The Fear, The Fear

  What makes a person broken can never really be determined by fact, but you just know what it is when you see it. Some people may not know what it means to be broken, but I've found deep understanding in the subject matter because of my classification in it.

 Yeah. I've been indicated as broken.

And yes, it sucks.

  Of course, over a lifetime, we will all feel several different types of heartbreak. In some ways, we are all broken. But being broken at such a young and misunderstood age can create endless problems behind the eyes of my comrades. Because of the pain filled memories that have crept up on me, I've generated more than my fair share of fears. They seem to follow me everywhere, and keeping them at bay is a matter of its own. My core fear is of being overtaken.

  I can't tell you why this is such a horrifying feeling for me, mostly because I don't know exactly why. Maybe it's that I was the youngest of three and constantly targeted by my sisters for what felt like torture to me. It could have something to do with the fact that I played sidekick to the weird girl from age six to eleven. Although the feeling of fear didn't creep up on me until a few years ago, when my family fell apart under me and I had no further defense.

  All I really know for sure is that I'm afraid of being underwater, not being able to breathe or speak, being held or pushed back when I can't break free, not seeing, and-above all else-not being able to move my arms or legs. All of these, along with other various restraints scare me to death. I feel as if I am being controlled by something else, and I can't trust something I don't know. Just thinking about these things makes me feel uncomfortable.

  Over the last few years, my personality has also taken a turn in the opposite direction of its former path. I used to be a pushover, scared of opposition and let others speak for me. With my shyness, it built a comfortable environment for me. In recent years, I've opposed people just for the disagreement. I act with far more aggression and defense than I would have ever expressed four years ago. While I remain quiet and reserved with those I'm not familiar with, I am quick to anger and passive-aggressive with the people I've known for years (which I find a terribly sad think, since these are the people that care about me the most).

  This abrasive attitude has even taken me to personally victimizing people that never did anything to me. My friend's brother and I completely ignored each other until a few years ago, when I began to bug him for the fun of it. That's escalated to an agreed rivalry by now. One big problem is that I always take things too far. I never know when I've actually hurt him and I keep on going until I realize the damage is done. Immediately, I feel guilty and wish so badly to apologize, but know it probably won't mean a thing. The worst part of this situation: he has already been picked on for most of his childhood and has a heart of leather now. If I ever contributed to these acts, I don't know if I could ever forgive myself.

  In the dark hours when I realize what a monster I've become, I take every opportunity to fix myself. I monitor myself and watch the words I say, for I know they sometimes hurt more than anything else.

  A few weeks ago, I was speaking with my youth group and told them about the way I treat other people and that I'll start trying to train myself. I'd mentioned there were certain people that I know deserve better of me, which I hardly ever give. That was my apology. To the Earth, to the people I've known.

  Later, my friend told me that during my speaking, he turned to her, almost as if asking the question, and with unspoken words it was communicated that he was a part of it. To this day, I still pray he knows I never meant it when I said those hurtful things.

Going Home

Bad Translator: Turning everyday phrases into confusing ramblings, all for the enjoyment of us, the easily amused.

 I was fooling around with it just now, and not knowing what to put in next, I simply typed: "I'm afraid of the water." 56 google translations later, the result came. "I'm not afraid of water."

 Now I feel hope.

 Earlier today, I started imagining what I'll feel when my Earthly trials are over. I think I'll try to describe my entrance as I hope it to be.

 I've never felt so light... Nothing hurts anymore. But I'm not breathing either. The sky and I become one and I'm flying. How is it that I feel the breeze when I feel nothing? All the lights are stirred together in wonderful confluence and I'm beaming. A symphony fills my ears, such a gorgeous sound, just as I burst through the galaxy's ceiling. Instead of underwater, I'm actually over water as it creates just another layer in sub-reality's atmosphere. The moisture is beading where I splashed in as I look back, knowing it'll be the last glance I have towards what we mistakenly had called life. In that moment I'll forget the only world I ever knew, but it's alright, because my Father, my real Father is waiting there for me. I don't know what time it is but then realize time doesn't exist, never did. I forget what time ever was. Going up there is like learning to read, and you can't remember what it was even like before you knew, other than it was terrible. I one by one forget the laws. Matter and all its rules slips my mind. "Pain?", you'll ask, and I'll shrug in nonplus. The training wheels are flying off as I pick up speed, growing exponentially faster until I can't feel my legs and the axles are aflame. I rocket through the rest of the Milky Way eternally quicker than the speed of light. And yet I'm so calm, so drowsy in wonder. It's like a snowy night when I'm wrapped in blankets and chewing on the marshmallow that should be in my hot chocolate, looking at the tree lit up. Those gifts, they come to me tomorrow. And those silly ornaments, celebrations of such frivolous milestones, are coming down soon. They were pretty while they lasted, but it's time to tell Jesus happy birthday. Next morning I'll fly down the stairs and sit on the couch in my fluffy socks again until everyone decides there's been enough waiting. My dad, this time my real daddy, is finally there. Oh, how marvelous! Oh, the joy I'll never know until the day! Finally, when a light bright enough to blind the Earth's eyes shines everywhere and I'm home. Then, I'll know to say "I'm with your son, Jesus". His face, my Father's face will look to me... And I'm absolutely certain when I say that it's all going to be worth the Hell I have down here. The mistakes of the ones that I loved, the times I was hurt and abandoned, the times I had nobody to hold me on my worst days... It will all melt away the moment I have my Father holding me and saying He's proud, He's been waiting for me, He loves me. Never will I know a greater joy than this. 

I think it's obvious I was pretty much crying throughout half of this. Welp, whatever. That was fun.

Little Girl

When I see myself, I see a little girl

shattered, broken glass.

  I've collected a jar of broken glass. As I cleaned the pieces, I felt a strange kinship, as if they were a part of me. Indeed they are, just not yet embedded under my skin.

That's what I feel when I hold my face in my hands, though it's soft and warm with the lively blood that reddens my cheeks in a constant blush.

Shards of broken glass.

  Or maybe I just can't get the image of something so cold, hard, and unforgiving piercing through the tender flesh out of my own subconscious. It sounds morbid, I know, but somehow entrancing.

When I see myself, I see a little girl

drowning in omnipresent, crashing waves.

