I'm loosing faith in people rapidly and it's one of the scariest things I've felt in a long time.
And I'm reaching out for help in places I swore I never would, from people i never wanted to face again.
"Name the mental disorder and I probably know someone with it."
"Name the drug and I probably know someone on it."
Name the situation and I've probably been in it. Name the emotion and I've probably lived it harder than intended.
For some people, it's all about success and competiton and ranking each other.
Or about gossip and lies and backstabbing and rumors.
For me, it's all about living and breathing and experiencing, sensing, percieving, and savoring. Both the good and the bad.
And it's about being scared and embracing it. And apologizing and being less prideful and laughing and understanding.
And doing everything you can to experience life the best you can. Doing things just because you're able to.
Learning from each and every new situation and conversation and venture. I want to look back at my life and not have to wonder.
Because life is too damn short to be anything but happy. Even when that means hurting a little.

In elementary school they teach you to read, to write, to get along with others. You learn to obey your mentors, to care after class pets, to respect yourself. As we grow older the people we meet and things we experience will always test what we learned in the third grade at recess.
There’s this urge I used to get, to return back to my elementary school and just for a moment, make-believe I was infinite. It usually happened the night after I feel I have disappointed someone, or myself. I was drawn to the playground where nothing mattered but the earth, the sky, and whoever was ‘it’ during hide-and-seek. For the time I am back on that blacktop, I am innocent again. Something about being near the place I spent my childhood made me feel safe and untouchable. And when I stood atop the lush, grassy, hill overlooking Jones Lane Elementary, I was in control.
In my most recent years, I would go to the outdoor classroom found in back of the building to commemorate new parts of my life. I found myself watching the wind pick up the dust on the soccer field when I felt alone or troubled. When I felt happy, I observed the kids playing on the monkey bars after school. No matter what emotion, I could find a piece of the land I felt related to it. I would sit for what felt like hours channeling the simplicity of the atmosphere, and when that wasn’t enough, I would call my best friend to talk me through whatever crisis I may be facing.
Soon enough I found myself sharing the space with those I cared about. One person in particular understood the connection I feel to my former school. He could tell by my intonation and the breeze where I was, and would know I wasn’t okay if I called him from there. Within months I routinely began what felt like a therapeutic process of sitting on the playground and calling him; and when I unexpectedly lost my friend, I stopped going back. The flowers did not smell as sweet, and the rustling of the leaves made my head ache rather than relax my heartbeat.
In retrospect, I feel I may have ruined the good feelings I associated with Jones Lane by sharing it with someone else. I now believe there is no one you can trust as much as yourself to be around forever. However upon returning a year later, I feel the importance and symbolism attached to the unvarnished environment never faded. It has been over 365 days since I last returned, and the restorative process began just as it did when I was just one misguided kid looking to make-believe I was limitless.

Its because the best compliments are from people that just met you
Even if they're drunk.
Because those are the people who are not trying to live up to a standard.
Those are the first impressions, those are the people who aren't trying to keep on your good side,
Because .. they may never see you again - who are they trying to impress?

And it's knowing that you could make a complete fool of yourself
(with tears and irrational conclusions and salting wounds)
But still feeling the most important hug of your life
Not because of who it's coming from, but because of what you were feeling up until that moment
And what you felt after.

And when those greeting card copy words resonate in your ears
It's knowing better than to let them into your heart
Because of the way that's hurt you before in the past.
And knowing that it's not necessarily a bad thing to keep your soul under lock and key.

And it's also knowing that somewhere at some point in someone's life
they have felt what you do
hurt like you do
understood what you do.
And being completely okay with that.
Or comforted even.

I always said boys made good writing material.
And nothing more.

The day was just pretty sad overall. I had just come home from a weekend of flashbacks, new loves, and old problems. No other anniversary of this day had ever affected me the same. I had a new appreciation for what it felt like to loose someone you loved. What it meant for people to rise above such a tragdey. Before this year, I could never truely comprehend what pain these people have had to overcome. And suddenly I was hit with all of the grief I had been holding for so long, in the middle of the football field, holding a 99 cent candle and paper plate.

The candles were lit and just as mine took flame the wind blew it out, and my eyes glazed over.
Each candle symbolized hope, a new beginning, the strength needed to make it through such a tragedy.
Could this be symbolic of how weak I was being over such trivial things?
And just then something the speakers said just got to me.
One girl talked about how she spent 9/11/01 in a hospital in DC, while her little sister was born, and seeing people rushed in from the pentagon, and how such a situation put so many emotions in her all at once.
It amazes me constantly how much strength we as humans hold day by day,
and even more how so many people could rise above what happened that day and make their life better.
As I covered the flame from the wind with my hand, I realized that maybe the flame wasn't a symbol of strength.
How could something so fragile, melting and falling apart right before me, symbolize something so stable?
And perhaps that's where the problem lies. Perhaps hope, strength, new beginnings, and the ability to make it through each day are not something as self-contained as we believe it to be.

Maybe we all need a hand to protect us from the wind.

And as the trumpet sounded "Taps" in the air and the candles were extinguished, we walked off the field and I felt an arm around me.
Someone to dry my tears, hold my hand, stop me from shaking.
And without speaking she said, "Today doesn't have to be so bad."

