Education

I whole-heartedly believe in the wonders of education.  You'll hear me lament the American school system, and other education school systems, to high heaven, but believe me I am overwhelmingly grateful that at least there is some education and learning provided.  Even if it's done in the wrong way and not near enough as for what we need.

But I guarantee you if the world was educated it would solve 90% of the world's problems.  And the correct type of education - encouraging individuality, providing for different ways of learning and different talents, and providing facts especially within history and very much so with science - would solve the remaining 10%.

If the world was educated, slavery would be eradicated.  Poverty would drop and practically disappear.  Unemployment rates would be almost non-existent.  It wouldn't happen overnight, but it would happen within the lifetime of the millennial generation (assuming universal education started now).

I am a proponent of education.  I believe that everyone should do their research, especially now: the internet is the most amazing invention because of the free access of information (or misinformation, such as the case may be).  Google brings up results in the first page.  Wikipedia allows everyone to share their ideas.

Learning is just a click away.  So for the sake of ending slavery, poverty, and unemployment, get educated.  Learn.  And then, when you've learned, create a new solution to one of the world's many problems.

Education is the first step to a better world.

A Follow Up On Relative Ethics

There is no such thing as relative ethics.

At your very basic, you must, must, must have a universal of compassion.

Nothing can exist without compassion.

This thought comforts me.

We'll be fine.

Philosophy Needs To Go Die in a Hole

RELATIVE ETHICS.

It is the shittiest concept ever and try as you might, you become unable to disprove it.  Certainly you can "disprove' an individual's relativity, inasmuch as "oh if an individual determines ethics than we don't need police!"
which can then be refuted with:
"well what if two ethics come in conflict with each other?  A third set of ethics can solve the problem or at least lean one way or another."
yeah.
(unbiased anything is a lie, so don't go there xD)

And then you get to cultural relativity.  Spartans in Ancient Greece believed that stealing was morally correct; an African tribe in these modern days still believes that stealing is a moral thing.
How in the world are you supposed to deal with that?

Absolutely there must be a higher power of which ethics come from.  I am inclined to say God (but as my teacher said, "what about an Islamic terrorist saying 'my God says to kill people'", which one is right?), my creative writing teacher might say the "universe", but either way there has to be an absolute of ethics.

Except.
There's no way to prove this.
Or any of it, really.

So ethics are therefore relative, you determine your moral compass, and I cannot mentally cope with this.  At all.

So right now I am depressed, wanting to die, and majorly anxious and stressed out to the point where I am shaking and struggling to focus on anything.

I hate philosophy class.  Despise it.
I should probably drop out.

I Worry

I can worry a groove into this floor,

I can pace back and forth for years,

I see myself, a future widow,

Waiting for someone to come home.

I am on thick carpet, carving a path,

It is new it is strange I am lonely and empty,

The worth inside of me raises its head

And goes back to sleep.

I fret too much, I worry about the broken souls I carry on my shoulders -

They don’t even know how much their happiness means to me.

I worry that tomorrow he will not wake up;

I worry that tomorrow she will forget how beautiful she is.

I feel like I am not precious,

And I am counting the days, holding them to my heart,

Waiting for him to realize his mistake,

And break my heart -

Which I would happily let him do

Because that is the cost of love, my happiness for his.

I worry that I am a burden,

After all I am lazy and I procrastinate.

I pace this wooden floor, back and forth,

‘Til I wear away a board and fall down

Into a pit of despair.

I am counting pennies, hoping

That I have enough for this next cost,

Worrying that I will regret it -

I regret so much in life.

“Live with no regrets!” I cry,

And I try to follow it, I do -

But I regret so much.

I worry I am a hypocrite,

That the words that come from my mouth don’t match my actions -

I know already that I do not practice what I preach,

That the darkness inside of me has swallowed me,

When I claim to be happy.

I worry that someone will see through my mask,

That my words will fall to pieces,

And in the echo of my love and hate,

I will be stripped bare, red and raw,

And I cannot gather myself together in time,

To pretend in continuation that I am fine.

I worry that the ones I love the most do not see my flaws;

Why, I wonder, do they not abandon me?

A fitting punishment for a torn creature,

I can do no pain when they do not stay.

I am not strong enough to push them away.

I worry about the damage I cause,

When in anger I lash out,

And all I get in response is understanding,

How can they not see,

That everything is wrong with me?

I worry that my words are too personal,

Or not personal enough.

I worry that nothing I do is good enough,

What sort of carried cost can I rise?

I worry that Ingrid Michaelson and Dia Frampton

Are not enough to keep the pain at bay;

I sing along with  my favorite songs,

But when I hurt, I despair.

I worry about how selfish I am -

I know I go too far.

I’m glad, at least, that I don’t hate myself for selfishness anymore,

But I still feel such a bitter chokehold,

I cannot understand.

I worry that when all is said and done,

The world will see through my lies.

“I’m fine” means something more along the lines of

“I’m breaking, but I’m making it”.

After all - I make my day,

You fake it until you make it,

I have to make it one day.

I worry that this is not good enough,

The baring of my soul,

But this is all I can do,

Poetry is all I’ve ever known.

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.

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.

exhaustion

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.