  I don't remember when I first was afraid of the water. It's been at least three or four years, and I now achingly remember the times when I was pulled under or overtaken. Hawaii, two years ago, was the last time I remember swimming in the ocean. I was out deeper than I'd usually be, up to maybe my waist, hopping waves so they would carry me with them for a short moment. I felt the tide receding too much and watched as a bigger wave prepared to hone in on me.

I ran.

  But being small and weak and waist-deep in water sucking in, I couldn't get far.

The wave swallowed me, a horrifying account on my part, and I couldn't get my feet on the sandy floor of the ocean. I was scared. All I could hear was the rushing of my limbs and flow of the water. Only tasted salt and poisonous blankness. Can't smell. Can't feel. Can't hardly see. I struggled to meet with the bottom, so I could push up my face into the warm and safe air. After several seconds that felt like minutes to me, I broke out into the sunlight again.

  After moments like this one, I usually cough and gasp and hold back the tears because I know that being afraid of the water is being afraid of everything.

It's a liquid of life. It bends and sprays and is beautiful. It is entirely good and entirely evil.

I love it. It's terrifies me.

Isn't it fitting, then, that his name literally means "flood"?

When I see myself, I see red.

  My heart was different from the start. The defect stole oxygen from me, and I turned blue. The heart and blood are life to me. Everything finds its way into becoming symbolic for me, largely from recurrent happenings strung together by one emotion and one other aspect.

Red is deep. Red is pain. Red is soul. In a way, the sum of red's parts is passion.

It can be anything from a fragrant rose to a fiery blaze, a volcano's fury to the subtle sunrise. Red can be beautiful, but red can be flaming anguish.

I radiate red.

  The little girl is me. She doesn't want to be a woman someday, it just seems so... Ripened, full, ready. The daddy is the one that gives you away, right? He's supposed to be the one that wishes you wouldn't grow up. That's your anchor. But if I don't have an anchor, I'd rather be a ball of lead that a ship at sea. This sea is impurity. Why would I want to drift there?

I don't want to have what the other girls want. I do not wait for a prince, I lock my doors because I know the only thing coming is the wildlife to stir up dust in the yard. I don't wish to have a family, I'll live and die a virgin happily. It seems sick. I don't wish to seduce, I wish to enchant. Not to rule, but to grace. I'm totally content with living the way Cinderella did BEFORE the ball. So I'll stay locked up, pure and cold, useless but kind.

When I see myself, I see the girl in the storybooks that picks the flowers and puts them in her hair, held back in smooth bounds of curls. The dew dampens the hem of her sundress and the big eyes are the only dark thing on her. The skin a smooth milk-pale warmth resonating in nearby air, and freckles dancing about the cheekbones.

What does it matter if I don't match the appearance? You know the girl I mean. And I wish to stay her if I cannot be like the other girls, if I cannot be useful.

Rambling...

How can happy songs make me feel so sad?

 Every time I watch the ending of the "All About Us" music video, I get chills. First, it feels sweet... But then you feel such a strong sense of... Loneliness.

 "Mine"? So cute. So nice, right? Not for me. What is it? No, I know. I'm a careless man's careful daughter too, and I know that can't be in my future. Up until the 2:45, maybe. After that is what I'd wish it would be.

 Sometimes I feel like I'd be more useful in the 1800's, when girls were made into gentle housewives by their families and never had to figure things out. Then again, I'd die after the first few days if I were born in the same condition, but that's besides the point.

 The future is a subject I always try to avoid because it seems so depressing. What can I even try to do? As socially awkward and uncomfortable as you can get, small and weak, lazy, slow, and I don't have my heart in anything except art, writing, and music. There isn't anything for me to do. Those passions are the ones you create and put out into the world for other people. But nobody would care about my stupid sketches or my pointless ramblings. And as for music, I'm instrumentally challenged to say the least of my problems.

A Deeper Look At "Kamikaze"

The song "Kamikaze" from Owl City's new album All Things Bright And Beautiful gives me a very distinct spiritual message every time I listen to it. This may possibly be the basic idea of it, and it might not be. Regardless, I thought I should write my take on the lyrics' meanings.

The princess in her flowerbed
Pulled the jungle underground 

The "princess" might not be the elegant, polite royalty figure that comes to mind. The princess may in fact be a temptation or something that seems harmless that could turn against you.

This reminds me of Jadis, the "Queen" of Narnia. She acts charitable at first, but is actually evil. Her "pulling the jungle underground" suggests that she brought the chaos of the world down into the darkness, where evil resides, thus turning us into our own enemies and ultimately planting a curse on the Earth.
 

Where cherry bombs stain the blackbirds red

I think the "cherry bombs" could mean blood, as if to say that our bloodshed and disaster destroys and stains even the nature around us.

And explosions never make a sound 

The "explosions" may be the crimes and injustices in our wicked world. This may be saying that it's an everyday thing for people to die, which it is, and that something so dark should never be as nonchalant as it is today.

Oh, comet come down 

May be a plea to let God's glory and guidance come down on us

Kamikaze over me 

The rapture would be quite like a kamikaze attack. God destroying his own creation and people is very similar to a suicide mission, as it is what He put into existance.
And I call alive
My midnight melody

Adam's daydreams are often his escape from the real world, and in a time like this might seem like a great time to think of a better place. It would be understandable for him to escape there now.

Oh, comet come down

My captain on the snowy horse 

Is coming back to take me home

(He's coming back to take me home)

Basically, Adam's captain is God. He's taking him "home", which would really be heaven.

He'll find me fighting back a terrible force
'Cause I'm not afraid to die alone

Adam is fighting against the trappings and sins the world is plagued with. One might feel "alone" in the fight for glory, and this is Adam saying he's...Well, not afraid of that.
 

(Bring down the open road)

Show us the path to you (God)
Maybe I'll ride

 The ride may be following God's wishes into the unknown

(And fight back the undertow)  

Basically, "and fight against Satan"
To save my life  

Well... To save his life.

(Bring in the amber glow)

 The glow may be an imagery symbol pertaining to happiness or glory.
Maybe I'll fly

 May mean he has freedom

(And go where you wanna go)

Essentially, again, being free
With an eagle eye

With an eye with wisdom and power, what our enemy lacks (An eagle is often a symbol of these things)

I understand that much of this sounds very GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD, but you have to understand, Adam's a very committed and faithful Christian, and he's been becoming more and more open with his faith. It's practically impossible to deny that God is hinted in both "Hospital Flowers" and "Galaxies" as well. "Angels" seems pretty God-related too, obviously.

