Thursday, January 29, 2015

Pure Thinking

I am a writer, every bit of me, and writing is my drug and my safety net and my pure unfiltered happiness, I am shaking and eager and I feel my fingers twitching half an hour is too long I need to pour the words out ---

I am desperate, not waiting for things to load, pulling up the document so fast that the computer can barely register that somehow there is activity on it but it is able to get there in time;

I choose technology because my thoughts can be transcribed as quickly as I can write and then I don’t have to worry about messy handwriting and an inability to read what I have made.

I am shaking, drug withdrawal, swallowing air as I almost-run, the decorum of school and the need to write keeping me from saying softly “how are you” even as I give a routine answer to the same question.

I feel a sense of covering peace and I allow my thoughts to swirl barely bothering to organize them as I forgo typical conventions and write, I will make it better later perhaps spread it out I am broken and I am whole and memories are flooding and I am choking

The overdoses and old age and cancer and death and life and the way I rocked my two-day-old baby cousin to sleep the first time I met him and how beautiful he was, I am, you are, we are all bursting at the seams with light!

No man is an island, so the saying goes, and it’s true that we cannot live in isolation but no creature can have eternal loneliness, there must be connection even if it is only a day that marks the connection it still has to happen

Loneliness is fatal to any living creature think of the redwoods together they are the biggest trees in the world and I can’t see how people forget the beauty of the natural world,

The beauty of smog-covered cities with their dazzling lights and the way the people walk, an organized chaos that doesn’t exist in the natural world - and it is gridlike or curving but a labyrinth that is impossible to comprehend.

I am pacing back and forth in my room I am waiting for news did he come home I do not know him but my friend does and something tells me there is bad news,

There is something wrong when he comes back he’s not acting the same and I cannot breathe I am afraid of what will happen there is destruction but my friend laughs it off and says that things are fine he’s just being weird no problem ---

And then I am in another place, another time, and I cannot go to school I am in a strange bed and I cannot breathe my mother could die her heart is malfunctioning no no I am too young I cannot lose her not like this stay, stay, stay ---

I am crying and shaking and shattered how could she betray me like that I thought we were best friends and how obvious that I am wrong that she did not feel the same way I felt about her ---

I am watching her run and I do not hesitate I follow her outside I hold her and she is crying and nobody has run after her before and she says I’ve saved her and I am whispering and I am comforting and I am the friend who followed her when she could have died they do not move ---

He calls me I am not at home I see the message I am staring oh no oh no oh no he is upset I know he is depressed is he dead I am waiting anxiously and with the reply a breath of air leaves me, one I didn’t know I was holding in oh thank God he’s alright he’s alright I cannot think ---

I am angry she is drunk she is writing me messages saying she is fine but I think of her liver and her brain and it’s illegal but her health I want her alive I tell her to stop she says she wants to and it makes her happy, but what if she dies?  I can’t take another one ---

I am at home and my dog cannot move all she does is wag her tail and I am crying and my dad lifts her and we go and she is wagging her tail, sitting in back with my dad; our arrival marks her death as they slip the needle in and I see her tail stop wagging I know she is gone and I cry ---

I am stunned I cannot move he can’t be dead I was going to visit him this week, I mean I forget but I couldn’t forget again life wasn’t that busy where has he gone I can’t think; I run and hide and it is words that console me ---

And embers and flames and light and I see it we are all bright light we are meant to be shared, there is no isolation in humanity, the conflux of ideas the sharing of ideas, this is where great things happen, share your light it is the most bright blinding white I have ever seen - I am watching and I see it flicker out and there is a gaping hole in the universe.

I scream, I scream “NO” a million times over how are you gone?  How do people leave?  I am left behind, I am broken, tape and glue can only do so much.

