Rambling/Part 3: Rewind to the beginning of the end

I had been on a rampage of posting pointless facebook notes, and one in particular asked for my friends to comment about me. One question asked what my best traits were, and one friend said: "You do this 'look into people's soul' thing. It's really cool."

I had no reflected on this aspect of myself. I never considered other people were interested in knowing the spiritual side of me. Here's a secret: I see colors. I see energies. I feel spirits. I don't believe in any of it.

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I was tired. My eyes slowly burned out from their sockets staring at the computer screen. How long could it possibly take for an answer? Here I was, having a heart-to-heart via instant messaging with the love of my life. Zach was everything I admired in a boy, cute, funny, easy to talk to, and comfortable. That last one was hard to find. Although he wasn't the brightest flame of the fire, he was everything to me.

This final year of middle school had consisted of me falling madly in love with him, and he proceded to date every one of my best friends instead. I told him how much I loved him, and now I sat here waiting for an answer. A mutual exchange of affection. A thank you. Something. He told me he loved me too, but as a friend. My nervousness ceased, replaced by a feeling of worthlessness. Why did that part strike me the way it did? Why did electric waves curse my bloodstream everytime I thought about what that actually meant? Why was I dying?

My whole life I had been ridiculous about boys. I constantly wanted them to fall in love with me, to feel like I meant something. Perhaps the disney dreamer in me thought all problems were solved once the hero fell in love with the damsel in distress.

I backed away from the computer. I felt tears trickling down my cheeks, off the end of my nose. I had been heartbroken. As I move towards my bedroom, my parents ask me to sit down. They told me I was moving again, I was going to Middleton. I bit my lip as they gave their explanations, I knew the real reason. They always thought they could fix their unhappiness with a new location, a new home. They thought they could make us a family again. Too late, I thought. You lost me a long time ago.

I HAD to do something. Something extreme. I nodded my head at my parents and went to my room. She's upset, I heard my dad say. Of course she is, but she'll be fine, my mom began, she's always fine. She just needs to sleep.

Oh I wanted to scream. I wanted to do something drastic, something insane. Too bad creativity flees my mind while I'm angry. I tend to avoid the emotion as much as possible, but here it was building inside me. Anger... at myself. At my own failure. I wasn't good enough. I wanted to make myself truly believe I was worth nothing.

I saw a saftey pin sitting on my dresser, the silver reflected in my irises as I stared at the sharp pointed end. I reached for the pin and instantly became fascinated with possibilites. I scratched at my wrist with the needle. Searing pain started as layers of skin came off. Sweet, satisfying physical pain. Finally I cut deep enough to see blood. I watched it ooze down my hand, drip off my fingertips. I rubbed my finger along the edges of the cut, working hard to squeeze out more. I returned to using the safety pin and dug it into my pale wrist once again.

The contrast between the ivory pigment of my useless skin and the deep scarlet of my blood looked beautiful, in my fantasies only I supposed. The liquid looked like it didn't belong to me, like it never was supposed to be inside me. I didn't need it keeping me alive in the first place. As I clenched to my bed spread allowing pain to consume me, I thought, with a smile, that I had escaped. Nothing can stop an obsession quite like an addiction.

I closed my eyes, bringing my feet into my chest and taking in my new constant. A broken heart is a terrifying thing to live through. My mouth felt dry, and tasted like bitter emptiness, and I began to cry once more. I prayed for God to help me find my way, for this to be over. I prayed for courage that would never come. I at least wanted the strength to take my own life, if I couldn’t summon enough to live through it.

Haven't posted in a while

Because my life is on a fast track. College is quickly approaching, and soon it'll be time to say goodbye to all the reasons why I've been so completely amazed by people.

It didn't help that this weekend made me feel like I wanted these last moments to carry on forever. It didn't help that I felt so loved and appreciated. It didn't help that the stars looked that incredible, and that I made impossible wishes on them. It didn't help that I surrendered myself fully to the love I've been falling in.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. I'm okay with a 'see you soon' and a 'talk to you later.' I don't want this to end. I don't want it to be finished. I want to move forward, but I want to keep everything holding me back...