I also really like that at the end of the song, he's singing in such a calm and content manner while you can steal hear the backup vocals yelling. It's as if his voice itself is floating off to heaven as the anger of Earth stays anchored to its tainted soil.

Photo not mine

Set Free

 That night, it went away.

  God, I'm so tired of feeling like this

It's just what you deserve, if not less than what pain you shall recieve

 Take it away! I know it's not you

Never accept a gift you can't justify

WHY IS NOTHING FAIR HERE?

This death you feel, this is what's fair

No... No, you're not real.

Then what is your pain? Give me a name.

God, I don't want to feel this guilt

TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENTS!

I WANT TO! I'M TRYING! KILL ME, I JUST DON'T CARE ANYMORE!

 And so, the demons flooded over the gates of my mind, scorched me with an obsession that could never be fulfilling.

But I found the truth that one night.

  I was praying for them again. It had been another night of forsaking myself and thus beating God's daughter. But it had come to the point where at least I could get over how much I hated myself and start ripping parts of myself out and handing it to my friends.

 I'd been paying off debts that only I believed existed. When somebody did me right, I did all I could to justify it. Make them do me wrong. But compassion is one thing you can never pay back. And it's also impossible to generate if you're trying to pay your dues.

 To me, it didn't matter that everyone was okay with me treating them like crap, and it didn't matter that God had forgiven me, because there was still a voice calling me back and sucking the life out of me.

And the voice was inside my head.

 This isn't to say I'm schizophrenic, because I'm nowhere close. I just couldn't live with myself.

When I was sad, I felt guilty because I had no reason, so I tortured myself.

When I was happy, I felt guilty because I didn't deserve it, so I tortured myself.

I couldn't win this game I played.

As I prayed for them, a voice not so mysterious reminded me to look at what I was doing.

It hit me.

My eyes grew wide, my heart pounded, and all I could do was step back and sob into my hands, because I had been set free. What I was doing was soulful. I learned how to love. I learned how to sacrifice myself. That must have been when I woke up from the nightmare and realized that I turned into something beautiful. I was finally happy.

Hospital Flowers, man. Hospital Flowers.

God.

That Awkward Moment

 Somewhere between lack of inspiration, laziness, and overall scarcity of the ability to update, I've spent the last 11 days incognito (or at least as Matrill, the legal identity was visible).

 So now I get back on here and I see something I never see. Comments

Well, I get one like every six weeks or so. But that's clearly not a lot to crow about.

And now I've decided since there are probably fewer than thirty people that actually will read this whole post thingy, I guess I can single people out all I want.

 Sometime in the later half of 2010 (I seriously don't even remember when) I stumbled upon a blog credited to the author Dyanova. This happened because I'm an avid reader of the Owl City blog, of which he commented on. Out of what I guess was completely random curiosity, I followed the link to the blog.

 I still don't remember what made me talk, but I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the post I read there was something written among the lines of it being sort of a ghost town of a blog where nobody visits but those who are encouraged to do so. Being the weird person that wanted to give off a warm fuzzy that could have easily come off as an awkward slimy, I replied in some way containing the idea like "Well hey, I found it... And... It's nice."

 I don't even know.

Anyway, now that I've returned from some weird unannounced hiatus and Dyanova's been trying to contact me. And I'm happy that there's actually someone out there that kinda cared. At least a little.

Is it sad that I'm waaaaay more friendly, polite, extroverted, and sociable on the internet when I'm using a made up name? Probably. Oh well.

So yeah. It's nice to know that... Well, that you even remembered me. Or checked out my blog. You know.

Aaand I hope this isn't too weird.

Jesus Is My Lullaby

 Being much of a dreamer and very spacey, staying in "the real world" has always been an aggravating struggle for me... As is the fight to keep my few scraps of sanity in check. What can I say? My insane side keeps telling me to remind everyone that it's there even though that's become pretty apparent by now. Anyway...

 On a long car ride I boarded a few days ago, the mother and the sister were debating over things related to "the future" and "money" and "careers", all of which I can't stand thinking about. My only escape method was blasting songs from the All Things Bright and Beautiful album on my iPod, mixing in a few other songs near the end of my visit to my own world.

 I often catch myself feeling guilty of being so far different from my family and most of my friends. I'm very often a bad friend and a worse sister and daughter. Every time I avoid spending time with them to stand alone and daydream, there's something telling me that they deserve more than passive-aggressive cycles and all of the other wonderful qualities I possess. There's a line recently written in my diary saying: They deserve a flimsy do-gooder. Not me, the stubborn screw-up. Why am I such a jerk? They shouldn't have to deal with me.

 There have been many times that I have tried analyzing this aspect of me, but I can't get very far into it, since I can't find the initial trigger events that caused it. I'm at least guessing this is an OCD thing, but I can't get much past that.

Things need to be even. If you do something nice for me, I have to do something equally nice for you, or else I will go insane.

In such an unfair world and a very small ability for helping people, this obsession has gotten me falling on the floor gasping for breath and begging for pain. Help is something I can't ask for because I can't get myself out of debt with other people. They can forgive me a thousand times, they may not even notice when I'm not as good to them as they are to me, but I will never let it go inside of myself until I have payed it back. In many ways, I've become my own enemy.

 I stare at myself in mirrors. A lot. I'm not sure why. There's something that I'm looking for or something. I can't tell. But today when I stared for too long, the shadows on my face became more defined, the cobalt blue in my eyes turned into iron, and the creatures that eat me started crawling out of my skin. I had to look away before I scared myself too bad.

 In another diary entry I had written: Just throw me. So stupid. What's wrong with me? Stupid freak, stupid jerk. Get rid of it. Just beat me then let me dance alone until I deserve more.

And in another: I feel myself becoming a monster. Then I feel myself going insane.

 In all honesty, I'm sure I'm being overly dramatic since I'm sleep deprived when I write in my diaries. This still has showed me just how strange my mind's gotten.

 Sometimes I still get that feeling that I need to know certain things. Things about myself, the others, the universe, but then I finally remember "Just stop. God's got you, alright? Just leave the tough stuff a mystery. It's not your business anyway."