I reach out, catching hold of anyone I can and drowning them in love and letting them know I care and being there for them even as I shatter.  I carry my weight and your weight and the weight of the world I feel every death so keenly and it hurts,

I am left awake at night hurting because of death and sin and the way so many people are lonely, the worst one of all is the children without families and the animals left in cages ---

I am reaching and burning wait no stop come back run away I cannot think I cannot breathe I am chasing my own tail I am drowning I am dying and falling ---

Lights intermingle, I feel at peace, there is happiness.  I see the world in bright Technicolor, and everyone has the clearest light everywhere.  I see the sadness, catch the way the grey has an almost-look and I reach out for a hug ---

I am craving kisses and warmth and arms that hold me I am thinking I miss him I am thinking about him all the time he is fine though he is solid he listens the weight lifts I am in love and it is love, a pure love and I’m thinking it’s true but this relationship is so unfamiliar we are on unsteady ground, me eighteen and him twenty and how do you count the days?  April 16th I actually remember his birthday ---

I am craving late nights writing together and I am dreaming of her coming and us giggling and her getting frustrated because I am clingy but I am hoping hoping she will come I want to see her eyes in real life, herself in real eternity instead of an image on a screen, I reach and I comfort and she is everything to me ---

I am loneliness and isolation and there is no-one, no-one there.  They are all gone, all busy with their lives and nobody is left to see me ---

I am skipping lunch to write but later I will eat I just need to let it out, my drug, the way it makes me feel whole.

I want to save everyone but I know I can’t.  They may save themselves but I am thinking, I did not save myself;

I’m not sure who did, really, maybe it was a little bit of all of us - of me, of God, of my mom, the people I love ---

I am being held back by five hands as I go to hurt him, hit him, how dare he make my friend uncomfortable I will kill him I will kill him - suddenly I remember myself and sit back down and the lunch is quiet I am afraid of myself, I am not violent ---

It is dangerous, it is a curse, it is a blessing pure I can count myself lucky as someone who has seen the power of God and someone who has what seems like an impossible web of protection while I’ve had friends who’ve nearly died because of evil spirits ---

I am counting lights in the room, I am a light, I get a vision briefly of our infinite colors tied together.  It is nirvana, I use the word easily because I feel such a great sense of peace and I realize in the end there is safety, there is love,

We are all a million colors in our souls and our souls are free, in our bodies or outside of them, and I am taking deep breaths because I can breathe.

Strange how in the darkness there can come great peace, and strange how in the light pure thinking seems silly,

And strangest of all how words are the only method to heal.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

People Passing.

Names changed for privacy reasons.  I don't always remember to do this but I need to.

