I’m watching my friends get beat up from behind a glass wall. And maybe it’s happening to me too. All I know is that it’s unbearable.
It has been less than 5 minutes and I have noticed typos and just how off track my latest post got.
Sorry. It’s late and I SHOULD be going to sleep.
The next one will be better, you have my word. Until next time.
Lately I have found that there is no better way to escape the misery of junior high school and society than by drowning yourself in church and music, or both at once. I have been having the worst time lately. Or so it seems. I humiliate myself often and don’t cut myself enough slack. Anxiety has taken possession over my entire being, and sadness takes hold at night, wracking my body with sobs and all kinds of fear and confusion.
So I went to church.
Nothing felt better than to be surrounded by people who no matter what will not ever stop loving you. And that includes the big guy upstairs. It felt so great to feel…worth. And happiness. And not have a singly worry, nothing but maybe one prayer request, cross my mind.
And then there’s the blasting of music/death of my eardrums. I think that if I play my music loud enough to be absorbed in it, I won’t be able to hear my pesky little anxieties scurry through my mind. And it works. The lyrics and I become one; my empathy makes me experience everything the song’s story tells. It is amazing, let me tell you. The best therapy.
This may sound so cliche, but things really DO get better. Maybe I’m a coward for running from my trails and tribulations. As long as it works and you can overcome what you face, however, then I believe you’re extremely brave.
Stay strong. I love you, whoever you may be.
It’s almost midnight and I’m staring out my window, at the ceiling, anything the TINIEST bit more interesting than the pitch black of my room. One of the good things about not being able to sleep is that it gives me room to think, room that I normally am deprived of throughout my typical day.
My thoughts can’t be put into words. At least not accurately. That’s the amazing thing about life. Our thoughts, emotions, actions are so complex and unique that even the most magnificent of words fail to describe them. Because when I look at the sky, at the stars shining for me, I get a feeling deep down that makes me forget who I am. I’m filled with wander and happiness and lust for adventure for that perfect moment. All because I just couldn’t sleep, but got the chance to peek out my window.
The bad thing about insomnia is that I’ll be exhausted, grumpy, intolerant, and emotional when I get up. Great. More reasons to be mad when my mom calls me an angsty teenager.
Sorry for this post. It’s late and I’m tired. But some experiences I have to write. I have to save them. Because one day, I’m going to look back and this will bring me back to a happy place, give me a reason to stand up a little straighter and keep going.
So I challenge you, dear reader- what are the little things in life that keep you going? No, not family, friends, boyfriend/girlfriend, the usual. No, I mean the details. The things that define YOU. Your perspective. Etc. Take a look into these small things and you may see just how great you have things, or just how appreciative you are of something. All I know is that things like stars put a smile on my face and fill me with a feeling of wanderlust. And if you have not ever felt that, dear reader… you have not lived quite yet.
As I’m writing this, I’m flying over New Mexico at 34,295 ft on my way to the beautiful San Francisco. I have managed to get stuck between my 6th grade brother and some oriental chick who’s been typing who knows what in Mandarin Chinese ever since we got on the plane. She hasn’t spoken a word; I think my brothers scared her when we first boarded. My first thought: “This is gonna be a fun four hours.” And then my brother made things even more interesting.
There are these freaky little chat rooms on airplanes that let you talk to anyone in the plane. Complete strangers can find you on the plane and strike up a conversation with you, if you accept of course. My brother decided to pick a poor random person to chat with, and surprisingly, this person actually accepted the chat invitation. His name was simply “dan.” Lowercase-d “dan.” I don’t know who he thought my brother was, but all the sudden he was sending winky faces, asking for glasses of white wine, talking about things that are certainly not appropriate for 12 year old boys, and telling my brother to “hit him up.”
First off, just..EW. My brother is not homosexual. And second, if you want someone to hook up with, don’t do it over a plane chat room. Go to a strip club or something once you land.
It bothered me that this guy had no idea who he was talking to but still was a pervert just for the sake of being a pervert. To my relief, my brother exited that chat pretty quick, but still!
I don’t even know what else to say.
Thank you, Mr. Pedophile, for starting off my vacation this way. I sure do appreciate it.
If you are reading this, welcome to my new blog. I’m starting fresh. Wiping the slate clean. And I’ll be sharing these little pieces of my world with you as I stumble through this intricate process of life.
A few things about me. My name is Annie. I’ve struggled with depression, insomnia, eating disorders, the entire package. However, I choose to not let that ugly part of my life weigh down this new chapter. I’m an old soul, as my mom says, and I’m a middle aged woman trapped in a teenager’s body. I like quiet things and I’m not very social.
For those of you reading this, thank you. You are wonderful and I thank you for bearing with me as I start this again.
PS- go check out my very very talented friend’s blog. He’s an amazing writer and he’s the one that got me back into this business. Find him here: http://superbloggerboy.wordpress.com/author/superbloggerboy/
I love you. More posts coming soon.