Whenever there's no way out that I can see,

When all I want to do is cry,

When there is nobody to listen,

When there is nobody to hold me,

I sing.

Jesus is my lullaby

He calms my fears and drys my eyes

And when my life goes up in flames

He shows me it'll all be better someday

It'll be better someday

 

I'll be better someday

Blossoms Filled The Room

 For me, it's a very rare and cherished thing for something big to end. Or rather, something new beginning. After five class periods of filling in the bars on ScanTron tests and another three on more unique finals, my school year ended with not much more than a fizzle. Nevertheless, my first last day since I've gone to the high school did not wear me weary. In some ways, I'm very happy we didn't spend our last moments there signing yearbooks or doing other activities that require a high social capacity, that which I don't acquire.

 It's only my freshman year and I know there's far more adventures and endeavors to experience before I'm through with my high school years. I feel like I at least owe what I've gone through this time around a tip of the metaphorical hat and a smile goodbye. A new person has come into my life, someone that needs me as equally as I do her, and everyone knows that a best friend has to be one of the best gifts time can give you.

 There's a lot in store for me this summer, including an Owl City concert, camping once or twice, and brand new seasons of my favorite TV shows.

(>*o*)>

 So, as you can see, I'm more than willing to run in slow-motion through a field of daisies and tall grass that blows in the wind to the wonderful times I've planned ahead for.

Long live life!

Where Am I?

 I write my best songs in about fifteen minutes. Let's see how this one turns out.

What do the stars chime when you see me

Why do I star in your universe

Questions still haunt me eternally

My actions become adverse

 

Starlight, sing to me

Bring us another melody

Before the sands run out

We'll only be young for a short life

Even shorter, with our destinies

Everyone has left the stage but you

Maybe I've underestimated

Or you've done the worse

 Nope, my creativity is dead at the moment. I don't even have anything to write.

Sorry I never write anymore. I keep breaking my promises and disappointing myself.

Off Track, On Probation

pro·ba·tion/prōˈbāSHən/Noun

1. The release of an offender from detention, subject to a period of good behavior under supervision.

 

  Lately, I've given myself plenty of detention.

I'm not sure when that started, or why, or how, or the etc., but I'm pretty sure you could say that's true. My diaries have been lacking entries, my iPod's been dead, and I can't remember the last time I got a legit good night of sleep. Lots of crappy mishaps and emotions like to poke me, and I had to deal with them with the "virus treatment". The "virus treatment", as I call it, is that point at which your emotional, physical, mental, and psychological states begin to merge and the lines between "bad mood", "sick", and "distracted" decide to dissolve into a huge hunk of bitter coffee grounds, tree sap, and dirty thorns; so you collapse inwardly and just stay alive for a few days/weeks until you actually feel better. Its name comes from the similar way that your body reacts to a virus. It goes to the problem, then puts all of its effort into it, creating a bloody battlefield of runny noses and fevers.

 The recovery usually lasts only a week or so, depending on the length and severity of the "virus treatment". It usually consists of getting back on a normal schedule, catching up on the things you missed, and ignoring that which would normally get on your nerves in order to prevent another treatment. This stage is probation. You don't let things get in your way again. It'll only create more chaos we can't afford.

 So now I'm doing the homework, charging the iPod, and... Planning to clean the room. Well, it's getting better, anyway.

 This has been just another one of my foolish philosophies that may or may not be a completely ridiculous assumption that I've made off of a simple common life experience. Do not put trust in it, for I can't even do the same.

"It's darkest just before the dawn"

Overthinking Again

 So my mind gets off track a lot. I think that's been established. You could keep me in physical science or geometry all day; I'm just going to be imagining what the world would be like from a bird's eye view (Google Earth isn't good enough). My desire to fly will probably have me jumping off a cliff during a psychotic episode someday. Oh well. Dreamers gonna dream.

 Anyway, before I got off track from my topic of being off track, I was going to tell you how I'm getting way too philosopher-ish with my wondering. Currently, my focuses have ranged from "What is life?" to "What is existance?" and many of the other forever unsolved mysteries of the universe. The slightly easier ones were coming to me back in the fall of last year. Those were in the natures of "What do people consider intelligent? Is it the ability to retain knowledge, a high amount of retained knowledge, making good decisions, or a combination?"

I'm not a normal teenager.

 Out of nowhere, I feel compelled to tell you of the misfortunes I endure every time someone I don't know holds a door for me.

 Imagine you held a door open for someone. You expect them to say "Thanks.", right?

Enter  my world. The word "thanks" is loosely translated to "I am glad that you have acknowledged something positively." Unless if it's said sarcastically, in which case it means "You have dishonored the privilege of life."

 Whenever a stranger holds a door for me, I don't really think it's necessarily in the right, considering my very strange self-esteem views. I wish you could turn down door-holdings the way you can with an offer of a seat. Every time, all I can do is mutter "THANKS." and run through the door before they can look back at me.

Am I really the only one that sees the entire Earth move so peacefully in that natural harmony? It's almost as if the trees have their own breath while they dance along the breeze. Even the overcast sky shines brighter than a dim indoor ceiling. If I could reach out a million miles and touch the farther reaches my night sky, it would be like flying. The reason I love flying so much is... Well, just think of it like this:

 Think of all the land in the world. More than you can ever stand on. No human has ever touched all of the corners and in-betweens of the planet. Now think of all of the oceans added to that. There's far more of water than land covering the Earth. Now think of that multiplied by about 10,000 feet of height to achieve.

  When you fly, you can touch all of that.

There is no limit and every possibility. Being like this makes me feel like I'm stuck on the ground. A mermaid wishes for feet, a human wishes for wings, and a bird wishes for french fries.

It's quite a sick world, right?

Too Many Lists

So yup. No post last week. Sorry about that (as if anyone even noticed). Moving on.

I like lists. There's some part of me that organizes anything and everything. Give me a packet of Skittles, you'll probably find me sorting them by color, making the numbers of colors even, and eliminating the deformed ones first because I have issues THAT BAD. That's just another one of my OCD things.

Lists just seem so... Easy to read to me. Simple. I have a ton of lists I haven't gotten to writing down anywhere, so I just decided to take my chance now.

