Last blog of 2009!

Okay, so I honestly have nothing to say but it's the last day of 2009 and I wanted one more blog post.

So I was talking about 2009 with my mom. We came to the following conclusion; 2009...what's the word....sucked for this family.

Oops...my fault? If you ask my family, the answer is quite possibly yes.

But I'm strangely optimistic about 2010. O my the world must be ending in 2012 if I'm being optimistic...hahahaha. No the world wont end people should shut up about that.

I'm talking to Juliana online and I just said "wow i'm facebook and i'm thinking about people i grew apart form this year but instead of being sad i'm just like "people suck"" and it's true. I'm pretty much done caring about people that didn't make an effort to keep our friendships alive when I made the effort. Because honestly, I'm 17, I'm going to grow apart with people in the next few years when I go to college it's a fact of life. Hopefully the people that matter to me think I matter to them.

What else is new? Yesterday someone shocked me. She said to me "are you okay?" I knew what she meant. But how did she know? Wait was it that obvious? Really? O...hello wake up call. I'm not sure how I feel about her knowing.

So this sounds like a really bad journal entry but it's what's on my mind.

Here's to a better 2010!

Sylvia's Life Story

I was actually proud of the work I did today. I thought I got into character, and whenever Nicole started peeking through, Sylvia's disorder told the bad girl to go away. Here is my character's life story;

Hi, my name's Sylvia Craw. Sylvia's 42. No 52, but don't tell anyone. Sylvia refers to herself as Sylvia, never as I or she or her. Sylvia's favorite color is purple and Sylvia loves Sylvia's purple feathered hat more than anything. Sylvia has three children with Sylvia's ex husband, Greg. The kids are Lulu, Gaga, and Peggy. 3 beautiful girls.

But the state is making Sylvia take a fucking parenting class. Now, now Sylvia, don't cuss. It's not proper.

That state says Sylvia's an alcoholic. Sylvia's file says she has some sort of disorder. It says Sylvia's used to be a prostitute who had some sort of tragic accident. But, of course, Sylvia would never stoop that low. Sylvia frowns upon those sorts of things.

Sylvia loves the republican party and all of its ideals.

Sylvia hated that awful parenting class today. There was only one person Sylvia liked in there, that pretty young girl in the red shirt. The 21 year old. Everyone else was classless.

Sylvia likes horse races and tea parties and art exhibits.

Sylvia did not like prison nor did she like that bright white mental hospital she lived in.

Poem

His warm lips are attracted to those of my sister
with her beautiful, fiery hair.
My sister, who happens to be lucky as
to live without much care.

Sister gives up all apprehension
and for once lets her mind become clear.
She deserves this happiness,
a break from the demons she holds dear.

I however stand off to the side,
pulling on the pleats of her thigh-high skirt.
Whispering in a wavering voice
The careful words that are all too curt.

"Do you really want this?"
"Is this causing too much pain?"
"For what if he wants you,
and you just want the gain?"

"The desires are no longer purely carnal
when someone's heart is invested so."
But is it only paranoia
attempting to trick her to go?

It says "leave this place,
this place where you feel beautiful."
Beautiful and safe,
and for once live in a dreamy lull.

My bemused sister lets a tear fall
as the boy kisses her neck.
All the while she hears me,
yet she will not end this ongoing wreck.

College Essayssssss

Both are STAC related.

___________

Recently, a teacher asked my class, “Is trust letting in or is trust letting go?” For me, this question conjured up the image of a Xanga Blog that I started last year for an art project entitled “Confront Her 2008.” On this blog, I asked friends, family, and strangers “What would you say to the person who hurt you the most in the world?” I asked for comments to remain anonymous to preserve responders’ identities, hoping that they would then feel free to be honest. Finally, I wrote out the answer to my own question.

And then there was an adrenaline rush, the type that floods through your body when you feel something major happening with your life. This seemed to be the beginning of a certain kind of closure, an internal one. I had stood up to the person who had hurt me the most in the world. She may never know, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I said it. I said that I was angry and that I am strong.

But the adrenaline did not stop there. Soon I had over a hundred responses, and with each e-mail in my inbox announcing a new response came a new jolt of energy. My project became my journey from someone who was hurt to someone who was helping others. I was a secret keeper. And while many may see this as a burden, I’ve seen it as a blessing. Helping others re-fuels that force that I felt when I wrote out my response. In their comments, people told me that they were revealing things to me that they had never told anyone before, and that through my project, they too felt the vigorous rush of closure. In turn, I felt happiness that I had turned a negative experience into something cathartic for both myself and others.

