Existentialism. Mid-life Crisis. Dharma path. Spiritual realization.

What does it all mean?
Is it really supposed to mean anything?

I believe what I believe-can the same be said for all?
How can a path be so "right" if it forces you to question everything-to never stop questioning.

Why.

Why must we not be satisfied with who we are, where we are from, are, and going?
Can we not just sit back, think, b..r..e..a..t..h..e.

Every. Single. Thing. Does not need a reason to be.

Inhale. Exhale.

Calm yourself.

The Mean Reds

I love Breakfast At Tiffany's. Not because it's the cool movie to like, I just genuinely like it. At first glance, it's about a fabulously glamorous girl who knows exactly what she's doing and where she's going, but really, she's just a frightened girl whose only smarts are how to take care of herself.

There's something Holly Golightly, the heroine of the story, mentions a few times: The Mean Reds. And no, they're not like the blues. According to Holly, the blues are because you're getting fat, or maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible; suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. And the only cure for those, for Ms. Golightly, anyhow, is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's.

For a while I couldn't relate to the Mean Reds. Tiffany's, certainly. I've never gone into a Tiffany's boutique, but I do quite frequently troll the website, drooling over enormous, perfectly cut jewels and yards of diamonds and pearls. It was perfectly clear to me from the start the appeal that Tiffany's has; what girl doesn't adore beautiful colors and sparkle? And having a pastry and coffee while seeing them in lovely window display certainly seems a good way to end a rough night.

But only recently have I begun to relate to the bulk of Holly's fears and feelings. The Mean reds are horrible. The sudden creep of some unknown fear just chokes you, makes it impossible for you to see the light at the end of a suddenly very long, very dark tunnel. I've been in a state of depression once before. It lasted for quite some time and it was the scariest time in my life. I felt like a complete failure, like I disappointed everyone just by being, that I couldn't do anything right or good enough, that I'd never get anywhere, that I'd never meet anyone because I was too ugly, too loud, to confused. It really does shake you to your core. It's terrifying.

The scary thing is that lately the meanest of the Mean Reds are starting to come back. I think part of it is that I don't understand myself. I can make myself go to work way early in the morning, work overtime that no one asked me to work without even expecting to be paid for it week after week, and yet I can't go to a single one of my classes. Why the hell is that? Money is a factor, certainly, but shouldn't the promise of a degree be motivation enough? I'm certainly not making a long-term career out of my current job. Why can't I go to classes that aren't even that challenging?

And why can't I ever see myself as pretty for more than a month? I'll FINALLY get to a point where I'm not insulting myself every time I see my reflection, and I feel so good about everything, and then suddenly, it all just...falls apart. And each time it falls apart feels harder than the last. Right now I feel fatter an uglier than I have in a really long time. I feel alone, ugly, dumb (and not unintelligent-I feel I'm making stupid choices), unmotivated, and basically an overall failure. And it sucks. It's the shittiest feeling in the world. It feels like the Mean Reds just up and sucker punched me in the throat. Suddenly I'm afraid and I don't know what I'm afraid of, other than life itself. I spend so much time living in this fantasy world, making myself okay in my head, that I can't even face the real one anymore. I'm afraid of never finding the things that make me truly happy. I'm afraid of wasting my life. I'm afraid of letting every person I've ever looked up to down.



I don't know what my Tiffany's will be, but I'd really like it to come along soon.

This shit is getting to be too much.

Things You Should Never Ask Or Say....

Today I was going through boxes in my garage, since we're beginning to put things into storage, and I wanted to make sure that we weren't putting things that I wanted to have with me away. The few boxes we have left have really random things in them: old textbooks, duffel bags, baseballs (why we have an entire box full, I'll never know). But there was also one with slightly more meaningful things: drawings and letters and cards from when I was small. These have an especially significant meaning to me, because a lot of them have my mother's handwriting, and some of them are from her to me.