Favorite words:

• Ebony
• Iridescant
• Lullabies
• Reverie
• Nostalgia (it always reminds me of noses)
• Always
• Wonderstruck (it's in a song I like, therefore, it is a word)
• Wondrified (I made it up, so what?)
• Enchanted
• Forever
• Symphony
• Euphony
• Dawn
• Swim
• Ebb
• You
• Us
• Dream
• Heart
• Awkward
• Lovely
• Everywhere
• Him
• Her
• He
• She
• Love

Places I want to visit:

• Scotland and/or Ireland
• Salar de Uyuni
• A black hole
• Mars
• Alaska in northern lights season
• The Palm Islands and the Burj Al Arab

Bad habits I have:

• Biting my nails
• Getting upset too easily
• Being horrible to the people I love
• Making too many lists
• Crying for no reason
• Laziness in general

Irrational desires that probably will never happen:

• Fly. Actually fly. Not skydive or bungee jump. Fly.
• Meet Adam Young
• Publish a novel
• Be inspirational
• Be told I'm beautiful by someone that really means it
• Have a first love that loves back (it's personal, stupid, and weird, but true)

Sad songs:

• Vanilla Twilight by Owl City
• Silhouettes by Swimming With Dolphins
• Brielle by Sky Sailing
• Wherever You Are (Winnie the Pooh version)
• I Live Alone by Sky Sailing
• Lonely Lullabye by Owl City

Fears:

• Rejection of any kind
• Ants
• Not being able to move
• Being underwater (or at least my eyes or nose underwater)
• What I'll become

Personality disorders I have too many symptoms of to ignore:

• Avoidant
• Schizotypal
• Dependant
• Obsessive-Compulsive

Things I'll never forget:

• How lonely I felt when I couldn't sleep that night
• When he hugged me for the first time
• When the pastor called out to me: "You don't have to be alone"
• My father's stubble on my face when he kissed me goodnight
• The panic and happiness when I got baptized
• The feeling of him when he slept on my shoulder
• His face when he broke down right in front of me    

Music is My Partial Failure

 While I cleaned up the vocals a little, I never really had the chance to create a piano part for the track I was planning to post here. I felt pretty good about what I'd recorded and not so good at the same time. The only problem is that as far as I see, there's no way to post it on here. I've tried using Windows Movie Maker, Tumblr, AOA Audio Extractor and nothing is working. The best I can do is post it without the end on Tumblr. Not what I was trying to do. I guess I at least owe you the lyrics to my song:

 Liquids Of Life

You are the shade of the raindrops
And also just the sheen of a summer sky
You spent your whole life dancing down from clouds
And wondering why (you wanted to fly)
Possible chorus to be added
I am the color of a heartbeat
And I am just a clone of a fragrant rose
I wasted my time bleeding lonely
And wanting to know (why I wanted to go)
Possible chorus
Soon the blood got thinner, then you turned to ice
And we both knew that we were losing liquids of life
So we stirred in harmony and salts of light
But now I see that we were always right

I am red and you are blue
And purple is my favorite color too

 

Being the teenager that I am, I have a Gaia account, where I posted the song for some feedback.

The first reply read:

"I thought it was beautiful. Very colourful & I can see now that you listen to Owl City. I really liked it, it invoked happy thoughts, for me. It was really cute, too. Those last two lines were adorable." 

The second:

"Beautiful. Unique. Inspiring.
Those are the three things you need to create something stunning. You nailed it."

I can tell you now, when I first read those, I SQUEED. Never had I really felt comfortable enough to let complete strangers critique my work... Of any kind at all, not just song lyrics.

The story behind this song?

Well, I was in my computer class and decided I wasn't going to do the work. So I wrote.

 ...

Alright. Long story it is.

I pulled out the piece of paper I list albums and songs on so I could add "Blue and Red" to it, under "An Airplane Carried Me To Bed". When I did this, I started thinking about purple (my favorite color). I began thinking of how I feel that I'm the less enchanting part of another equation I find beautiful.

 Then it came to me.

Red, I thought.

I'm red, and he's blue. Beautiful, graceful, swimmingly blue. He just seems like a blue kind of person, with eyes like those. I must be red, dark and aggressive-seeming, never showing the true nature of pain I put myself through.

We became blood and water, two of the most life-sustaining liquids. In fact, water is a part of blood, but not vice-versa, making this even better fitting. I'm terrified of water and love it. Thorns on the rose surround and isolate any beauty living there. I'm a sunrise kinda person and he's a daylight kinda person.

God, why are metaphors my specialty?

Anyway, we've become different than the way we were. I'm not sure if the "harmony and salts of light" have come into play yet, but they haven't proved to be absent yet.

And that's all I need to be sure of.

The First February

 There's been an idea blobbin' around my mind for probably two months now. This idea is "The First February".

Now, while I don't see myself becoming a musician anytime soon (or anytime far(anytime in general, really)), I have too many ideas for music than should be ignored. I have a Gaia account with an online journal where I keep a ton of these random tidbits. I've decided maybe I'll compile them and make a few songs with Audacity in my right hand and a dreamer's mind vomit in the left.

 I have recorded raw vocals for two different songs: "Miss You The Most" and one that I might call "Liquids of Life". 

"Miss You the Most" only has a written chorus so far, but I've already found a good tune to it on piano and the vocals for what I've written sound about right.

"Liquids of Life" is a short track, but it's all written. I need to re-record some vocals and find piano parts, but other than that it's finished.

 Since I love whoever went through all this eccentric writing of mine, I guess I may as well just say I'll try my best to get a rough track done of at least one of my songs done by next week. If I manage to conquer the terrible fate of procrastination and lack of opportunities, then I'll post it on here next week.

 That's right. I'm letting complete strangers listen to me sing.

FOOLISH CONFIDENCE FOR THE WIN.

Why not take another little chance?

Drawing Goodbye

  When posed with a question like "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?", I'm totally stumped. In fact, I hardly know what I'll be doing in five years. Right now, my objective and long-time goal is to graduate high school, and that's in barely over three years, as I'm already a freshman. The only things I really, really, really want to happen would be writing, drawing, and singing in my future. These don't mix well, which is a source of a great problem for an artsy person like me. Because really, have you ever heard of an author/singer/artist? I'm not even that good at those to begin with.

