I feel like there's so much to say, but honestly, I don't want to put all the specifics out there for the whole world to see.
Anxiety seems to ooze from my pores. My mind races with painful adrenaline all day long. I want to slow down, but my schedule is so busy, to slow down would mean consequences. No, I must stay ahead.
Taking my inhaler is more necessary than ever. I got so nervous last night when this person wanted me to call them, I couldn't breathe. A phobia of talking on the phone and then having asthma isn't the best combination.
Sigh...what is wrong with me?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Overcoming the Fear of Failure
I had been slouched on the seat, hiding from the others. They were in the back of the bus, playing some sort of dare game. They made Holli put a bra on her head, Christa yell something inappropriate out the window, Paula eat a booger, and Amber moon everyone on the road. They were having a good time, embarassing eachother and recording every minute of it on their cellphones. I didn't care to participate. In fact, I dreaded it. I just wasn't in the mood to make a fool of myself.
I gave a sigh of relief when we reached our destination. Miami High School.
Their students were just barely getting out of school, so we waited on the bus. Coach Denny took this oppurtunity to give us an inspirational pep talk. Sometimes it seems like she should have been some sort of politician, not a volleyball coach.
She asked us what we do if we knew we could not fail.
One said, find a cure for cancer. Another said, get everyone to believe Jesus. Someone else said, win American Idol. I chose not to answer.
The first thing that came to mind was telling everyone about Jesus. But the second was suicide. I don't understand how my mind can work like this, coming up with two answers that are complete opposites.
What would happen if I knew I could not fail? Would I kill myself? I've never belonged in this world. I've never felt comfortable here. This is not my home. Life is more like being on a very long mission trip, telling people about Jesus, going through hardships, but never feeling at home.
But how I long to go home! Sometimes I can't believe how selfish I am, wanting something that would destroy my family. What a selfish person I am...
What am I really afraid of? Living? If I knew I could not fail at being happy, would I try? Or would I end all of this nonsense right now?
I'm going to try to do the right thing. After all, how can 80 years of suffering compare with an eternity in Heaven? Maybe a lifetime isn't as long as I thought.
I gave a sigh of relief when we reached our destination. Miami High School.
Their students were just barely getting out of school, so we waited on the bus. Coach Denny took this oppurtunity to give us an inspirational pep talk. Sometimes it seems like she should have been some sort of politician, not a volleyball coach.
She asked us what we do if we knew we could not fail.
One said, find a cure for cancer. Another said, get everyone to believe Jesus. Someone else said, win American Idol. I chose not to answer.
The first thing that came to mind was telling everyone about Jesus. But the second was suicide. I don't understand how my mind can work like this, coming up with two answers that are complete opposites.
What would happen if I knew I could not fail? Would I kill myself? I've never belonged in this world. I've never felt comfortable here. This is not my home. Life is more like being on a very long mission trip, telling people about Jesus, going through hardships, but never feeling at home.
But how I long to go home! Sometimes I can't believe how selfish I am, wanting something that would destroy my family. What a selfish person I am...
What am I really afraid of? Living? If I knew I could not fail at being happy, would I try? Or would I end all of this nonsense right now?
I'm going to try to do the right thing. After all, how can 80 years of suffering compare with an eternity in Heaven? Maybe a lifetime isn't as long as I thought.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The passage from The Bell Jar
"I had locked myself in the bathroom, and run a tub full of warm water, and taken out a Gillete blade.
When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surf gaudy as poppies.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, a whole lot harder to get at.
It would take two motions. One wrist, then the other wrist. Three motions if you counted changing the razor from hand to hand. Then I would step in the tub and lie down.
I moved in front of the medicine cabinet. If I looked in the mirror while I did it, it would be like watching somebody else, in a book or a play.
But the person in the mirror was paralyzed and too stupid to do a thing.
Then I thought maybe I ought to spill a little blood first for practice, so I sat on the edge of the tub and crossed my right ankle over my left knee. Then I lifted my right hand with the razor and let it drop on its own weight, like a guillotine, onto the calf of my leg.
I felt nothing. Then I felt a small, deep thrill, and a bright seam of red welled up at the lip of the slash. The blood gathered darkly, like fruit, and rolled down my ankle into the cup of my black patent leather shoe.
I thought of getting into the tub then, but I realized my dallying had used up a better part of the morning, and that my mother would probably come home and find me before I was done.