For my creative writing class, we are supposed to write a letter to someone who has gone from our lives.  With all the people I have known that haven’t stayed, I couldn't pick just one.  So this letter is to all of you.
Let’s start at the beginning; let’s start young.  I can’t remember the people as a baby, but I can remember from preschool.  I had my first crush, on my best friend’s older brother.  He was in first grade when I was four, so only two years older than us.  On the last day of preschool, he gave me a kiss on the check.
So, to you, I say thank you.  Thank you for seeing your little sister’s friend as someone who was worth humoring.  Thank you for making me light up with happiness.  Thank you for giving me a memory and a silly story.
In elementary school, past preschool, I met a friend.  His name was Q.  He had curly black hair, cut close to his head, and dark eyes.  I never saw his skintone, but I can remember him being black.  I remember in second grade I said, “Let’s hold hands.”  I saw innocence in it, but he looked startled.  “No, we’ll get in trouble with the teacher,” he said, “Remember in first grade?”  I was so disappointed and no, I didn't remember, but I accepted the explanation.
Thank you for being my best friend.  Thank you for making my mom forget skin colors for a while.  Thank you for letting me see that people were people even though I didn't know it when I didn't care.  Years later I still think of you fondly, I still miss you.  You were a good friend.
R was a funny boy from Australia.  When we went out into snow, he was surprised.  “My boots are dry!” he cried.  He didn't know snow melted.  And I hung out with him all the time, T and D and him and me.  In third grade he was going to leave, and I remember the last time I saw him.  We were on a train in the Grand Canyon.  We ran around and talked and caught up and reminisced and had fun.  Until a lady said that there were unattended kids and we were being annoying despite the fact we kept to ourselves.
Thank you, R, for making me laugh and smile.  Thanks for your accent and for being so willing to have fun.  You were an absolutely amazing person when I knew you, and I have no doubt that you are an amazing person today.
I always fought with one girl.  We were both bossy, and we wanted things to go our way.  So we fought and fought to play the right games.  But the next day, without fail, we would apologize.  One time we fought before the weekend.  She was moving.  I never got a chance to apologize and say good-bye.  But she left me a letter, written with her name, and it was an apology and a good-bye.
Thank you for the letter, Dee.  Thank you for reminding me to swallow my pride years later and write an apology if I can’t speak it.  Thank you for remembering me and for caring about me enough to give me the last bit of yourself I’d have.  I've lost the letter now, but I still remember you wrote your name in large letters and in pink pen or pink marker and that you had made the envelope it was in yourself.  I don’t remember your handwriting or your words but I remember the meaning.  And that’s everything.
K and I would always play after school under the watchful eye of my mom and her grandmother.  We would play extraordinary games.  We went on daring adventures and saved the world countless times.  We wandered through forests and freed animals from a zoo.  We healed fatal wounds and got in epic swordfights.  We fought off beasts and monsters.  When she left, I cried.  The last day she had, and I sat aside and cried.  She gave me a stuffed unicorn as a good-bye; I named it after her.
K moved to another state.  I miss you, my friend.  You and I had so much fun, and you taught me more than I think either of us know.  To take the chance to say goodbye.  To not care about people’s ages or opinions but love them because they were people.  You showed me the value of imagination, and thank you for coming into my life.
To finish off elementary school, there was C.  C was a strange kid and a loner.  But we played during recess, just the two of us.  We played stories that were a little dark for two eleven-year-olds, stories about death and ghosts and revenge.  But our stories always had happy endings.
That’s what you taught me, after all.  That no matter how bad it gets, the stories always have a happy ending.  There’s always a happy ending.  Later I learned that you make your endings happy, but thinking of our happy endings gave me hope in the darkest of times.
D and I were friends.  I've seen him a couple of times, but because of his mild autism his mother had him go to a different middle school.  He was always so happy and I was so glad to know him.
D, you rock.  Seriously.  We really need to be friends on Facebook.  You taught me the value of happiness.  You helped me learn to make people happy.  And thank you, most of all, for teaching me to accept people regardless of anything else about them.
I don’t remember everyone in middle school, and middle school is a time I would rather forget.  But one way or another they taught me strength.  So, thank you, jerks and assholes, for helping me learn to be strong.  Thank you for making me doubt my religion so that I came back with a real testimony of the power of God.  Thank you, in the end, for helping me see that I am always worth something even when the world thinks I am worth nothing.
And to the girl who probably still hates me - thank you too.  I’m sorry you’re hurting, I’m sorry you felt that being mean was the best way to raise yourself up.  But I was not some doormat back then, and in the end I remember the value of staying true to yourself.  Thank you for teaching me that I’m not better than anyone else, while at the same time my compassion will always shine through.  Thank you for letting me see that my greatest strength is in my love for others, no matter who the others are.
As a roleplayer, I am often on the computer.  One forum I was on, well, I got in a fight.  I said something mean, apologized, and the apology was never accepted.  I was joking in the first place, but apparently that didn’t matter.  But when he was making someone else feel uncomfortable, there was no way I would stand down.  Ever.  Even if it got me kicked off and only the person whose religion I defended still thought I was a good person and everyone else on the site thought I brought it on myself.
Thank you.  Thank you for teaching me what it is to be a good role model.  I do not pick favorites because that’s wrong, and you showed me that.  Thank you for teaching me to be respectful to everyone, regardless of their beliefs.  Making someone uncomfortable should be what got everyone upset, not me making a - sadly misinformed - joke and then defending someone else.  So thank you for teaching me yet more about love and compassion.  And thank you for standing by me, and showing that standing up for myself and others does result in good things - which I hadn't seen until then.
There’s so many people I never got to say good-bye to.  These are the people who have died in my life, throughout all the times while I was dealing with the loss of moving and separation.
Scott, thank you for teaching me I’ll see you in heaven.  You’re waiting for me even now, and I’ll be so happy to see you again.  Thanks for letting your kids babysit me, and feeling like another uncle.
Grandma, thank you for teaching me the value of compassion to strangers.  Thank you for your silly stories and your old hands and your warm nature.  Thank you for teaching me that the world is my family if I treat them like one.
Daisy, thank you for teaching me loyalty and patience.  Thank you for showing me that age is no excuse to lose enthusiasm, and that snow makes a delicious meal.  Thank you for letting me know that my mistakes won’t stop people from caring about me.
Grandpa, thank you for showing me that words do not mean everything.  Thank you for telling me you loved me without having the words to do so.  Thank you for showing me that love can and will last forever.
Lacey, thank you for tolerating me.  I put an eyepatch on you, put soap on you, and basically did everything annoying that a little kid could.  And you just dealt with it.  You never clawed or bit me, you went whining to my mom and then continued to love me.  Thanks for standing on the footstool with me, and thank you for sleeping with me.  Thank you for teaching me that love doesn't have to be loud to be real.
Mr. H, thank you for teaching me that there’s always time for being goofy.  Thank you for, well, teaching me.  Thank you for being goofy.  And an all-around good person.
In my life I will lose more people.  But I have learned that I can learn something from everyone.  So I miss all of the above and wish they never left.