  I don't know what to write at the moment, so here's a drawing from earlier this week:

 I apologize for the lame quality, this photo is from my phone. And since I highly doubt you can read the words there, the stream in front says "Annemarie, believe me----------I loved you" and the one in back says "I can't forget you"

This is a reference to the song "Lonely Lullaby".

If you haven't heard it and you like songs that make you want to cry, you should check it out.

You: Is it another Owl City song?

Me:...Maybe...

So what if I have a guilty pleasure? We all do.

 When I listen to this song, I instantly understand all he feels. As creepy as it sounds, Adam's my brother and I love him. Nobody's ever going to know the pain a lost love brings until they really feel it. The beautiful memories suddenly become a bitter taste in your mouth, a punch in the stomach, a headache, and an overall endless crying to accompany it.

Then you wipe the tears off your face and brave the world for another day.

 In the passage of time, you might look back with a smile on your face though the scars still burn in your skin. The way he sings "I sang my princess fast to sleep" tears me apart and rebuilds me every time. When I hear him whisper "Because I can't forget you" I know all he remembers and cry in what I know was once there, although it wasn't my experience. As he tells "I'd rather dream" my mind soars to where his does and breathes all there is in a universe such as this.

Sorry.

Got off track there.

This is the fifth time in a row I've listened to it.

But believe me, I loved you

Learning to Fly

     The idea of flying has become more and more intriguing to me every moment for a little over a year now. Before then, I never really thought of it. That may be because I discovered Owl City around the time. It was October 2009, I remember distinctly. Without the elaborately abstract lyrics combined with smooth yet lively borderline electronic music, I'm not sure how I would have found out I am indeed part bird.

  Obviously, it's become a terrible realization to me that I can't actually fly. Even my trampoline can't simulate the wonderful effect the right way. Somehow I feel like I know what it feels like to fly, and I'm constantly craving it, not only for the fresh and open air holding me and brushing all around and over me, but for the freedom it entitles to the one soaring. I literally stare enviously out windows and watch the seagulls, geese, crows, and other birds indigenous to my area floating around, occasionally in a neat "v" formation, perching themselves on a lamppost, or (a very common choice) finding an old Wendy's bag to ransack for scraps.

Lucky little birds.

  Monday night, I had my first purely-psychotic breakdown. I've had many emotional breakdowns, in fact too many to count, but never one completely out of insanity. The only part I remember really well is when I threw stuff out into the middle of my bedroom, making space to shove my mattress into a too-small space by my window, all the while desperately muttering, "I need to fly! I need to fly!"

  My friend has really bad dreams. She has had a certain dream for each friend that she's ever loved enough. In these dreams, they die.

  During my "episode", I texted her to keep myself a little in check. I told her I really wanted to "Run away and fly. Eat the clouds. Swim in the air."

That's when she told me she had her dream of me dying.

She said I had slipped off a cliff and disappeared into the clouds below us. She told me she thought it was beautiful and sad. She told me that my body was never found.

"Maybe you did fly."

  Lately, especially yesterday, I've taken risks I wouldn't have long ago. I've been telling people how I feel for them and my true emotions, or at least have been more honest and open. Many of my fears with people and talking to them have faded by now, making me feel a lot better, but the hardest part is beginning: Using my strength to eliminate my secrets.

Yesterday I told someone I trusted them.

Someone I'm terribly afraid to trust.

But someone I really love.

  I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that these risks can't ruin my life. I've been stuck in a spinning cold front for a long time now, and I've decided that it's time to change things. Perhaps my breakthrough has been a sort of flying for me, since it's definitely out of my normal element and it feels so good. This has been really good for me, actually, the whole structure of my change. So far, things look a little brighter and the sun has begun to rise again.

Here's one to my flying coach.

Even if he'll never know it.

The Light Meets The Dark

  I daydream.

A lot.

I dream more in the day than I do at night. This is probably partially because I'm in a certain category of human that I've thought up as "dreamers". Also, I don't get much sleep. You can tell by the posting times here on the blog. I think about everything. Since I sometimes just don't know how to deal with myself, I need to learn the intricate science of my personality. The data I've collected has taken years to compile, and I'm still pretty lost.

One theory inching its way into my thought space was the likenesses of my soul and my appearance.

This shouldn't be taken in a shallow way, or even for other people for that matter, but I see similarities rising up all over the place.

Eyes really are windows to the soul. Mine are stormy, dark blue. That's only the beginning of the way to describe the corners of my consciousness. Like my physical self, my whole spirit has been a mass of contradictions and never what it seemed to be. I'm short and sort of... What do you call it? Not-sporty? Sure.

But I run fast, climb well, and pick up people taller than me. So yeah. I also talk with a pretty low voice, but sing about an octave higher, making me a soprano 1 in my high school's women choir.

 As a person, I act like at least three different people. I also show many symptoms of Avoidant Personality Disorder (AvPD). This disorder is characterized by social inhibition, sensitivity to criticism, and feelings of inadequacy. Before my lunch time at school changed to one with my friends, I spent many of my days sitting away from the other people in a corner, and leaving long before my next class started. If someone asked if I wanted to sit with them, I'd mumble a shaky and uncomfortable "No thank you." and disappear as well as I could. I hate group work because as much I want to make suggestions, I nearly always feel a fear that they'll ignore what I say or reject my ideas. The disorder makes its victim feel constant loneliness as a result of being terrified of interaction combined with a natural longing for it. There's a constant fight between fear and pain.

 I stray away from the people I love the most because I'm afraid of losing them. I'm afraid of them forgetting me. Now I've unwillingly adopted a personality that makes me treat the people I care about in a passive-aggressive pattern that I know isn't fair to them. After this, I feel like a jerk because I act like one.

 I have rough skin on my arms, legs and hands, but soft cheeks. I'm only sincere in the places people wouldn't see it. I look pale and cold, but I'm actually quite warm. I want to comfort people, but the only way I'm able to is through writing, since I'm such a negative and harsh person. I tease my friend (and her brother, because it's just so tempting), but I need her. I cry every day. Sometimes more.

The way I treat them is just cruel, but I don't know how to stop myself. The softer and warmer and nicer and more graceful part of me is trapped underneath thorns that stab me through too.

Every part of me is so confusing and intricate... How is all of this even possible?

Sorry this whole thing was about me. Did I mention I'm also very self-centered?

