Random Thoughts

 I remember, during the school year, I drafted many intelligent entries for this blog. Many topics, with nice, eloquent wording and whatnot. I have forgotten them. But here's a few things I think about sometimes. (Warning: probably extremely long word count. You can like, read snippets or something.)

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When I was a kid, it was nearly impossible to believe in heaven. It wasn't due to the fact that I wasn't religious, though I wasn't, not at all. But just the possibility seemed unthinkable. It's still quite difficult for me to imagine. To die, but live on, with God. I can't image continue living when your life is done. It seems like that time would be meaningless then. Truly, I think every moment of your life, and every event, is planned perfectly so you lived the best you could before you die. That's one of the reasons I don't fear death. So what purpose would there be in continuing to live, when you've already gone through each lesson and event needed to really fulfill you? That's also one of the reasons I am afraid of dying. I don't want to miss out on any of it.

Instead, as a kid, I chose to have a different theory. I decided that life, and all that we were in currently, was like a videotape. There never was any past. There will never be a future. All of those are just fabricated ideas made for this sandbox we are exploring.  World War I is just something in books. The pilgrims never existed, and certainly never found America. All of those are just things made so we believe we have a past. And when we die, our children won't go on living. They'll disappear, because their lives were fabrications as well.  'The world ends with you', one may say.

And then, when we die, our life would just be rewound, and we would live it all over again. And this would keep happening. Time would not move past our life span. It would just be our life. Over and over and over. While a bunch of large deities just watch, in a dimly lit room, and ponder.

Of course, I don't believe in this theory anymore. I know too much about life to think so.  I know other people aren't just fabrications, but they are real people with thoughts and lives. They won't end when I do. And I know from grandparents and wise elders that the past is real and true. So I can't possibly believe in my little 'life is a tape' theory. I'm still not sure if I can believe in heaven, either.

Probably, we fade away. Just, leave. Black. And maybe, see through the eyes of another life, while our death makes an impact in someone else's life, and changes their course.

Yeah, that's probably the closest thing to what I believe right now.

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It's kind of hard to be bummed about just one person, when you realize just how many people love you.  I've realized that. Mostly angsting over my ex-girlfriend, of course. Who else? But this was for a reason, too. When I just think of all the people around me, I'm just... So happy. So thankful. So faithful. And when I think about my entire life, it's really hard to be dissapointed.

It's actually sort of odd, how my life has turned out. I was depressed for... two years? Two and a half? From the summer of seventh grade until around the middle of ninth. Those were some of the most terrifying years of my entire life. I was constantly afraid. I was always walking on needles. Always in pain. Always afraid of dying. There was one point, during Cinderella, I felt kike like I actually was going to die. I felt my body trying to throw me off the elevated platform. It probably wouldn't have even killed me if I fell, but at that moment, the knowledge that I couldn't even control myself had me shaking for most of the night.

And yet... I look back on those years, and I am nothing but happy for them. In fact, I think depression may have been one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. And I give God full credit for it.

That depression changed me so much. Sure, it was an injection of overwhelming fear into my veins, but during that time I learned to open my heart to people and make new friends with much deeper bonds, I learned to mature from a kid to a slightly-smarter kid, I learn to have empathy. I got bounds of inspiration from it all, I learned to stay away from pain, I found God in my struggles, and also learned how to help people with depression. I think that's one of the main reasons I became depressed. It was so I could learn a vital skill for my life, and I am so so thankful for it. It helped me find Rachel.

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I'll write more later. For now...

Life is good.

Imagery

 I think, just as an exercise, I'm going to try to take my current entirity, my situation right now, and chalk it up to imagery. I'll just try to illustrate my now, and see whether the resulting picture helps me understand.

I feel like a blind girl. I'm just sitting on the wooden chair, in the middle of the room.