For those of you who don't know, my mom died when I was four. I'm okay with it. I'm not over it, because you can never get over a loved one's death. I have, however, learned to live with it, and to just live my life in a way she'd be proud of.

Something I've noticed over the years is that whenever I tell people my mother passed away, the majority of people make the face. The face one makes when consoling someone over a recent loss, like when you're at a funeral telling someone you're sorry for their loss: eyebrows furrow, eyes soften, lips frown in a sort of kind, pitying way. Now, I am in no way saying that the people are insincere in making the face, but honestly.....after a while, that shit gets irritating. She didn't die last week. I've had a long time and a lot of love to cope with it. I'm not going to burst into tears about it. Really, it's okay. We don't have to dwell on it. (For the record, I do still cry every once in a while, but that's always in private, and I don't go on all day about it. But that's beside the point.)

I am always polite about people acting this way, since they're only trying to be kind, and they mean well. But I always thought it would be nice for there to be some sort of guide to how you act when someone tells you they lost a parent when they were young. Not a completely serious one, mind you, more like a humorous one that gently tells you to lighten the hell up.

I got the idea for this post about a week ago while reading the blog of someone whose loved one served in the armed forces. They talked about a book they'd recently read a book about questions you should never ask a soldier. Some were funny, and some were serious. On their blog, they had made their own list of things you should never say to a military man/woman's lady/man. Both the wit and poignant intellect really struck me, and I absolutely loved the idea. So, at the risk of completely ripping off a genius idea (screw it. I'm totally stealing.), I present:

Things You Should Never Say To/Ask When Someone Tells You One Of Their Parents Passed Away

[I Know. The title is way too wordy and just kind of sucks.]

Oh, wow. How did he/she die?

That is an extremely personal question. Generally I tell people, (car accident, btw) if only to get them to stop asking questions, and because it requires minimal wording and no other explanation. But think about the question you're asking. what if she'd committed suicide? What if she'd died in front of me? What if I just didn't feel comfortable telling you in the first place? If I don't offer up the information, it's better to just not ask.

Car accident-was it a drunk driver?

What does it matter? Do you think I'll have some cool vendetta story about how I'm going to turn into a Batgirl of sorts to get my revenge? And what if SHE was the drunk driver?

Do you miss her/him?

Not at all! No mommy means no bedtime, and I can have all the ice cream I want!

Of course I miss my fucking mother.

Were you there when it happened?

Um. If I was, do you really think I'd want to talk to you about it? Only my closest friends would be privileged enough to know something like that, and they'd have enough sense not to ask.

So you're an orphan?

So you have the emotional range of a housefly? It's a very derogatory word. Calling someone an orphan is like calling someone a cripple-if THEY don't use the phrase, they're not comfortable with it. "Orphan" is the most hurtful thing I have ever been called, and I have been called a LOT of things.

How old was he/she?

I honestly never understood point of this one. But, if you must know, as old as Harry Potter's mother was when she died. Go look it up.

So you live with your mom/dad? (whichever isn't dead)

Not necessarily. What if I'd never known my father (I wish)? What if they're in prison for murdering the other parent? Honestly, if people ever stopped to think about the possible answers to the boorish questions they ask, they'd never ask.

Was it hard for you?

Nope! Having my mother pass away was a piece of cake. YES it was hard. And for the record, age has nothing to do with it. If you're young when it happens you're sad about all the time you'll never have with them, and if you're older when it happens you're sad about all the time you'll never have with them, regardless of how much time you had with them while they were alive.

In closing, kindness in regards to someone who tells you they've lost a parent is never unappreciated, but you don't have to go overboard. You didn't know them, and it's more than okay that you don't dwell on it. You don't have to console me, and it's not impolite of you to not ask any questions. I'm sure you don't really want to know all the details, and I'm more than happy to not be forced to dwell on one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. "I'm sorry" really is the nicest thing you can say. It is so underestimated, but it conveys so much. I think the unspoken part of "I'm sorry" in this context is, "How sad. That must have been/be hard. I would hate to go through something like that. You seem to be dealing with it very well. I'm sorry that you have to deal with that."