You know, I used to think that I'd be fine by myself, but now I've realized that we need to do this together. This sky can be dark, the clouds heavy, and bad luck can haunt anyone but I knew that as long the four of us were together, we could get through it.

There were 'the perfect couple' and the 'best friend'. There were old flames and new sparks. The 'one you could tell anything' and the 'one who had all the answers'. The jock, the artist. The intellectual, the slacker. The drunk, the princess. All wrapped up in to, us. We all played our parts and we filled our roles. And sometimes we pressed our luck by trying to be something we weren't always 'meant' to be. 'The best friend' turned into a crush. 'The perfect couple' was torn apart. And then the jock was pulled from the team.

Each one of us had our share of slip-ups and meltdowns. But no matter what, there was always at least one of us willing to do some sort of damage control - whether it be by lending an ear or a hand, we were never completely alone. I would never have to deal with the world on my own.

Until now.

Because now, 'the best friend' has been sent away, to god knows where, with no warning. And now we're (I'm) falling apart fast. I used to think I'd be okay on my own, but now, I'm not so sure. The last year had been so comfortable, I felt so secure. I thought I could face the world just fine on my own, but I'm getting way too shaken up by this.

I would never admit it to anyone else, you know, that I felt intimidated by being by myself. But there's a sort of easy feeling about knowing someone (anyone) has heard what's been going on in my mind. Even if they don't care. Even if they think I'm just being melodramatic. Which, now that I think about it, maybe I am. I'm not entirely alone… there are millions of people worse off than I am. I shouldn't - no, I can't, keep feeling sorry for myself like this.

All I can think is: Remember to breathe. Fight back against that weight on my chest. Ignore the headaches. Forget I’m alone. Forget I've got 60 more years to live like this. Black out.

The four of us were never meant to be so isolated. We used to be so close, so untouchable. When you put any combination of us together, who knows what we could accomplish. But now we've turned into the kind of kids that get the honorable mentions, the silver medals. Now we’re nothing more than B-sides to hit singles. It just hurts to know that we've got so much potential, that we were meant for so much more than this. It's a shame that our former genuine smiles are now home to such hideous displays of depression. Not that the casual passerby can tell, but that’s only because the disappointment is covered with complacence as imaginary as that ring. (Both the one on your finger, & the one coming from your phone.)

Maybe it’s best just to move on. I could pretend that last year never happened, pretend that I’m not hurt. Some people I know put up a silly façade every day - so it can’t be that hard. But it’s foolish really, to fake like you’re happy. I don’t want to be one of those kids that wallow in disappointment forever. I’ll be okay again, right? I mean, no one can feel abandoned forever. I don’t know, I guess time will tell. To be honest, I’m a little worried. Some things are just too hard to forget.

Can we just build a time machine and go back?


(Back to before boyfriends were the new best friends and before clothes took priority over personality. Just one more time, let's play flashlight tag and chase the ice cream truck. Let's yell and giggle in the street until dusk when our mothers called for us to come in and take a shower. I miss it, more than I miss last year. Remember the feeling of the wind in your face as you pedaled your bike as fast as you could down the street? The thrill of screaming "Look! No hands!!" The brusies on your arms from were from "red rover" and the grass stains on your knees were from laughing until you fell to the ground. Cuts and scrapes were cool and imagination didn't make you "weird" or a "freak". Remember when a drink meant grape juice and pot was what your mom used to cook dinner? Streetlights meant bedtime and your parents could always fix your biggest of problems. Recess was after lunch, not in the middle of a court case; and homework was made up of cutting and pasting.)

Sometimes its not the people we desire, it's the feeling we get from them.

Tonight I wrote a letter to the members of my favorite band, and in doing so I teared up.
(I haven't cried in months. The tears were partly because of the bad day/week/month I had, but mostly in remembering what this band has helped me get through over the past two years.)
It's amazing the effect that people can have on you through music.
The raw emotion that can be displayed through your speakers.
The blood, sweat, and tears that has gone in to a band from both the fans and the members.
One thing that really bothers me is how some of the kids today don't know what it's like to be a true fan.
To know the feelings behind the words in a song so well it hurts.
Not to promote the idea of "elitest fans"
But to realize that there is more put into music than a synthesized beat and catchy hooks.
Nothing will ever beat the feeling of being against the barricade covered in sweat, looking up at the people who brought you the words that made it okay for you to feel and think and be the way you are.

Life's too short.
Three little words that mean a world of heartache and an ocean of tears.
But it's the Berlin of walls.

I'd break my phone if it would keep from calling out my insecurities.
Sometimes I think we all just ask for it.
Over-dramatic. Under-dramatic. Forced habits.
Fucking tablets.

And I'm looking for those words that will baffle your mind
Keep you phased all the time
Skipping beats and scratching phrases
Until you realize what a year changes

I'd scream along to our favorite track
say all the right things to make you laugh
If i wasn't feeling the sting of defeat,
also known as my personified uncertainty in the front seat

I've got to stop these horrendous rhymes.
Opened the door back to my house at 11:11
Ironic how those things work.
Let's leave it at that, and call it a night.