So I bandaged the cut and packed up my Gillete blades."
This passage from The Bell Jar is a nonfiction passage by Sylvia Plath. It's amazing to see how a person who died over forty years ago could ever have gone through the same things as me. After reading this, I don't think I ever want to cut again....
When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surf gaudy as poppies.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, a whole lot harder to get at.
It would take two motions. One wrist, then the other wrist. Three motions if you counted changing the razor from hand to hand. Then I would step in the tub and lie down.
I moved in front of the medicine cabinet. If I looked in the mirror while I did it, it would be like watching somebody else, in a book or a play.
But the person in the mirror was paralyzed and too stupid to do a thing.
Then I thought maybe I ought to spill a little blood first for practice, so I sat on the edge of the tub and crossed my right ankle over my left knee. Then I lifted my right hand with the razor and let it drop on its own weight, like a guillotine, onto the calf of my leg.
I felt nothing. Then I felt a small, deep thrill, and a bright seam of red welled up at the lip of the slash. The blood gathered darkly, like fruit, and rolled down my ankle into the cup of my black patent leather shoe.
I thought of getting into the tub then, but I realized my dallying had used up a better part of the morning, and that my mother would probably come home and find me before I was done.
So I bandaged the cut and packed up my Gillete blades."
This passage from The Bell Jar is a nonfiction passage by Sylvia Plath. It's amazing to see how a person who died over forty years ago could ever have gone through the same things as me. After reading this, I don't think I ever want to cut again....
Worried Sick
My dad is really sick.
He has pnemonia. I've had pnemonia, and it gave me asthma. What is going to happen to my dad?
I've heard of people who have died from pnemonia...
I'm really worried. Scared to death.
Dear God, heal Dad.
Amen
He has pnemonia. I've had pnemonia, and it gave me asthma. What is going to happen to my dad?
I've heard of people who have died from pnemonia...
I'm really worried. Scared to death.
Dear God, heal Dad.
Amen
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Hate Crying in Public
Yesterday in my last class of the day, I got a little upset. I'm reading a book called "The Bell Jar". A passage described the process of her cutting herself. In detail. Something snapped inside of me.
Instead of feeling the urge to cut myself, like I usually do, I was filled with disgust and horror. Why would someone ever do that? Why did I do that?! "The Bell Jar" is a nonfiction piece, and from experience, I can say that everything she said was true.
I almost puked.
I put an arm around my stomach and a hand over my mouth. My eyes threatened to spill tears, so I leaned forward, resting my face on the cold desk.
Lucky for me, no one noticed my silent reaction, or if they did, they didn't say anything.
Sitting in the locker room ten minutes later, I tried not to think about it anymore, with little success.
Ten minutes after that, I was standing in a sea of pink.
Pink streamers, pink posters, and a crowd of pink-shirted people surrounded me. The only other time I had seen so much pink was in "Legally Blonde".
The Junior High gym had been transformed into a bustling place of breast cancer awareness. The Junior High volleyball team (with their shirts that said "Ladycats serving up a cure) stopped warming up and stood in a line resembling the breast cancer ribbon. My team joined it, and soon I found myself linking arms with two complete strangers.
Then the tear-fest began.
A family friend of mine (who was also my third grade teacher) stepped inside the gym, which then erupted with applause. Applause for the strong breast cancer survivor.
Tears streamed down her face as she approached the crowd of people on the court waiting for her. Her daughter ran up and hugged her, bursting into tears herself. Somehow I managed not to cry.
She was inside the circle of people now. A poem was read. It was about hope and strength, and overall a very nice poem.
The next girl who talked didn't have half as much self-control. A few lines in, and she was bawling into the microphone.
Anyone who wasn't crying before was crying now, and all I could think was, "I have to get out of here, I have to getout of here..." I wanted to run and find a secluded place where I could let it out in peace, but my feet wouldn't move.
When it finally ended, I told a friend that I was going to run back to the gym instead of waiting for a ride.
Then I was off.
I pushed myself as hard as I could go. People stared as I sprinted away, but for once in my life I didn't care.
When I reached the locker room (which was locked. Ironic?), I sat with my back against the wall, staring up into the blue sky. I knew I only had a few minutes to let it out and pull myself back together before the others drove up, but the tears wouldn't come. And that was fine with me.