I'm told not to move. Otherwise, I don't know where I am, and I would get lost. The room is completely foreign to me. I don't know anything about it, what's in it, if there are windows, if there's light. I hear no sounds in my room. I smell no smells. I just sit, until the chair feels like part of me, and I'm not even aware if it anymore. To remember where I am, I just feel the veins of wood, and count the splinters with my fingers, or run my foot down my other leg. I just sit there, and feel, and that is my world. My world is nothing.

And then she comes into my room. And she talks to me. And her voice is more than just words. Her voice is a reminder that there's something outside of myself. Her voice is my senses making out a landscape. Her voice is the world making itself known.

She talks to me, and I talk back.  She speaks of outside my room, of colors, of shapes, of sounds, of a life where one walks and meets new people and finds new things. I listen to every word. She tells me about her life, and I ease her nervousness, her doubts.

She leaves every once in a while, to see more of her surroundings, to find more stories to tell me. I sit in my chair, quiet and empty, waiting for the world to come back and my darkness to brighten.

She comes back. I don't know how much later. I measure time in her visits.

She let's me sit across her lap, and her hand supports me, behind my head. Her fingers feel like miracles. they feel like a sensory overload. They feel like warmth, and cool, and outside. They feel like the only thing I know. Because unlike touching the chair, it's something outside of myself, and it's new, and it's alive.

I smell a smile of her breath. I embrace her warmth. I find comfort in her weight, and I feel a niche to fit in. Her words and voice create vivid life. Her lips are my air. It brings a warmth that nothing else has. It stirrs feelings that were never awoken when I was alone. Its the only beauty and art I am ever aware of.

The only thing in my world is her. I know nothing else. My world has shrunk down to just her.

One day she leaves. I wait for her to come back.

She does not come back.

I just sit, waiting. I realize she is not coming to talk to me anymore. I have nothing left.

 I think. While all I had was her, she had an entire Earth to explore. She would sit next to me in my transparent room and talk all the while seeing out the window, viewing the sunshine and the trees, seeing the birds and knowing their calls in her memory. And while to me, she was my entire world, to her, I was just an anchor, a dull little distraction, a blind girl in a chair. Needy, lonely.

But my room was boring, and she was doing all the work, creating my world, while all I did was listen and love.

So she left.

That is all I can come up with. I do not know her world. I do not know how she lives when she isn't beside me. How could I? Nothing like that exists, not to me.

there is the feeling of helplessness in knowing I can not find her, I do not know where she is. I knwo I love her. I need to find my world.

I lower myself out of the chair, slowly, painfully slowly, my legs shaking, my arms gripping tightly to the chairs side, and I sit on the floor beside it. I am assaulted by a space I do not know. There is air around me, air that I am not familiar with, air that frightens me and makes my chest constrict. I turn back and grip the chair leg at a height that astounds me, unable to let go of my only particle of familiarity.  I can not give chase. I can not leave.

I sit on the floor, think of how my darling's face feels, how her voice sounds, recounting my world as memories, so that when I sleep and dream of her I wake up but don't know I am conscious. I am lost. I feel the splinters of the chair leg embed themselves into my fingers.