But I wouldn't be who I am today if not for them.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015


I got a new job.
And I love it.  I adore it.  I am working with kids, in a warm environment, with people who are kind and I think understanding of my peer-related shyness.

But I am so bone-weary.  Two days in and I am absolutely exhausted.

Not just from the lack of sleep, and I am sleeping less because I need to have my mind not feel like it's going to explode so I write and play games and relax, but...
It's deeper.

And I don't want to quit.  But I feel so inadequate, and I am so tired, and I want this job more than anything.  But I am not sure I can handle a job and school.

But I have to.
Welcome to reality, me.

It's shit.

Just got to see this through.  Got to have a job.  My mom's been upset and irritated because I didn't have one.  I have no choice.  I love this job.  It's good.  I have a relationship with some of the kids.  Keep on keepin' on.

Monday through Thursday, for around three hours.  Sometimes less, sometimes more.  That's not a lot.  I can't imagine next week it'll be more than four days either.
It's easy.  Certainly not the 36 hours my mom worked while going to school.

But I'm more sad than before, more easily upset, more depressed.  I am exhausted.

And the thing is I feel so inadequate.  Today I was sluggish.  Slow.  Luckily there's two of us, but I should have been the one leaping into action when someone was in trouble.  I'm new.  I need to prove myself.

But I registered it minutes later.
I do a terrible job of sweeping.  I try, I really do, but I'm just... not good.
(at anything)

I have to handle this mentally.
But I'm not sure I can.
And I am sick of that.
Six years is enough.
Can I get rid of this depression thing already?

If only it were easy.

Saturday, January 24, 2015



Additionally, we don't wear them during sex or showering.  Seriously, how does that even work?


This chick is a million miles of fabulous.  You need to check out her jawdropping music and absolutely gohorgeous videos.

and she's Mormon which just like makes her a thousand times better.

Imagine Dragons is awesome too

Yeah so 2/4 isn't bad.

As I regularly joke with my friends, every time I hear of another Mormon who's in a high position in politics or famous or someone they know that isn't me, Mormons are taking over the world.

It's a joke, kids.  And also kind of true.  I mean, true in a 'heeyyy more Mormons than every whoo!)

So getting that out of the way, let's talking about Mormonism.

I tried this a while ago, got a comment that hurt my feelings, and deleted the post.  Braver, stronger, 18 and almost a legal adult, here we go.

I'm getting another thing out of the way too.

(this video comes from Mormon Stories, which is all about supporting Mormonism, and all of these people - as far as I can tell - are still Mormon)

(*dies a laughing death* anyway this was amusing, sweet, and actually helped me garner more understanding so you know THAT'S GOOD)

Additionally I fully embrace homosexuals loving whoever they want.  Anyone who knows me can tell you I absolutely freaking adore my cousin and his partner.  They are ninety million levels of adorable.
Okay.  Good.  I've gotten that out of the way.