I tried to call a friend of mine when I got home, but when the phone was answered his grandfather informed me that he wasn't home. I asked him to tell his grandson that Anne had called, and then I hung up. Maybe it was a good thing. I didn't want to cry to someone over the phone. I felt so soft and weak already.
I'd had enough emotional turmoil for one day.
Instead of feeling the urge to cut myself, like I usually do, I was filled with disgust and horror. Why would someone ever do that? Why did I do that?! "The Bell Jar" is a nonfiction piece, and from experience, I can say that everything she said was true.
I almost puked.
I put an arm around my stomach and a hand over my mouth. My eyes threatened to spill tears, so I leaned forward, resting my face on the cold desk.
Lucky for me, no one noticed my silent reaction, or if they did, they didn't say anything.
Sitting in the locker room ten minutes later, I tried not to think about it anymore, with little success.
Ten minutes after that, I was standing in a sea of pink.
Pink streamers, pink posters, and a crowd of pink-shirted people surrounded me. The only other time I had seen so much pink was in "Legally Blonde".
The Junior High gym had been transformed into a bustling place of breast cancer awareness. The Junior High volleyball team (with their shirts that said "Ladycats serving up a cure) stopped warming up and stood in a line resembling the breast cancer ribbon. My team joined it, and soon I found myself linking arms with two complete strangers.
Then the tear-fest began.
A family friend of mine (who was also my third grade teacher) stepped inside the gym, which then erupted with applause. Applause for the strong breast cancer survivor.
Tears streamed down her face as she approached the crowd of people on the court waiting for her. Her daughter ran up and hugged her, bursting into tears herself. Somehow I managed not to cry.
She was inside the circle of people now. A poem was read. It was about hope and strength, and overall a very nice poem.
The next girl who talked didn't have half as much self-control. A few lines in, and she was bawling into the microphone.
Anyone who wasn't crying before was crying now, and all I could think was, "I have to get out of here, I have to getout of here..." I wanted to run and find a secluded place where I could let it out in peace, but my feet wouldn't move.
When it finally ended, I told a friend that I was going to run back to the gym instead of waiting for a ride.
Then I was off.
I pushed myself as hard as I could go. People stared as I sprinted away, but for once in my life I didn't care.
When I reached the locker room (which was locked. Ironic?), I sat with my back against the wall, staring up into the blue sky. I knew I only had a few minutes to let it out and pull myself back together before the others drove up, but the tears wouldn't come. And that was fine with me.
I tried to call a friend of mine when I got home, but when the phone was answered his grandfather informed me that he wasn't home. I asked him to tell his grandson that Anne had called, and then I hung up. Maybe it was a good thing. I didn't want to cry to someone over the phone. I felt so soft and weak already.
I'd had enough emotional turmoil for one day.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sick Dreaming
Sickness has reached my home, ravaging havoc within my father and little brother. It's began to take it's toll on me as well, but going to school is my priority. I can't afford to fall behind now. If only I could keep it from terrorizing my nights....
Night before last, I was awake in bed. Voices came to me, mumbling mumbling mumbling. The dark room echoed with the mumbling. I was certain they were demons, come to eat my soul and drag me to Hell. I ran to my parents' room where I crouched against the bookcase, crying. My parents woke, and turned on the light. They looked at me, a pitiful ball of terror on the floor, more out of curiosity than anything else. Then they went to bed, like nothing was the matter, annoyed that they had been disturbed.
That's when I woke. I felt so cold, and my nose was running like Niagra Falls. I wanted to reach over to get a tissue, but I was afraid of the voices. So I curled up against the wall instead and prayed that the bad dream be put from my mind. But I should know by now, I remember every bad dream, because they are more like memories than my mind playing tricks.
Night before last, I was awake in bed. Voices came to me, mumbling mumbling mumbling. The dark room echoed with the mumbling. I was certain they were demons, come to eat my soul and drag me to Hell. I ran to my parents' room where I crouched against the bookcase, crying. My parents woke, and turned on the light. They looked at me, a pitiful ball of terror on the floor, more out of curiosity than anything else. Then they went to bed, like nothing was the matter, annoyed that they had been disturbed.
That's when I woke. I felt so cold, and my nose was running like Niagra Falls. I wanted to reach over to get a tissue, but I was afraid of the voices. So I curled up against the wall instead and prayed that the bad dream be put from my mind. But I should know by now, I remember every bad dream, because they are more like memories than my mind playing tricks.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
My Sanity
What is it that I want to say? Help me say it.