The absence of my mother is a personal thing. I look to the people I love most for support on the days when it gets particularly hard, and they're there for me. If someone reaches out to you and wants to talk about it, ask all the questions you want; they're inviting you to. But honestly, saying you're sorry and just moving on with the conversation is really a very caring gesture. It's like a spoken hug :)

I just found out that one of my favorite bands, Armor For Sleep, broke up a week ago.

I read this while listening to them, too-how ironic.

"What To Do When You Are Dead", their sophomore album, is one of the best concept albums-one of the best albums period-thatI've ever heard. It's powerful, poignant, and beautifully done. It's a story about a man, and what happens after he dies. The first song is his suicide, and the thoughts and emotions that run through his mind. The second song is his realization that the afterlife isn't what he expected; he can't outrun his pain like he expected to. The rest of the album follows him as he follows the woman he loves; she can neither see nor hear his ghost, but talks to him. He first is comforted by the fact that she still loves him, then despairs in the fact that she'll one day move on. One of the most powerful points in the album is when he says he'll be around her, just keeping watch over her, until she dies: "About 50 years left of this waiting around."

That gives me chills. He loves this girl so much that he'll dutifully follow her, despite the new men that will come into her life, despite the fact that her love will eventually fade, until she's gone. He won't move on to whatever comes after this, because it's not right without her. "I came down here to tell you: It rains in Heaven all day long. I wanna find you so bad, and let you know I'm miserable up here without you."

When I just sit and listen to this album in its entirety, I cry. Not always, but it's happened on several occasions. It's made me realize two things: 1) I hope and pray that I'll be lucky enough to find someone who loves me that much, and 2) If & when I lose my significant other to death, I will never again be able to listen to any of these songs. Ever. They're that powerful, and I would be so scared of them being there in spirit and not being able to hear them.

It's a beautiful work of art, and has been on my favorites list ever since I bought it four years ago.

So, in closing, thank you, Armor For Sleep, for the amazing music. I will miss you, but at least you've left something great for us to remember you guys. <3333

Today....second round.

He called today.

He's still with her, and that still means next to nothing to me.

I still love him.

He's still my best friend. He's still the weird boy from Kansas I met in ninth grade, the only one who loved MCR as much as me, the wild, hyper, happy-go-lucky driver. The bad-yet-good driver, the funniest joker,the best shoulder in the world to cry on. And he still knows who I am. He hasn't forgotten me, and I haven't given up on him.

His message was the first thing I saw when I woke up this morning. And I have decided that I will not let him fade away again. I read a quote today that said; "Let no one who loves be unhappy....even love unreturned has its rainbow."--J.M. Barrie

So, if the world turns out to be less perfect than a fairytale, I vow to still be there for him. Things happen-life happens-and you don't always get what you want. She gets him? Okay. I can live with that. She makes him happy, and if I begrudge him happiness I shame the very word "friend". Even if I can't have him, how lucky am I just to have him in my life?

I'm not sure if or when I'll ever let him go, but I know that I will be the best friend to him that he is to me; I'll be the best shoulder to cry on, his hyper, happy-go-lucky counterpart, his adventure buddy. Not being with him doesn't equal total unhappiness.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I will try. I will try so, SO hard to believe that. I will cry when I need to, laugh when I want to, and I'll be damned if I can't be just as important to him as her.

But I am so afraid.

Say Anything About God

I just finished reading a Say Anything article in the November issue of AP.

I loved it.

It was pretty small--about a page and a third, if you take the pictures out--but it said a lot. It touched on how Max Bemis, mouthpiece and leader for the band, has gone through various shitty struggles, like drug problems, public meltdowns (he spat in peoples' food at a restaurant in NYC), being hospitalized for bipolar disorder, and finally getting out of an awful, soul-sucking three year long relationship to reveal that he's over all that and in a better place.