And because I'm lazy, here's another beautiful video that explains the role of women in the church:
Adding onto this video, women cannot act in the name of God but they can still call upon His name to help her and her family.  How do you think single women function?  A prayer can do wonders, but using His voice is also wonderful.  Plus, women actually do a lot more service than men - of course they'd need a way to catch up to us ;3  Kidding, kidding.  Kind of ish.  I don't know that takes more explanation than I am willing to do xD

Next thing to explain (which does not have a handy dandy video wah): racism in the church.
Way back when Joseph Smith first started things there was a black priesthood holder.  Yup.  Now, after that, this was quickly changed.
Let's get the lowdown of the times: this was either recently after the Civil War or even before (heaven knows I'm terrible with dates.  It was in the 1800's okay? XD  Utah was a part of Mexico at the time).  Racism was prominent.
Most churches were separated, but Mormons had blacks in their church.  They prevented blacks from having the priesthood because they were already being prosecuted.  If they allowed blacks to have the priesthood, it would worsen the prosecution.
To tell you how bad it was... Joseph Smith was in jail for having committed the crime of, basically, creating a religion.  A mob managed to break in this jail, despite people protecting it, and killed him.  People chased Mormons away from wherever they lived, blaming bad things on them.  Much like Jews through much of history.  HMM.
So of course the last thing we want is more persecution!
So in the 1970's, not long after the Civil Rights movement, blacks could be priesthood holders again.  There was still racism, and this whole time blacks joined the church and were not separated.  Many blacks were almost instantly given the priesthood.

Finally, polygamy.  I turn once more to What Mormons Believe, because she gets the message across clearly and it's LESS TYPING FOR ME (also I watch these videos before posting them so you know :3):
('eyyy this taught me stuff I didn't know!)  An additional reason: women weren't treated equally, and it was a struggle to take care of themselves.  Lots of widows were married to men who had other wives because it was hard for them to take care of themselves.  With the only option to be a poor schoolteacher and struggles and woo!

And because I want to let you know that Mormons are amazing and we're kind, a conversation between myself and my friend:
friend: wut
friend: OH S**T RUN AWAY

that isn't to say I haven't met a mean Mormon.  I have... once.  It was weird to find she was a Mormon and I still have trouble believing it even though I saw her walking into the church.

And, finally.

My testimony.  Because everything needs to be finished off with that.

I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I believe in the Bible and the Book of Mormon.  I know Jesus Christ is my Savior and He died for me on the cross.  I know that God loves me, and He loves all the readers of my blog, and all my friends and family, no matter what they look like or their personal beliefs.  I know that He has blessed me with a support system that can't be beat, and I know that my trials are to make me a stronger and better person.  I am grateful He has placed obstacles in my path, and I am grateful there are times when Jesus has carried me.
I'm so thankful that I am a "posterchild of unconditional acceptance" of everyone so that I may be an example and a friend to everyone who needs one.  I'm grateful that I have a chance to mimic His love for all of us on Earth.
I know the Church is true.  I know that good people go to heaven, even if they aren't necessarily Mormon.  I know that I have a place in the Celestial Kingdom as long as I follow Him, and I know He will guide me into the right path.
I say these words in the name of His son, Jesus Christ, amen.

Have a wonderful day, guys.  One last thought, from the same friend as above:
"I don't think I've ever expressed to you how grateful I am that you are so religious and yet so accepting and loving of bi/homo/whatever-sexuals".
Basically? Most Mormons in a nutshell.

Love you, even if you're a stranger <3


time, money, resources.

Whatever I can give, I want to give it.

Here's some suggestions.

Some more?

There's organizations that fight against child slavery, an ongoing issue in the US and around the world.  Animal charities.

Whatever you can give, give it.

I know I want to give more.

Youtube, Man...

Anyone who has been on the internet for more than a day knows that comments are possibly the best thing to ruin any bit of joy you've collected over a day.

This lovely video had people saying that it would be better that this happy, mostly-healthy boy was aborted.  They said that he will suffer his whole life, that the mother was selfish, that he'd have a million issues and never be independent.

They just wanted to push an agenda.  Seriously.

A friend of mine - who unfortunately I've lost contact with - is legally blind.  She was adopted by a blind single mother.  They don't just function, they thrive.

Thousands of children have cleft lips or cleft palates that are far more severe than what this baby boy has.  They get the surgery they need and grow up independent and fine.

He will be bullied.  We all get bullied.

But he will grow up fine.