My Relationship

I think, slowly, carefully, I am figuring this out.
She probably never loved me. No, wait. She did love me. But it wasn't the way I loved her. It was a different love. And if she loved me before, she probably doesn't love me now. But she cares about me, very very much, and she know I love her.
I think she's scared. She's scared of me. Because I accept her and her every fault and she just doesn't know why, she can't understand why. Because she's sure she doesn't deserve love. She thinks she doesn't deserve trust, deserve acceptance. She can't understand how I could possibly love someone like her, someone so demented and wrong, when I'm seemingly so loving. I think she told me that, once. But overall, she can't imagine it, can't accept it, and she doesn't want to face the raelity she has to accept herself.
I've been telling her that since the first day we broke up, months ago, so long ago. The reason she broke up in the the first place is because she didn't think she was loveable, I told her, and the only way to fix it was to realize she was loveable. And she nodded, and told me, that was probably true. We were walking then, around and around, after she told me we had to break up.
There's been a sort of pattern in our relationship, I think. She always has to do something to disrupt us, to hurt us, and then she feels so so guilty, and she wants to break it off. I think I finally know why that is.
I'm not sure if it's conscious or not, but I think she's trying to hurt me. To disappoint me. To make me give up on her. That way, she can feel terrible and reassure herself she isn't worth anything, and she can give up on herself. Finally let herself slip.
She probably never wanted the kind of relationship we had. I remember last year, she told me that she liked bad boys. I remember being a bit put off by that. But she was sort of crazy back then.
I think she always wanted a relationship with that bad boy. Someone who could toss her around, and treat her like crap, but still be in a relationship and own her. So she could 'get what she deserved', but still hold onto that dream of love she's always had.
I'm anything but a bad boy. I'm the snuggle-cuddle-until-you-suffocate type. I gave her a dozen red roses on Valentines. I walked her to the bus everyday and met her at her locker, and ran to each of her classes every hour. I gave her smiles and a hand to hold, and I sang love ballads with words just for her. I helped set up a picnic on our anniversery.
She never wanted that. She smiled, she was so, so happy, but she never wanted to be happy. She wanted to be beaten down. But she could use me for that too.
So she cheated on me when I was gone for Spring break. And agonized over it the entire time, and kept calling me, and basically ignored all my orders to calm down. She had to feel guilty. She was guilty. And she wanted to one who loved her most, who would never do a thing to her hurt, to become angry. But I wasn't angry. I realized it was a lapse in judgement, told her I forgave her, I loved her, and that we could try again.
In a week though, she couldn't take it. She told me we had to break up. She felt too guilty. I plead, but in the end, we discussed it and I told her we probably weren't ready anyway. It was too soon.
The following weeks, I was on pins and needles. How did one act when one broke up? Could I still hold her hand? Could I tell her I loved her? Turns out, after I got the courage to ask, I could do all of those things. Lips were sealed, but fingers were intertwined, and for a while I just tried to be as helpful and supportive to her as I could. And then, one day, she begged me to take her back. I had a good talk with her. I accepted her. She cheated on me with the same guy the next day, told me, and then a few days later admitted the love she felt was platonic.
And somehow, through it all, I kept loving her, and needing her, and willing to do anything for her. I think it might have scared her a bit. And for a while she was scared of me leaving her, even though we weren't dating anymore, she would freak if I said we 'were' dating, we 'had' a song, et cetera. But I wasn't there to protect her and comfort her every day, since it was summer. At first I would visit her every once in a while. Then she got a bit distant. Then she apparently got 'engaged' to her 'boyfriend' I've never heard of, that I'm pretty sure she doesn't love because she would have made a huge deal, that probably was one of the guys that knocked her up a month ago. Now she isn't answering any of my messages. I tell her we should talk, I have some doubts I want to talk to her about, I love her, I want to talk. I know she's seen them. I don't want to send any more messages in case I just scare her off.
My question I wanted to ask was, 'should I just give up?'
But I think now I know the answer. She's doing this because she knows it will hurt me. And for the first time, she's succeeding. She's breaking me down, and making me want to give up. But I love her. And even if she doesn't love me, never loved me, I am exactly what she needed since the beginning.
And I won't give up until she knows she's capable of being loved, or until I'm absolutely sure there's someone who cares about her even more than I do. She needs a friend to teach her that, and I don't think my job is done yet. I believe God brought us together so I could do this, and I'm the only one who can. That's why i went through my depression, that's why we met, that's why she, at least for a while, began to fall in love with me, and that's why I fell for her. I believe God put me through this, he made me bi, he made me depressed, and he made me love, so I could forgive her for every thing she thinks she did, and love her.
And I do. I forgive her. I love her. And I won't stop trying to teach her that, in my own way.
Life is good.