It never seems to end.

I Miss You

  Another Thursday night, scrolling down the comments on the Owl City blog and reading them like a creeper. Names, names, names, I love you's, I'm sorry you feel like that way's, and more names. Then one name.

 Whenever I see that name I almost begin to cry. Memories are always partly healing and partly depressing. These ones just cut my little fragile soul like it's theirs to take. I've missed someone since I was eight. A second-grade loss. I know, so terrible sounding, right?

 Trust me, it hurts more than you'd think.

 She only lived with her dad. She had one of those American Girl dolls, the Kit one. It looked just like her to me. She was pretty and nice and we were absolutely best friends.

 I still remember the time I spent the night at her house like it was last week.

I remember the layout of her house. Where the hallway, kitchen, and her room were... There was a grate in the floor, a zipline in the backyard. We played Operation. We spread dominoes with matching ends all over her bedroom's hardwood floor. I couldn't fall asleep when she did, so I got lonely and stared out the window, where there was a streetlight shining in the night.

 The night before third grade started, I sat on my bed, facing my wooden dresser, crying. She moved. I had to go to school without her there with me. 

 Because I was still quite a little kid, there was a bit of hope I held onto that told me that I'd see her again. Surely the universe couldn't keep us apart forever, I thought. But as the years went on and on, I realized that I wasn't going to just see her and become best friends again. Still, I spent a lot of time daydreaming and wondering where she was now, who she was friends with. Most of all,

I wondered if she remembered me.

That was seven years ago.

 I've been thinking about her a lot lately, and I still wonder. Even if she did just pop up out of nowhere, how could I recognize her? Even then, if I tried to talk to her, there's no way... There's no way she'd even remember me. I was just listening to "Butterfly Wings". I smiled as I listened, then got a deep sinking feeling in my chest. I turned it off and started to cry. I'm crying right now. 

She meant so much to me, and I don't think she ever even knew it.

That was the first time my heart was broken.

Well, actually, I was born with a broken heart. But with the figurative meaning, the first time.

I'm that kind of person that just can't let go of the things she loved, which isn't very good because I've lost at least two and I see another one going. It keeps breaking me down and giving me more fears every time. Why is it that all love seems to just... End?

Hair, Height, and Scars

     When talking to any---what are they called? Oh, right.---"normal" teenage girl, a subject like hair is bound to be mentioned. What can I say? They like hair. Obviously, I'm not by any basic standard. But I did turn 15 two days ago and I'm very certain that I am, indeed, a girl. If not, then I really need to see a doctor. So hey, let's talk about hair.

 I myself have a family full of curl-folk. My parents, sisters, cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles, you name it; had curly hair. Not all of them, per se, but a considerable amount. As a kid, I never really had what you'd call curly hair but rather both wavy and straight blond wisp(which I still don't really understand)

 Then about three years ago, it happened.

MY HAIR WENT THROUGH PUBERTY.

 Suddenly it was exploding into a big fluffy mass of waves combined with ringlets. It took me almost a year to figure out what to do with it other than try to flatten it out by attempting to brush it.

 Then in the summer before eighth grade, I just accepted the truth and hung my head low with a shameful sorrow: I now had curly hair.

But I've grown to love my weird hair because it's fun to play with and since it's all bunched up in ringlets, you can smell the shampoo for a much longer time. That's also a bad thing since I'm so easily distracted. I spend a lot more time than I should sniffing my hair and twirling it in my fingers.

  Another very distinctive note you will make on my appearance is that I'm really really really really really short. Not exaggerating even a bit. I'm not even five feet tall. Hardly four eleven. It's always kinda been like that. Well, except when I was a baby. Right after I was born I measured a typical twenty-one inches. Other than that, I've been "the short one" for basically my whole life. That wasn't all that bad either. Because of it I've learned to climb onto things pretty well and I've been called "Shortie"(and no, I wasn't a melody in anyone's head) and "Little Eskimo". 

...I had a coat with a fluffy hood then...

  Oh yeah, one more thing.

Unless you've gotten seriously mangled, don't even start to think you've got a better scar than me. You see, I was born with a heart defect known as "Transposition of the Great Arteries/Vessels". Parts of my heart were where others should have been, and somewhere along the line un-oxygenated blood went through my whole body, causing me to turn a lovely purple-blue. In order to survive, I had to get open heart surgery at three days old. How a doctor managed to perform surgery on a heart about the size of a golf ball, I haven't a clue. But they did it, and now I've got a six and a half inch scar down my chest. This is one thing I feel proud to wear, because even though I had a short fight and I can't even remember it, I survived something.

 And I have a story to tell.

Four-Fifths Completed

   Tonight, I was at a dance competition. The Oregon State Championship. It including performing dancers from West Lynn, Clackamas, Canby, Lincoln, Parkrose, Liberty, Pendleton, and many more. Since an older sister of mine is on our high school's dance team, I spent hours watching the dances (and yes, it did bore me eventually). One in particular stood out to me.

It demonstrated the five stages of grief, which has apparently become a vivid pattern recurring in my life because all stages sounded very familiar and experienced to me.

The dancers started out wearing dresses with five layers in different colors. Five backdrop walls stood behind them. At the beginning, they turned a yellow wall to reveal the word "Denial".

   It reminded me of words I've held inside but wouldn't dare reveal.

"No, you can't. You don't." "I'm completely fine. It means nothing anyway." "There's no way she feels how I do."

   The yellow was torn from the dresses and a new red wall flipped to show "Anger".

The old thoughts that haunt me returned.

"No! I'm just what she wanted me to be!" "Why does everyone like her so much?" "He's not what you say he is."

   When the red fell away, green spelled out "Bargaining".

But all I ever remember doing in this stage was crying out to God over and over again until I thought he'd never help me. Desperate cries and wishing to be not a cell in the air filled in the empty crevices of this word.

   I already knew what was coming next. The least bearable, most horrible pain I'll ever feel, and also the most returning turned into a blue word: "Depression".

This chilling phase always illustrates the same thing to us every time we experience it, but in a new and somehow even more terrible way than before

" I'm such a loser. I'm completely hopeless." "I'm entirely nothing to others. I'm completely hopeless." "There's another that fought the same fight, and there I was, thinking I was valiant. I'm completely hopeless."