And I am eternally grateful that this bundle of joy and pure miracle was not aborted, because he will be independent one day, he will live a worthwhile life, he will explore the world and learn to love it.  This boy will grow up just fine - and be an inspiration.

My first thought?  Poor girl.
And after that, a deep admiration for a family who struggles to take care of her.  Because I get it, I do.  Mental diseases are not easy.
And people will fill your ears with lies about it.

In the comments people said she was possessed by demons and needed the light of God.  And then people said that God was terrible because He gave this to her.

No.  Both are incorrect.  She has a lengthy list of disorders that she will need to figure out and to function with.  The title says schizophrenia, but anyone who is taken a psychology class (*bows*), done their research (*bows*), or has schizophrenia (not me) knows that those other disorders are definitely a big part of it.

She needs medication, therapy, and the wonderful support she clearly has from a loving mother and an older sister who's struggling to understand her, despite fear of a child that can be violent.

This is not a matter of "cut the crap" and she needs an "ass whooping" (also in the comments).  She's suffering and she's struggling.

Be sympathetic, not hateful.

Who are we to judge another?

Sunday, January 18, 2015

soldiers in war

count the soldiers of this army, m'dear,
we're shaking hands and broken hearts,
practically giving up before the battle begins.
you can count the death tolls if you wanna take years,
more die than ever live.

wipe your tears away, m'dear,
that's okay there's no shame,
you don't need a dry face.
you can count the scars, the battle wounds,
but they're everywhere.

this is a war we're fighting, m'dear,
and so many people do not understand.
there is isolation in a crowd,
loneliness because no-one knows what this is about;
our war is fought in shadows and lies.

don't worry, we're all fine, m'dear,
you don't have to take care,
nobody's walked on eggshells for us before.
people don't understand what it's like
to be unable to change our own fates,
the judgement burns like flames.

don't blame someone for choosing the ice, m'dear,
there's nothing wrong with given up this fight;
most of us are damned from the start,
it's a miracle and a half to survive.
not everyone gives up.

count the soldiers of this army, m'dear,
we're shaking hands and broken hearts,
attempts at suicide.
you can see us by the dull look in our eyes,
you cannot save a doomed life.

wipe your tears away, m'dear,
don't cry for us, we cry enough,
we'll fill the world with a river too high to swim.
maybe one day the world will see
we're people too, fighting a terrible disease.



