Detachment

When I was 17 something happened to me that changed my life forever. It's something I carry with me every day of my life, and it's affected me far worse than I can even fully understand. It changed me. It took me from this life of glory and drive and accomplishment and turned me into mush. It is only years later that I feel the blunt of this experience, that I truly feel it's weight. Every day I realize it's hold on me, and every day I let it grip tighter. I haven't been in control of my life for a long time, because I'm honestly not sure how to get back to that place.

There are people who were there for me at this time, some of them more prominent than others, and these are the people I consider to be my heroes. Anyone who knows my story also knows the pain I carry with me, the pain I cannot let go of no matter how hard I try, the pain that makes it hard to say, "thank you". My heroes have stayed with my over the years without thanks or praise. They have served as scapegoats for this pain, as punching bags, and in many cases did this without complaint. To these heroes I would like to finally give a well-deserved thanks. Though many of them will never read this, at least I'm throwing it out into the void, for I'm not sure I would be able to say this directly to their faces or in print.

There are some days that I see an anger in myself I know was not there the day before, and the only explanation I have, is that I was forced to grow up before I was ready. So much of who I am is rooted in this anger. It has made me skeptical, it has made me judgmental, and most of all it has made me lazy. My biggest fear is that the traits I've developed with melt into my personality forever, and all hope of being my old self again will be lost. But I've always believed that this hope, this hope of getting back to who I was before my pain, of living up to the expectations I've set for myself, I've always believed that this hope will die last, that once everything else around me has faded away, it will still be there for me to hold on to.

What I Want

I've decided I want to be a writer. About 3 weeks ago I quit all the joking around and said, ok seriously, can I make this happen. Turns out I think I can. Unfortunately if this is going to happen, if a Masters of Fine Arts (MFA) in Creative Writing is going to be in the plan (which I believe it should be), it won't be happening till Fall of 2011.

What does this mean in terms of the whole oh Idk, --I've already applied to grad school for psychology-- thing, I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll end up changing my mind again as I often do, but I have to at least entertain the idea that I could make this work and go for it. I have to try.

When I really stopped and thought about it, I realized this is honestly something I've been prepping for my whole entire life, I just never thought it was realistic. But what I'm realizing, is you don't pick a lifestyle because it's realistic, you find a lifestyle you want and you make it realistic.

More to come.

Two Posts in One Day (...Kind of)

I admire people who are able to capture their personality in their appearance. They cut their hair some way, they paint their nails some color, they wear some unique outfit, whatever, but people say, hey check out that style man.

My style consists of jeans, a t-shirt that either A) is from high school, B) says Indiana on it, or C) is a reject from Goodwill, some cool sneakers/tennis shoes that I try my best to clash with my selected t-shirt, and most likely some random sweatshirt or fleece to top it off (which also clashes). Some days I can confidently say I purposely select colors which sort of match, but also clash, but most days I honestly just put on individual pieces that feel good, and don't consider how they'll be together.

My hair, though it is red, and I suppose that is a defining physical characteristic expressing my personality...something like that...couldn't be less defining. Out of shear laziness I typically throw some mousse in it after my shower, mostly to keep it from looking too frizzy, slightly to make it curl, but it ends up turning into this sort of frizzy-curled-fusion. This untamed mass of being hanging at my shoulders.

To really top it off I usually don't shower on a regular basis--this also out of laziness, and the fact that I don't much care about the impression my physical being has on other people...but let's be honest, people who say they don't care what other people think about then, want to give off that sort of impression, the impression that says: I care so much about what you think about me that I have to pretend I'm above it. So I'm not sure what's true really, because the truth is I do care, but the truth also is that I really am pretty lazy when it comes to that sort of thing.

I'd rather impress someone with my wit, with the way I hold my pen, with how fast I can write when I'm on a streak, with qualities I pretend to have, ones I try to practice in front of the mirror, attitudes I don't really have, with personality attributes that don't actually belong to me. I try to capture my personality in my every word, and to be honest usually I fail.

Lately

I've been impatient lately, with people, with the weather, with the internet, with stop lights, with everything. I've been on edge, short-tempered. I haven't been a pleasant person to be around. The truth is I'm bored.

See I'm the type of person who thinks they know what's best for everyone. There are people I want to sit down in a chair and tell them where they should be at, what they should be doing, and how they should be acting...but no one wants this. So until people begin to live up to my expectations, I will continue to be disappointed.I will continue to be bored, and annoyed. I will continue to sit cross-legged on the other side of the room, making judgments, mapping out what they should have said next, instead of the crap that already came out.

I wrote this next thing on March 2nd, 2009 and it really seems to be exactly how I am feeling now. maybe the in between held some improvements. but i'm not really that optimistic.

I am always punishing people for their imperfections, and then loving others for theirs. This is, in fact, an imperfection of mine, to see the beauty in some, and not in others, to be intrigued only to the point of real extremities, and not the little things that we see so often everyday in books and magazines. I am bothered by this everyday monotony and I am bored with it, and thus I write off those who fall below my scale of interest or punish those that I am stuck with who do the same. Either way, to be boring and to be close to me is something of an anomaly.

I'm sure this is all very annoying to read, and I probably sound a bit like a bitch, but at least I'm acknowledging it.

P.S. Listen to "Set the Fire to the third bar" by Snow Patrol