Part 2: My fault

I grasped his hand and he grinned so brightly it made me want to cry at the supernatural kindness of it. We strolled through the halls showing our obvious connection to the tiny world we currently lived in: High school. A time when no adult can take anything that means something to you seriously, especially romance. Like any other teenage in love, I would defend my relationship to the death, knowing in my heart it was meant to last forever. There was no way it couldn't.

"How was English?" he asked me after a minute of walking in silence. The entwining of our fingers when we held hands was enough to make us feel completely connected even when we have no words to exchange. I know when we speak to each other it is because we are genuinely intrigued in what the other has to say.
"It was fine. We had to share our poems out loud, and you know how I feel about that." I rolled my eyes. If anyone knew, it was him.
"I'm sorry, but I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you thought." His thumb traced the back of my hand in reassurance.
"You've never seen how terrible my writing is."
"Since you're always doing it, it must not be so terrible. I wish you'd show me."
"Someday, Derek..." I said with no meaning. I would never share him the inner workings of my mind. Letting him know about my daily struggles was difficult enough, I didn't want to let him know everything.

This hour we had social studies together, sitting two rows away, but both 3 seats back from the front. We had a perfect field of vision to constantly make eye contact throughout the hour. We quickly kissed before heading into the room, slipping our hands away from each other. I couldn't help but feel less loved than I did just the moment before.

We had been dating about 8 months, and everything about that time had been awe-inspiring. I had transformed, no longer the depressed Christian girl I was entering a new school. Now the only thing I worshipped was our love, our relationship. As for the depression, it was subsided with feelings of love and belonging, two things I had craved my whole life.

We were watching some video on industrialization today, a perfect chance for Derek and I to make constant glances back and forth. I looked at him and saw him kiss the air. I smiled and winked, but found myself turning back towards the front. He was probably concerned, but he didn't realize I was perfectly content daydreaming. The only problem was, I wasn't thinking of him.

a missing piece.

I suppose there is a reason for it all. For the stars to appear magical to us, for hearts to feel so full and so empty at once, for glass to shatter when one stubborn crack is formed on the pane. I go along with the motions, hoping that the happy ending everyone talks of is in my future even if I'm not close enough to it to realize. I wonder why I feel this way, the horrid thoughts never seem to exit my mind. They are only temporarily locked away.

When they surface, not even the most wonderful and romantic moments can save me. I am consumed entirely by natural disdain, disgust, and disappointment towards myself. Am I shuddering because the sudden throws of love fill me with contentment or because the lack of it? And why is it every time I feel a shred of insecurity and detachment I pull away from the life around me to scribble in my notebook?

Things I want to do before I die

In no particular order, some of these things have been accomplished after the time I originally wrote this list:

1. Get married
2. Have a baby
3. Graduate college
4. Write a book
5. Write a published script (television or movie)
6. Learn to play guitar
7. Write a love song about a man I love
8. Sky dive
9. Have a leading role in Rent
10. Backpack through Europe
11. Witness something I deem a miracle
12. Be applauded by more than one thousand people
13. Beat Zelda and the Ocarina of Time
14. Dance in the moonlight.
15. Surf
16. Be on MTV
17. Win a nationally recognized award
18. Go on a safari
19. Go on a spur of the moment road trip
20. Audition for a reality TV show
21. Sing a full song (not just a solo) well by myself in front of an audience
22. Get a driver's license
23. Drive a motorcycle
24. Fire a gun
25. Visit all 7 natural wonders of the world
26. Kiss on top of the eiffel tower on a starry night
27. Be on wikipedia
28. Be in maxim
29. Help fulfill another person's greatest wish
30. Meet NPH
31. Swim with sharks
32. See a Bon Jovi concert
33. Sing with a celebrity
34. Go to a party at the playboy mansion
35. Wish on a shooting star
36. See the northern lights
37. Climb a mountain
38. Study abroad in Spain
39. Get a nonconventional piercing
40. Get a tattoo
41. Meet Britney Spears
42. Visit the grave of Edgar Allan Poe
43. Write a rock opera
44. Learn the to play the piano
45. Cliff dive
46. Help someone in their greatest time of need
47. Go to times square on New Years
48. Swim with dolphins
49. Pet a tiger
50. Be fluent in a second language
51. Pull off a magic trick
52. Visit a waterfall
53. Go somehwere no other person has ever been before
54. Eat an atomic chicken wing
55. Ride a horse
56. Do a back flip
57. Memorize 1000 digits of Pi
58. Go camping
59. Perform in a burlesque show
60. Be in a movie
61. Have sex outside in a tropical place
62. Makeout with a girl
63. Gamble in Vegas
64. Skinny dip
65. Sing the national anthem for a packed stadium
66. Ride a mechanical bull
67. Ballroom dance
68. Go to comic con


I'll add more as I think of them.