The best part? He totally gave a shout-out to God. He said one of the coolest quotes about God's love and dear friends/family's love I've ever heard:

"At this point in my life, as much as I still can get my feelings hurt, I've learned [to recognize] the people who love me. I love myself and God's love [for] me, so I don't really need every single person to love me."

Amen, Max.

The first reason I thought this was so cool is because he's gone from not believing at all to realizing that God does exist, and He does love everyone. The second is because for the past few years, the only openly spiritual people who were constantly talking about God were Underoath.

Now, I like Underoath's music, and I respect the fact that they're open about their beliefs, but that's where my admiration and respect end. They are horribly holier-than-thou in their attitudes, going so far as to completely turning their backs on a band member when he had a serious cocaine problem and needed help. They just left him in complete darkness. I was horrified when I read that. WWJD? Well, he sure as hell wouldn't have left anyone, much less a close friend, alone in their most desperate time of need. The most appalling part of that article was that NO ONE showed any sign of thinking their reaction to his drug use was disgusting, unacceptable, and the most un-Christian behavior they could have possibly displayed.

So the fact that someone whom I've always admired and thought was so cool is open and adamant about his beliefs, while still being open minded, is awesome. He also said something else near the end of the article about how he feels he should live:

"I have better things to do with my time than to be the typical tortured artist. There are political systems and sociological mechanisms that could literally destroy this earth. My grandkids could be dead from us not taking care of this world and of each other. If I'm going to be trying to live this stupid, kvetching life, it's a waste of time. It's a waste of what God gave me."

So that's 2 God shout-outs and 0 put-downs. That, ladies and gents, is how I prefer my heroes to act; like actual heroes.

So, Mr. Bemis: you rule, God loves you, and I'm even more of a superfan than before. Keep kicking ass and living life.

Today.

Today I looked at pictures of a very dear friend of mine. This person was my one best friends, always understanding, always there for me, always willing to listen.

Until, that is, they decided that their new get-drunk friends were more worth their time than me. They called me less often than they used to, and visits were even more scarce. But the funny thing is, no matter how long it took them to call me back, or visit me, or be remotely present in my life, I could never stay mad. Never. I could be completely angry and upset, and vow to let them have it when I next saw them, and be absolutely fuming for days; then, they would show up on my doorstep and suddenly, every bad feeling would just...go away. The second I saw them, I was happy. I completely forgot about everything I had stored away to tell them, like how I hated that I felt forgotten, that I felt unworthy of my best friend's time, that I hated the glimpse I had of who they were becoming. They even forgot about the concert they promised to take me to-I still have the tickets-and even so, I couldn't bring myself to mar the time I had with them, however fleeting.

It took me a while to figure out why I could never do it, why I could never tell them how much I wished they hadn't changed.

Then one day, I finally got it. I had fallen in love with my best friend.

I had to say it aloud for it to finally register, but it did. I was so joyful every time he came around, I completely wrote off every shitty thing he did, I made excuses for him time and time again. Any other friend I would have confronted by that point, but no this one.

Then, as ironically and tragically as a Shakespeare story, my best friend changed. Not two weeks after I realized I loved him, he completely changed. He started to blow off the people he'd been blowing me off with for even scummier people. His lifestyle, goals, even his outlook on life changed.

And, to top it off, he'd found, not just a girl, but a girl he loved. And slept with, and partied with, and blew me and everybody else off with.

So, while I was mustering up the courage to tell him how I felt, he told me about how amazing this scumbag girlfriend who drinks and does drugs and lives in a shitty part of town is.

I had to hear every sordid detail of their relationship, wishing I was her and realizing that there was no way I could possibly have a smidgen of what I want.

He hasn't called me since the beginning of June, and he hasn't been the best friend he used to be since last December. And you know what?

I realized today that, despite everything-how shitty a friend he's been, how heartbroken he's made me, how he's not the person I used to know, I still love him. I still love him, still hate who he's with, and I still hate that I'm not her.

All the shit I've been through, and I'm still making excuses for him.

....And there's not a day where I don't wish he'd call.