Friday, January 16, 2015

(Sociology) Final Reflection: Sociology is Bull--- Wait, Wrong Subject

Sociology class was interesting.  To say the least - or perhaps the most.  Yeah… Anyway.  The class itself wasn’t the problem; I enjoyed most of the subject matter, though the requirements of annotation was ridiculous.  A 90% brings down your grade while a 100% doesn’t.  I mean, a 90% is certainly better than having, say, a 70%, but if I’m putting in more effort in annotations than I usually do I would like that to be reflected… Yeah… The requirements could have been better at the very least.
Not to say I didn’t enjoy the readings; I certainly did.  They were pleasant, and I learned a lot from them.  It was also nice to have, say, “warning” of what we were going to learn, and they certainly facilitated conversation.  I liked participating in these, and it gave me a view of people who were otherwise quiet or just plain goofballs.  It probably made sociology tolerable instead of absolutely unbearable.  The discussions were definitely a highlight.
The class, overall, was fairly easy.  I was glad it was; it was certainly fitting.  For juniors and seniors, there should be that option of AP = hard and normal = easy.  After all, we’re almost done with the hellhole called school 12 years of torture basic public schooling, and having the option to be a little lazier isn’t going to kill us.  I mean, as long as everyone knows what they’re getting into.
I think I would have enjoyed this class more if it weren’t for the other students.  It was a pain to deal with them and certainly not all that enjoyable for me.  Most of them were quiet, of course, and some of them were even - miracle - friendly.  But the few who weren’t made the experience so much worse than it should have been.  It was just a small handful, but I really don’t appreciate seeing satanistic symbols drawn on the board or having to see a “dick rocket”.
At least someone tried to make it… not a penis.  But it was a dick rocket.  Which wasn’t much better.  Anyway.  I don’t appreciate being cat-called either; I mean, how rude can you get?  I’m a slight feminist - though not much of one, and certainly not the kind that think “women > men” - and I am strongly against objectification of anyone.  So why do men do this to women?  Not like we’re free of blame, of course, but it’s still absolutely ridiculous.
As for the subject matter itself… Well, I’m pretty sure I have norms and culture down pat.  I mean, there’s a few things I forget, but for the most part I know what I’m talking about.  Norms are everywhere; you go to the bathroom and, boom, NORMS.  You walk down the hall and run into norms.  Norms… everywhere.
It’s fun to think about - another highlight of sociology.  Thinking about the way we follow norms, the way we interact in groups… Taking this class and psychology has certainly given me a lot to think about, and has helped me to learn about normal human behavior.  Humans are weird, strange things to say the least; but we are endlessly fascinating and entertaining.
The reflections kind of sucked, though.  The requirements were a bit long, and though I’ve thus far been able to fill it up, I’ve also used some space-wasting techniques (cough) whenever I opt to type the paper instead of handwrite it.  I mean, the word count is about the same because typing comes out to be a lot smaller than messy and haphazard writing on even college-rule (let alone wide-rule) paper, but making it “three pages” is ridiculous - and more difficult than it sounds.
I think maybe cutting the minimum slightly is a good idea.  Most of our reflections were two pages; making those, say, one and a half minimum would be nice for those typing.  And for this three-page one, maybe making it only two pages.  Or just changing the required amount for those, who like me, opt to type it up because it’s easier and more efficient.  Seriously; doing three pages on Word/GoogleDocs is an entirely different world from three pages handwritten on wide rule (alas, the pretty notebooks do not come in college rule :() paper.  Well, maybe not ‘world’ - not like they’re worlds away or anything.  But the experience is very different, and it honestly ends up being more difficult to add enough BS and space-waste tactics as to not spend forever-and-a-day typing something.
Yes, I know, I use BS and space-waste tactics.  I’ve used it for this and I’ve used it for other papers.  A good thing about these reflections, however, is that I can talk in a much more informal manner; this thought-to-paper style allows me to use less BS and less space-waste tactics that there’s actually some stuff in here that’s full of deep thoughts.  Yay!
I think the most important thing I’ve learned in this class has absolutely nothing to do with sociology and everything to do with life.  I’m a very passive person, that eventually just goes boom and explodes into an angry ball of fury and hate.  Er, metaphorically speaking.  That’d be cool if I could do that in real life, though…
ANYWAY.  This passivity isn’t very beneficial; I often let others walk all over me.  However, when I deal with people I genuinely don’t like, I become much less passive and much more aggressive which usually turns into passive-aggressiveness though every so often it becomes straight-on aggression.  The thing is, though, I need to stand up for myself.  When I informed people of what was going on - after being dragged to the dean’s for an offhand comment about shooting people, when I’m not violent and have no access to guns - stuff happened.
And people complained about it, certainly, which was somewhat embarrassing.  I felt bad for making people who had nothing to do with it become involved.  But the fact of the matter is, it got stuff done - it made things better.  Too late in the semester for me to return to caring about the class, but things did change.
Of course, it wasn’t a perfect change.  The boys who were douchebags were still douchebags; but at least they weren’t drawing things on the board anymore.  And class became… less fun.  Which was disappointing.
Still, it helped me understand some things about myself that I think are key.  Or maybe not about myself but about things in general.  I don’t really know how to phrase what I know now.
When people are behaving inappropriately or cruelly, it’s everyone’s business.  You can’t back out because you’re not (skin color); you can’t let it slide because you’re not (gender); you can’t be less mad because you’re not (sexuality).  You have to be pissed off, you have to fight back, and you can’t let it slide.
There’s a difference between turning the other cheek because someone has wronged you and not defending yourself or others.  Martin Luther King turned the other cheek, but he defended himself; he was core to the civil rights movement.
You can’t simply let it go when someone does something wrong.  You have to speak up.  You speak up softly, you speak up kindly, and you explain patiently; but you cannot stand silent.  Silence leads to inequality, racism, and bigotry.
I think that’s the biggest thing sociology can teach us.  To not be silent, to not be cruel, but to gently and patiently speak up for what’s right.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Fears and Bad Typing

Most people start making typoes when they are tired or excited.

And then there's me.

