Saturday, June 11, 2011


I feel like a lot of times people run from the truth. Or they just keep running in circles because they don't actually know what the truth is. I haven't experienced much loss in my life. I've always had a nice home, I've never had the hands of God take someone from me who was too young to die, and even when things got "tough" they were never really that bad. I feel like my parents spoiled me even though in my youth I would complain about other kids having Barbie cars and airplanes, family vacations every summer, and new lunchboxes with ice packs shaped like flowers. No, you see, the kind of loss I've experienced isn't quite like that at all. But it exists somewhere in me and it makes my heart flutter; it makes my lips numb; and it makes my head feel heavy.

The things my parents kept from me were pretty benign. They were certain that J.K. Rowling was a witch and in turn would not allow me to read Harry Potter (though I read the first three books from my school library). I couldn't ever spend the night at a friend's house because they thought that they might have an older brother or creepy father who was up to no good. I wanted to go rollerskating on Friday nights in middle school because that's what all the cool kids did but they would never let me go any place by myself. And I guess in some respects they were right. If they hadn't been so cautious with me I might have found myself in some unwanted situations or worse, dead. So I can't really blame them.

All kids rebel against their parents in one way or another. They tell you you can't get a tattoo and you sneak off with $100 to get an angel on your right shoulder. They tell you you can't drink, not because you're underage but because you're a nice Baptist girl and nice Baptist girls don't do those sorts of things, even though they have their own modestly stocked liquor cabinet. They tell you you shouldn't have premarital sex because that's something girls with questionable morals do and you will get pregnant and ruin your whole life just like your aunt did. It's not okay to do any of these things even though they did them when they were your age, drinking, partying, smoking weed (even if it was just one time). It was stupid back then and they're just trying to protect you from making their same mistakes.

I find it easier to rebel on the inside rather than the outside. The outside frightens me because everyone can see it. I don't want to go out and party at clubs because I can't ever feel myself outside of my own body. I'm just not that free. Instead I stay at home watching Bones on DVD and reading books about organic living and vegan diets because that's something I can control. And I tell myself once I finish the last season and get done reading that last book I'll venture out into the real world. It's an endless cycle that equates the future with utopia. It's like the Christian that decides to clean up their act when they get older. Sure, they believe in God but there are certain sins that you just can't stop committing at this stage in life. One day it'll be okay though and He'll understand because you always come back to Him like a yo-yo with a string made of floss.

The rebellion I've faced has almost always been inward. And I persecute myself every I'm reminded. I've committed my share of mortal sin and I've come to God, crying and begging for forgiveness on the eve of a new year. And I know the moment I ask my sin is washed away. But I had a hard time believing that until someone once reminded me still feeling the burden was like telling God that His forgiveness wasn't worth it. That Christ dying on the cross wasn't enough for me. Still feeling guilt was like Satan having a grip on me and it was getting between me and my relationship with Christ.

I'm not certain that I know a lot of things but I act like I do. Sometimes I get lucky and I'm right; I end up helping someone out and everything's alright. But sometimes I'm just a babbling idiot who has no idea what the hell she's talking about and I lose friendships and people think they see me traveling down a morally decrepit road. Maybe they're ignorant of just how much I think about things, about how much I feel. Maybe not. Maybe I'm the ignorant one.

I feel cloudy in my mind but in the best way possible; it's allowing me to think more clearly, even if that brings pain. I try to laugh to myself saying, "The best authors were crazy" thinking maybe one day I'll create a masterpiece that in the process makes me lose my mind, my money, my relationships, my life. I try not to think about it too much.

I can't leave this room because I'm suffocating in paranoia and fear. "Why are you depressed? You shouldn't be depressed. You have everything. You get good grades. You just went to Europe. You just got a scholarship. You're pretty. You have a family that loves you and friends that invest time in you even though you don't deserve it. What are you going to do with your life?" You don't know why. You don't know how. You just know that you are. And that it makes you cry. That it makes you hate yourself and everyone around you for not understanding and leaving you alone. If you knew, you probably wouldn't be depressed. You wouldn't be on this fucking Cymbalta and you sure as hell wouldn't lose sight of life, joy, expression, happiness. You want innocence back. The anticipation of a first kiss. Childlike innocence, splendor, fulfillment, excitement, wonder.

And it's hard looking back at pictures of a smiling face you don't recognize. Yourself. Happy in the only place in the world you've been where you know no one. Maybe that's why you love it so much.

And instead of finding comfort in the thought of a foreign place, filled with people I've never met, I should be seeking out higher comfort. But I feel hypocritical, a mess. I feel like I'm running in a circle towards a truth I know, but a truth that I don't know how to find.

1 comment:

  1. When I read your writing, I feel like we're in the same room, scrap-booking, and listening to the Shins. Thank you for sharing it with me.