   The one stage I wasn't so familiar with was the last.

White streams flew through the air as appeared the word on the wall: 

"Acceptance."

   Now I can't think of one time I fully accepted myself. I was the crime against my own mind. All of my "suffering" has been me chattering in my own ears. For once, I'd like to be proud of something I'd done and not ashamed. None of those conflicts were ever fully resolved in my mind. They were just ignored after a while and I learned to live with them. Every long while, all the previous pain comes right back  at the same time and does all but drive me mentally ill. I've rolled on the floor crying, been afraid of my own reflection, and had emotional breakdowns at some of the least convenient times and places because of this. When a whole life's worth of regret, fear, shame, loneliness, and fallen hopes comes crashing down on you all together, a little piece of you just dies.

What do you do when most of you has already died?

What?

  As quoted by multiple individuals and as copy-quoted by many more:

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! ---------- Wait, I don't get it."

We've all done it. Maybe it's because the things that are so routine to us are often completely meaningless and make absolutely no sense whatsoever. There are many things that seem totally normal to almost everyone that I still tilt my head at. Like..

-Why do people brush their teeth before breakfast? First of all, your cereal will taste like mint mixed with that nasty morning-spit taste in it and your orange juice will be about as good as fermented. 'Nuff said already.

Not only that, but the bacteria you just brushed off will just grow right back with whatever's left in your teeth.

Yum.

-What's the point of earrings? When did the idea of metal shoved through one's earlobes become intriguing?

Just... What?

-There's no reason for an automatic soap dispenser. Did anyone ever consider that maybe, even if it was all grubby, that the pump of a soap dispenser is touched before the soap itself, therefore any impurities on the pump would be washed away almost immediately? Just think about it.

-Why do we do such crazy stuff with our hair? I mean, it's just keratin growing out of our scalps, not clay for a sculpture.

-Who ever thought of kissing? Like, REALLY? How does that express affection? A hug makes sense because you're holding someone close to you. And if just pushing your mouth onto someone else's wasn't weird enough, why did people have to start sucking each others faces? It's SICK. 

  Maybe it's just me that gets confused from the world. My mind works far differently from any normal one. Is the world this strange to everyone else too?

Allow us to move onto pictures of inanimate objects with faces on them.

 The ice cream lid man laughs. Haha.

Happy face.

Unhappy face.

 ...And this is lint as a sixteenth note. Enjoy.

So So So Sorry.

  So there I was, feeling the relief of resignation as I decided it was time to end my day when I realized it was Thursday and I hadn't posted yet.

Crap.

And now I'm more than a little ticked off with myself for not doing this earlier in the day, as I am very tired and very uninspired.

  But there is one subject I'd like to discuss tonight.

 You know those times when everyone around you has a purpose, a gift, an obvious offering to the world to cater to and you sit there with your hands empty? You know there has to be something, but nothing ever seems to work for you. That undefined hollowness in the place accomplishment and fulfillment should live is ever reminding your soul of what you should be. The people out there see something in you that you can never find inside yourself. I feel guilty knowing that they think I could be something when I've shamed it all. 

  Every time someone says I'm smart it just kills me. I don't even want to think about it. It gives them every right to be disappointed in me because I have nothing to prove for it. Never have I gotten great grades, magically know the answers to all their questions, or anything else you would expect a "smart" person to do. All I hear when they say I'm smart is "You have more potential than the others." The worst part is I've got a lot less to say for myself than almost anyone I've ever known. Not only do I not live up to my "smart" title, but I'm socially inept, physically inept, instrumentally inept, and inept in practically any other way possible.

 So many times I've prayed just to know what I could possibly be useful for in reality. The question haunts me day and night, no matter where I am or who I'm with. Well, to this day I still haven't really got a clue, but once I think about it, I realize I can't just assume my destiny will unravel right in front of me.

 This is where the words are escaping me. That just seems like the last few words, but they aren't in concluding format. Well, I'm gonna just let it all go here.

  I'm trying to say sorry to everyone because I'm currently not a very good person. I've also caused much more emotional stress to others than one should and I always only think of myself.

  I'm really sorry I have this blog and I'm sorry I act like life is so hard and I'm sorry none of this makes sense and I'm sorry that I've wasted all that's ever been given to me and I'm sorry I can't stop saying I.

Sorry.

Soft Spoken Snow Days

 If you've never been to the the Pacific Northwest region of the U.S.(Washington, Oregon, and Northern California), you may want to be informed of the bipolarity of our weather patterns. I've lived here for my whole 14 years and I'm still not entirely accustomed to it. Nobody is. All you really know is that if there's a chance of rain, there will be. The only trivial thing about our rain is how much will come down from the clouds.

 Yesterday when I was leaving my school it was sunny and probably 50 degrees outside. By the time the clock struck 10, there were flurries outside. And this morning at 5 AM, my sister woke me up and showed me there was an inch of accumulation outside. This was a wonderful surprise to me and the only downside is that I never got back to sleep. I'm one of those people that spend an hour falling asleep and can only do so once a night with lights off, little to no noise, and in a good position. This is why I don't get much sleep. I'll get back to the original subject.

 I spent most of my sleepless morning staring out the window and listening to my iPod, just sipping the sight of the snow. Sipsightsnow. Heehee. Later on a walk I discovered that most of the songs in Owl City's album "Maybe I'm Dreaming" are great soundtracks to the snow, namely "The Saltwater Room" and "The Technicolor Phase". Other than listening to music and eating snowflakes, my day was mostly empty and somehow blissfully so. The only way to spend my day that I like better than lazily rolling through is making an art of it, and since I've spilled my thoughts on my blog here, I feel like I've done a little bit of both today. Mostly the lazy part, though. I can live with that.

 Snow inspires me. Something in the way it floats down without a signal and absorbs all the sound is so graceful, it's almost like I see it dancing during its gentle descent. So... Flowing, magnificent, surpassing, amazing, astounding, arriving... I could think of adjectives all night. I've been thinking of writing a song of it, if only I was so artistically inclined. The lyrics come so naturally to me, it's the music I can't get from my head. Plus, I can't really play any instrument and I haven't a way to record it if I did. Sometimes I just want to spend a day with Adam and talk music. It seems like the only way of thinking for me. Music seems so unattainable.

 Snow days will have to speak for themselves for now.