Fear makes me type terribly to the point where you can't decipher my words.



*irrational fears*

*nono I am fine*

Thursday, January 8, 2015


i am a fire.
there is something in me that burns so fiercely,
i term it compassion - not kindness,
because it is passion and it is love and it is charity.
i am burning, burning hot,
feeling overwhelmed by my own intensity -
do not read my inner thoughts I think
hard and strong and often;
i will crash with my mind into obstacles
and i will move mountains because I can.

i will embrace my demons and devils
the monsters inside of me because they are not different -
they are me, i am them, i will fight
to be compassionate and kind but i will not,
I will not ever forget my roots, the story -
the monsters that i am.
i am foolish, prone to mistakes, but i am more
than what you've said i am,
I am a fire and i am wild and violent
and also kind and gentle and frightened.

faith is a stranger,
an unusual thing,
rising up like smoke and mist;
it captures, it contorts, it
takes a deep breath and I
forget out to breath -
it is hope it is love it is wonder,
i will wonder at the world that is so beautiful -
so unbelievable beautiful my breath gets caught and I
find myself catching the breeze and running
into another eternity.

I was reading this for where these ideas come from.


Suicide is absolutely brave, somewhat selfish, and the sign of a broken person.

As someone who has both contemplated and attempted suicide, let me tell you: it is not an easy choice.  It is one where you debate, and think, and wonder.  You have to determine whether the fact you are a burden is worse than the fact people love you.

Depression clouds the mind.  You do not think straight.  You are a burden, you do not question this.  You question whether you are loved.  It gets to the point - at least it did for me - where every time someone is not happy, content, with you they must hate you.  There is no in-between; it becomes horribly, horribly black and white, in the absolute worst way.
And then it becomes black and gray: they either hate you or dislike you.  There stops being love.  Despair rises.

Depression clouds the mind; you are miserable, miserable.  You could have a million dollars, be surrounded by family and friends, but there is no joy.  There is no happiness, there is only pain and worry and empty eyes that have lost any soul or spirit.  Moving is impossible.

Depression's worse course is apathy.  Suicide?  Suicide is breaking.  Apathy is destruction.  It is the point where you lay and bed.  You stop caring - you stop caring about life, about yourself, about others.  You stop caring about pain.  You become completely, utterly emotionless.  If someone gave you food and made you eat you'd eat.  If they pulled you out of bed you'd get out of bed.  You don't care enough to live or die.  It is amazing.  And then it starts sucking, big time.

Anger and hate and rage; these are what come first when you rise from the apathetic shithole of your mind.  Not even sadness; no, it's self-hate and anger at the world as you rage and scream.  But it feels so good, so different from the lack of caring.

Happiness comes last, and it is brief and short and flickering.  It is easily forgotten.  It is the least of your emotions, and sadness, pure misery, the most.

By people saying that those who commit suicide are scared, by saying they do nothing for the world, by saying that suicide is a good thing - they are all wrong.  You're missing the point.

Suicide is the ultimate compilation of pain, alongside apathy and numbness.  Either one is so beyond emotions anyone who has not attempted or contemplated suicide can understand; let alone those who actually die from suicide.

You are alone.  You are not scared.  You are in a black pit of despair by yourself where nobody would help you.  Selfishness is not suicide; selfishness is the people who do not help the ones in this pit up, who do not allow them their sadness at times and at other times trying to make them smile and remember that they can be happy and misery is not eternal.

But suicide is, in and of itself, a selfish act.  It is not selfish, I say, and at the same time I say that it is.  Because the people you leave behind will hurt, but also you cannot take it any more.

And for those of you so lost in this mess, this hellhole, look up.  Suicide is a terrible thing.  It has become a statistic.  It is not moving mountains as it should; it does not cause change except to lose the people we want in the world.
An early death is a horrible death, whether from suicide or cancer.  An early death is always caused by an incurable disease or terrible accident, and it is always always sad.  Old age?  Death of old age?  It's sad but at least they lived as long as they could.

Do not tell me that suicide is good; but neither can you tell me that suicide is caused by fear and that it is awful.

When you're there, when you're in that black pit, sometimes it's the only option.

We need to make suicide an unstatistic and a meaningful act.