Be there. Listen. Help me find what I want to say, because I don't know what it is.
But it's there, eating away my sanity like a thousand ants on a dead bird.
Don't be angry with me because I feel like this.
Just be there. And listen.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Different
Everything feels so different. I remember when I would go to youth group three times a week. Now, it's like I have to ditch all my other responsibilities to go. I remember when I would do yard work once a week. Now it's like I never have time for anything. I remember how I used to ride with my sister to school everyday. But it's not like that anymore.
Nothing is the same.
Nothing is the same.
Monday, September 6, 2010
To Disappear
Why do my friendships always end with me drifting away from everyone? I don't want to be alone! But I'm so scared of offending people that I don't start the conversation. I always think that maybe, just maybe, they'll be the one to start talking to me. That they'll be the one to revive me. But that's bull crap! Why should they care if I disappear again? What difference does it make? NONE. I'm done. I'M NOT A FAKER. I'm just misunderstood. Just leave me alone. I want to talk, but if you don't then let me just rot in peace. *breathe in *breathe out *breathe in.....
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Life presently
Time is flying by. Last year, each day dragged on slowly. But now, it's all I can do to keep the days here in one place. Sometimes I want to take the day and pin it down to the ground to keep it from flying away, so I have time to blink my eyes before it's gone. Is it because I've lost a friend, or because I've gained so many more?
I feel comfortable with who I am. Playing volleyball, I can fit in. I can do whatever they can do. And they're nice to me. Really nice to me. At school, I can be myself. My sister isn't here to determine who I am. I determine who I am. I determine who I want to be. Her opinion doesn't matter when she is 100 miles away.
There are a lot of things that tear down on me, but those things don't seem to matter as much anymore. One of those things is the fact that I don't pray or read my Bible as much as I used to. It's awful. I know I need to, but it's like I never have time. It's very frustrating. Another, arguments and drama have broken a friendship that I once deemed to be my "life-line". But it's gone now, like dust in the wind. I haven't seen him in one and a half weeks, not to mention that he thinks I'm a fake. I miss him, but somehow I'm fine. Maybe because I know he won't read this, and because he doesn't miss me back. There's only one person he misses.
Band is hard. With this new director, I've realized how much I need to learn. Apparently, my tone is horrible. I memorize all my music to perfection. But it doesn't matter to her, because it sounds terrible. Because I'm terrible. It's a small comfort to know that I am way ahead of everyone else (That gives you a good description of our band).
Overall, everything is fine. Emotions in check. Attitude in check. Grades....not so in check. I'll have to work on that one haha....
I feel comfortable with who I am. Playing volleyball, I can fit in. I can do whatever they can do. And they're nice to me. Really nice to me. At school, I can be myself. My sister isn't here to determine who I am. I determine who I am. I determine who I want to be. Her opinion doesn't matter when she is 100 miles away.
There are a lot of things that tear down on me, but those things don't seem to matter as much anymore. One of those things is the fact that I don't pray or read my Bible as much as I used to. It's awful. I know I need to, but it's like I never have time. It's very frustrating. Another, arguments and drama have broken a friendship that I once deemed to be my "life-line". But it's gone now, like dust in the wind. I haven't seen him in one and a half weeks, not to mention that he thinks I'm a fake. I miss him, but somehow I'm fine. Maybe because I know he won't read this, and because he doesn't miss me back. There's only one person he misses.
Band is hard. With this new director, I've realized how much I need to learn. Apparently, my tone is horrible. I memorize all my music to perfection. But it doesn't matter to her, because it sounds terrible. Because I'm terrible. It's a small comfort to know that I am way ahead of everyone else (That gives you a good description of our band).
Overall, everything is fine. Emotions in check. Attitude in check. Grades....not so in check. I'll have to work on that one haha....
Things that make me sad
1. Satan
2. Arguments
3. Broken relationships
4. The sadness of those I love
5. Drama
6. Death
7. My emotions
2. Arguments
3. Broken relationships
4. The sadness of those I love
5. Drama
6. Death
7. My emotions
Things that give me joy
1. God's grace
2. Imagining Heaven
3. Playing the piano
4. Friends
5. Family
6. Knowing that everything will be okay.
2. Imagining Heaven
3. Playing the piano
4. Friends
5. Family
6. Knowing that everything will be okay.
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