One responder sent in an answer saying, “In the end, everyone gets what they deserve. To attack is to stoop, to ignore is to stand tall.” At first, I was frustrated that this response seemed to have little to do with my question. However, once I re-read it, I felt as if the sender had submitted this response as a special message to me. It was okay that he had ignored the premise of the project because his response told me that everything was going to be okay and that I was the better person. It was the most beautiful response I’ve received, and I know I will remember it for a long time.

Is trust letting in or is trust letting go? From my experience with the Confront Her Blog, I can unequivocally say that the answer is both. Through one venue, I have let go of both anger and fear. At the same time, those who have responded to me have let me into their world and trusted me to use their responses for good. Trust, like most things in this world, falls into a grey area. It is formed between two or more people and requires a bit of letting go of control. While this may be scary, as seen with the emotions felt when responding to the blog, the rush that accompanies trust is well worth it in the end.

_______________________

In my arts class, STAC, we read a packet of poems written by Rainer Maria Rilke. I read most of the poems in an intrigued yet slightly bored manner. Thus, I was shocked to discover a poem entitled Child in Red about a girl “absorbed in restraining herself” who “[moves] according to the rhythm of her life to come.” This poem told of times changing while some aspects of life stay the same. Within minutes, three of my friends were chorusing “That poem is me!” Feeling similarly, I chimed in with the chorus as, suddenly, everything made sense. At the age of seventeen, many girls reach a crossroad. They want independence and freedom, while also wanting to be their parents’ little girls. While I consider myself an original in many ways, I am going through the same trials and tribulations of adolescence as my peers. However, it is because of my uniqueness that such a poem could touch me so deeply.

As I sat atop my cold metal stool, I had become this very girl who “dances a few steps /that she invents and forgets.” I tried to restrain myself as my heart danced, but instead I began to shake. This was the sign that I was doing something right. My teacher, Luke, asked us to speak about what we felt when reading the poems. I tried to speak but words didn’t come out. It was as if I didn’t want to ruin this moment of beauty by tainting it with my own unpoetic words. All I was able to articulate was, “I love this poem.” Luke asked me what I loved about it, and I was able to say “I love how much it connects to me.” But I couldn’t say more. I was scared to lose the feeling that this poem had given me. There was something so comforting in Rilke’s words that I couldn’t pull myself away.

Then Luke’s words cut through my thoughts: “You will recreate your favorite poem with your own words.” I thought I was going to cry. My inner monologue screamed, “I’m no Rilke. I can’t write anything nearly as good.” I pulled Luke over and shared my fears. “Don’t think, just do,” he told me with sincerity. I abandoned self-restraint and did what Rilke had told me. He wrote of doing things that were uncomfortable while knowing the need for change.

Somehow I was able to find the words that failed my voice and I wrote, “Now I walk over this shadow,/and stretch my land-legs in the sun.” Writing actually made the artistic experience stronger. Rilke’s poem was the gentle push that I needed to continue in all that I do and become the girl who “steps out/ of the small body enclosing her.” As I step into my own future I will look back at that girl I left behind and give her a knowing wave to let her know I will always remember who she is and who I was.

Jealousy

So I haven't blogged lately even though I've had a lot on my mind. Why is this? Because I'm scared. I fear being completely honest and I fear being judged. I am jealous of the people who can just say their secrets on their blogs.

But more importantly, tonight I opened the blog site to read the posts of fellow STACies and opened a tab to make a post of my own. I could barely do it. The whole time a little voice was screaming in the back of my head, chanting "people will laugh at this, it wont be good enough, read the comments Luke leaves on other peoples' blogs, etc, etc." This reflects feelings I've felt pretty much all of my life. Inadequacy and jealousy. My old friends.

I'm such a jealous person and I hate it. But for once, why can't I be the pretty, talented, smart one?

Just once.

Why do I continually open myself up in these posts? I feel like i'm humiliating myself and annoying everyone but I can't stop. I need to let some of this shit out.

The title of my blog

So tonight I did it again. My friend Kara and I have some of the same issues and tonight she facebook messaged me freaking out and asking me about some of my experiences. so what did I say? I said "trust the adults. they're not there to hurt you. they'll help you accept this. yeah it really helped me."

Meanwhile I'm regretting being honest with my therapist and not doing much better than before.

And I know i'm not the only one who does this. Why can't we take the advice we give? Why can't we feel deserving of our own love and affection?

I think this falls under two categories. Firstly, taking your own advice means that you're speaking with your "rational mind" but when we're in need of advice we're in our "emotional mind." And when you use your rational mind, you're being accountable for yourself. which then means that if something goes wrong, you're to blame. That's why being accountable is so hard.

Secondly, we as humans want others to reassure us. If we reassure ourselves, then that leaves a void where others could be. And that's problematic, because that leaves us alone.

So does that mean that I just sit here and listen to my friends tell me what I logically, rationally already know?