The way my sister views me

I wanted to post these two pieces my sister wrote about me. One was when she was a freshman and I was a little kid. The other was just this year for my graduation. I feel that having this on my blog will be a constant support system for me, and that maybe this way anybody reading my blog and feeling close to me through my words can get a chance to feel even closer.


THEN, Titled: BEAN

My brothers call my sister Brittany "Psycho" or "Little Spaz," but to me she's a little shadow, constantly copying my every move.

She is short and thin as a rail. She weighs less than my brother who is over a year younger than her. She has hair so curly that it can not be straightened. Her hair is like little corkscrews plastered to her head. She has eyes like the ocean and a little button nose. She looks really out of place because all my siblings and I look alike except for her.

She is always following me around, copying what I do. If I eat a cookie, so does she. If I put my hair in a pony tail, so does she. When I go outside to practice my rifle or colorguard flag, she takes a plastic kid's baseball bat and pretends to twirl it around.

She changes clothes more times a day than a runway model. I have no idea why she does this, but every time she walks upstairs and comes down again, she has a different outfit on. She loves frilly dresses that she pulls out of her dresser to wear. They are supposed to be for holidays and special occasions, but she doesn't understand that. My mom has given up on her dressing style, and lets her do whatever she wants with her outfits. I don't get surpised when she is wearing a wool Christmas dress in June.

I swear that she has schizophrenia. She can be a little monster or sweet as sugar. She flashes her big Colgate smile to get out of trouble and says her famous line, "I didn't do it." She gets into my makeup, breaks my hairclips, and loses my jewelry that she steals from my room. I know she does all this for attention, but I really hate it. After she cries and says she is sorry, I usually forgive her, even though I probably shouldn't.

We call her "Bean" because she thinks she is Dominique Moceanu, and she is always flipping around like a little jumping bean. She is actually pretty good at it for a four year and old and I wouldn't be surprised if she was in the Olympics someday.

Even though she's weird and the odd one in the family, she's my little sister and we stick together.


NOW, Titled: BRITTERS

My brothers won't take her disc golfing because they think they'll be slowed down by her less than spectacular athletic abilities. I would take her everywhere, because to me, she's the best person in the entire world.

She is still short and still thin. She radiates beauty from her heart and dazzles everything and everyone she encounters. Her curls have straightened out and has a texture similar to mine: like a "messy day at the beach" crazy hair. She has illuminating blue-green eyes that sparkle with the same pixie mischievousness of her youth.

She walks by my side, enjoying life with me. No longer my little shadow, she has discovered and creates a beautiful life of her own. She has friends that adore her and the words she expresses, whether by voice or written word they make a difference. We have enjoyed so much together: our first vacation, the Producers, nature walks, and random adventure days. Her laughter will open up any room to love and awareness.

She still changes clothes more times a day than a run-way model. I'm happy she's learned wool Christmas dresses are not appropriate for summer. She has a unique style that I could never dare to try on and it makes her uniquely her own. Fashion.

Her schizophrenia has calmed down into a very expressive and creative woman. She still gets into all my stuff, but I don't mind now because I can fit into her clothes too! The Rory to my Lorelai- She can borrow whatever she wants.

We call her "Britters." I think my great friend Jessie created that nickname. Instead of watching gymnastics, she's now a talented dancer. She is very good at it, and I wouldn't be surprised if she danced for UW Madison someday.

Even though she's still weird and odd, it's wonderful. I remember being 11 or so and telling my mom that I wanted a sister. It was as if I knew she was coming. I can't imagine life without this fantastic woman that is my best friend, with the entire world ahead of her. Magic follows her whenever she goes. She is the change I wish to see in the world. Now, if she would just care about starving children, she'd be perfect.




