldn't let anything in. Even now I am drifting, but I am attempting to reel myself back in. Hopefully, if I can move past this enormous loss of self, I can return. But I am still questioning myself. I am still questioning my beliefs. I am still in pain.
            I guess this was all just a big explaination of one of the things that has been occuring in my life. If you read this all, thank you. I know it contained random subject jumps. Thank you for hanging with me. Hopefully you had/have a good day.

~Amanda

A Sleepless Mind.

It's 2:15a.m. and, as usual, I'm sitting here awake. Listening to music, writing, thinking....Always thinking. Tomorrow...well, today I guess...our marching band will be traveling to Florida to perform in the night lights parade at Disney. Left on my to-do list are numerous tasks: I need to pack by 4 a.m., finish two APUSH assignments, read chapter 15 in the APUSH textbook, read the final portion of a chapter in my AP Psychology textbook, email Jack the analysis questions for pre-calculus, study for the H. Chem test tomorrow. Sleep is not included. At this point sleep is not an option. Much like earlier today lunch was not an option, nor breakfast. There simply are not enough hours in a single day.
           I've never been one to actually look tired, but I'm beginning to look exhausted. Everything is finally wearing on me physically. Normally it just manifests as weakness in certain muscles, multiple headaches, or shortness of breath. Lately though other things are being thrown into the mix: difficultly focusing, lack of motivation, a decrease in grades, lack of appetite, and even difficulty sleeping (which sounds strange, I know). I've always felt drained, but I've never looked this tired. I'd be alarmed if it wasn't expected.
          This is going to be extremely random, but I'm going to add some lyrics to two songs I've come to love of late. For the sole purpose of expressing what I can't put into words.

"And so the sky becomes a dream
I never dreamt because I'm just too busy
Waiting for nothing and wasting away
And so the sky it watched my dreams
Fall to pieces right in front of me
Cause I'm just too busy
Waiting for nothing and wasting away

And I'd never wish for anything more
Than to find what I've been looking for
And I swore to myself I wouldn't lie to myself
How could I let this happen?"

"Whatever happened to our inner glow
Whatever happened to the song the soul the me i used to know
Whatever happened to my radio
Whatever happened to my song
It is my song"

Jagged thoughts, Falling sentiments.

Covered in zippered patterns. I'm covered in criss-crossing, self-made seams. At a time I believed I could find the reason, discover the origin, of the searing pain seeping through my veins. It was at this task that I failed and the result is hundreds of white lines. You would think that I learned my lesson from those numerous trials before, but I haven't. On top of the seams are angry red lines screaming accusations, erasing who I am as a person and transforming me into an apathetic shell.
             Now, before my mind runs away with the ugly truth that has left an impression on my heart, my body attempts to fight. But, like every vain attempt before, it fails.......

It's sad really. I cannot even write anymore. My thoughts are short, jagged, cut-off, and forlorn. No coherent emotion braves the winter in my mind long enough for the pencil in my hand to capture them. All form of salvation blurs into the mud with trailing tears and passing raindrops. Even now I'm running out of words to say. My sentences are less enlightening, less creative, less expressive. The intelligence that I used to enjoy has seemingly faded. I'm not even average at this point, just....existing. Tell me one thing, please just explain to me this one tragedy- how can a writer, void of all words and wandering without any passion, continue to live? How is a fate so dulled from it's prior standing bearable? This is no way to live. It isn't bearable to me.

I recognize my meandering thoughts and random beginnings, but I myself am wandering with them. Therefore I cannot begin to correct them, cannot elaborate on their underlying meaning.

Every time I gather the energy and conviction to write, I am crushed by negative sentiments. "It's pointless. It's not good enough. Why would anyone care? You're just a whiny little bitch. You could never be a writer. You'll never be anything." My pieces are only second-rate, my paragraphs elementary. The syntax and diction required of a great author cannot be found within my soul. The darkness infiltrated, filled up every remaining space, and, to my great horror, has now pushed out some of the inspiration and artistry that used to reside in that vessel. I cannot stand this loss, and it is a loss. The only things I ever truly valued in myself were intelligence and creativity....both of which have progressively slipped from my tightening fingers. Dreams that have frozen over and fallen, shattering on the rock beneath my feet- the stone of the edge of the cliff. It was in this place that I always found solace, comfort, inspiration, beauty, meaning. In it's present state, this little parcel of cold stone is just an empty shrine to what used to exist.

My deepest sympathy for the dreams I have allowed to die.

Pointless Struggle

What do you do when you look in the mirror and the sudden rush of hate for what you see causes your eyes to sting? When just staring at that reflection, into those lifeless eyes, makes you feel physically ill? How disorienting it is, and I really doubt that you understand what it is that I'm trying to convey- unless, of course, you've stared back at yourself and no longer recognized the person on the glass. I couldn't begin to describe how hopeless things begin to look, how uninspiring, how dull. Staring into those eyes is like walking down a dark hall, adorned with pictures of all of your memories, and not feeling attached to anything- no emotion. Whether the memories are good or bad. You simply are not yourself. And in that moment of detachment you feel lost. The hall never seems to end, so you are wandering. Pointlessly down the same path the must've gotten you lost in the first place. No doors, no windows, no turns by which you can escape. So everthing becomes meaningless and you just walk numbly through the oblivion of your mind.
          Some say you are a victim, a prisoner, of your own mind. And I don't need to wonder why. I know the cold corridors of my own, the chains that my thoughts seem to grip to foolishly. I understand the complexity of an internal struggle and the exhaustion of the senseless fight. Getting nowhere. You're just stuck. You're alone inside your mind, inside yourself- even though you may be surrounded on the outside. You still always feel alone, and that's what matters to the corners and crevices of who you are. The emotions are the chains, the memories are the cells, and your thoughts are the crimes. You are your own warden, your own executioner. Don't trick yourself into believing something on the outside could bind you so completely. You are trapped by yourself- a very obviously equal opponent. Two parts of one, so how could you possibally win?