My sister is my world. My everything. In 6th grade I wrote a paper about my hero and chose her. I still feel this way, only more so. She's not only my hero, she's my best friend, my guardian, my sister and my mother rolled into one. I couldn't ask for a better person to talk sense into me at 3 am and to watch Grey's Anatomy marathons with. She's beautiful inside and out, and she is everything I can only hope to emulate.

Starting over. Part 1: Here I lie, a wasted soul condemned to a body

The names in this story I am beginning may seem to line up with reality. However, I'd like to ask you not to assume that's the case, because though many situations I will write about in this piece are true, many are not. This is part one. The first of many parts.


"Paradox of mystic misfortune trying to soar to frightened souls with a message of brevity,
yet the people, they throw back outrage to break your wings and end your longevity.
Black satin of Satan, but your heart has silver thread,
pulsating fire away from that which is dead.
Angels blind demons, quicker shadows will cease,
black flame unfolds, magic in every crease.
People! Listen to whom I quoth "Nevermore!"
Let go of inhibition and word of "Lenore!"
Your power unspent, Hell ashore, the tide,
people know from fate they cannot hide,
time again they refuse to abide.
They must learn wisdom, forget, recant the spells,
find a way to release from their hells.
You, Raven, bask in your wit
love's bleak mind hath misinterpreted."

I tried to relieve my dry throat. Speaking in front of the class was frightening enough when it was a presentation about something entirely factual. But this, sharing a creative work? Something my own imagination thought up? There was too much risk of judgement. I tried to spin it like what I had written was just an ode to a favorite poet of mine, Poe. An obvious choice for a favorite, yes, but there was a reason he is so well-known. I don’t think anyone really understands him the way he wanted to be understood though, and with that I felt a kinship toward him.
“Anyone have any comments? Questions?” Mr. Hayes asked. “Thank you for sharing that, Brittany.” I looked around the circle of desks, some faces were blank and obviously not here in the moment with the rest, some faces were confused, and some were, well, delighted. A smiling classmate raised her hand, and I really hoped she wouldn’t have any questions.
“Yeah,” she giggled. I had many classes with Lauren and I noticed whenever she spoke that she didn’t seem to take herself seriously. She laughed at her own words, maybe at even the thought that she could form coherent statements. She put doubt into herself before others even had the chance to. “I was just wondering,” she began. Oh fucking fantastic. “Who are the people you are referring to? Like society as a whole… or like a smaller group of people?” She looked at me with a genuinely puzzled expression. Then a look of shock ran over her face and she quickly added, “I also totally loved it by the way. So cool, so different.”
“Society as a whole. A generalized version, not viewing any ‘exceptions’ to the rule.” I stated.
“What rule?” Her second question took me by surprise.
“ The objective rule,” I couldn’t believe I was answering her. “The way that morals function in form of church and of state. For instance, murder is bad, thinking of others instead of yourself is good, love is important but family comes first. Stereotypes that are all too true in the hearts of many.” I was shaking. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like anyone to know what was going on in my mind, because I didn’t even know myself. If I gave them clues, maybe they could figure it out, and then I’d be the one left in the dark.
“Oh okay. “ She still looked as if she had no real idea of what I was getting at. Come on, I thought. Can’t you question the way you raised and the society you live in just once? This is an advanced english class for crying out loud, you must have some sort of artistic depth to take AP dramatic literature.
“Who’s Lenore?” A very quiet boy in the corner asked. I couldn’t remember his name, it was something complicated.
“The dead lover of the protagonist in the poem The Raven by Poe.”
“So, what’s the significance?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. I don’t know what the significance is, I thought. I just wrote it. Mr. Hayes could tell I was struggling. He stepped in.
“Brittany, did you have a message carved out in the poem you wanted to share with people? Like that of other authors during the gothic influenced romantic era?”
“N-no. I just wrote what I felt I should write.” Everyone looked confused. I know, you’re supposed to have an ending in mind when sculpting a beginning. But it didn’t work that way when I wrote, I just jotted down feeling and the words that were on the tip of my tongue. The bell rang, and my blushing red cheeks finally ceased burning. Saved, of course, by the fucking bell. And as I turned to leave the classroom, I heard my teacher calling out to me, I knew I would. He looked out for me it seemed, like he thought I was fragile. Like he knew I was fragile. I opened the door and I already saw a person waiting for me. A boy that I had completely given my heart and soul to. That I surrendered my life to with ease and no looking back.