always changing and forever the same

Everyonce in a while you have those moments where you realize how truly small you are in the insanely large world you live in. How insignificant your life is. And yet you smile, because even though you know that the world is much bigger than you can ever possibly imagine, there it is, a nearly never changing constant. Sure time passes, the sun sets, and the world turns and it seems near crazy that we would call it anything but constant. People change I guess, but its not so much change as it is growth, which in it self is somewhat of a constant. Our opinions change, life experience gives us invaluable knowledge and yes we change and yet I still feel like in someways everything is the same.

no escape

For the first time in my life I don't want to read, write, watch or even think about anything. It's come to the point where it hurts too much to dwell or hope for things to happen. As a kid I had my ways of escape. I'd often read, in fact, sometimes I would literally hide myself in a closet or under a bed and just read until I forgot where I actually was, fully throwing my self into a fictional fairytale. Then I figured out I could write and I loved it even more, because now I was the one controlling the outcome. I took solace in books and my stories that were utterly ridiculous. For whatever reason, they helped, but now it seems they do the complete opposite. It seems like escaping is even more agonizing they actually facing reality. When did that happen? It all seems so silly and over dramatic and yet there it is.

Agency

As its already obvious, my blogs of late haven't been real "chipper" and I've been trying to determine why that is. Why are people unhappy? What causes it and why does it quite frankly, suck so bad. I came to the conclusion today that everything is done by choice. We have the amazing capability to change whatever we feel or whatever mood we are in just by thinking. Now some may disagree, but that's only because they don't want to admit that they are in complete control of their happiness. You can choose to be upset by what life gives you, or you can choose to move on, be happy, and not waste time with trivial inadequacies that life tends to present.

lost

I don't know what I'm waiting for, or if I'm even waiting anymore. Its almost like I lost all direction and am stuck floating in the middle of the ocean without sails, oars, or even wind. At some point I thought I knew what I was doing, where I was going, and the point of sitting her hating life in the meantime for something I wanted. The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I'm making up my thoughts everyday. I feel as if I'm about to do something extremely reckless and yet I know I wont. Its like standing at the verge of a waterfall. It looks enticing to jump and you know that there is just water at the bottom. But you don't jump, not because your afraid, but because there are stupid rules in your head that you live your life by. You may not even realize that there their, but they are. Guiding and effecting every choice you make. Some call it intuition others its just the voice in their head, but now your standing at the waterfall and you still want to jump and the voice is gone. You wait, expecting to hear it any moment but you know its gone and yet you can still hear it echo inside your head. So here I am, standing at the waterfall deciding if I want to listen to the voice that is no longer there or... just jump.

nothiing but words

Time is such an odd thing. It has the ability to heal or hinder relationships. It can make you feel old, or young. It changes people and yet leaves them the same. It make you miss people. It makes you forget people. It has no remorse, and it wont wait for you if left behind. You can't see it, you can't stop it, you love it and yet you hate it. I have absolutely no control as to how fast or slow it seems to go by. We can't rewind, and you can't fast f0rwad, and unfortunately, life has no pause button. You have one chance with every moment and that's it. It always makes me sad. Every time I try to slow down and live in the moment its just upsetting knowing its not coming around again. I think I rather enjoy the moment, completely ignorant of its significance in the broader spectrum. Reality sucks. I don't want to be a realist, I'm not a pessimist, and I don't really want to be a complete optimist... I'm kind of a whateverist. I like looking at the world the way I see it. Some parts optimistic, others realistic, and some completely pessimistic. So I'm an optirealpesimist.

Crazy... maybe?

I'm taking 16 credits this fall and working two jobs, some tell me I'm crazy, but I really think I can do it. And not only do I think I can do it I think it will be good for me. I finally wrote my personal narrative, and to be honest it is one of my favorite papers. So I'm just going to post it!

My Hiding Place

After looking out the window and seeing the coast line, I ran for the hole again, shaking unsteadily. I squeezed my seven year old body in as quickly as I could, the fear in my lungs making me move even faster. Once shoved in the small twelve by twelve gap rather awkwardly, I plugged my ears and held my breath. Closing my eyes was pointless, sunlight was completely obstructed on all sides, but I did it out of habit anyway, sometimes not knowing if they were closed or open. I could still hear the engine, muffled by my sweaty, diminutively small hands. It was too loud to be drowned out. I pressed my hands harder against my already squashed ears. I began to hum not wanting to hear the engine that reminded me that we were still moving.

I remember wondering if it was necessary to take the terrifying coastal highway to Southern California or if maybe there was some other, safer route. I asked my dad, but he always smirked and proclaimed, “This is the only way.” I never bothered to press him about it, but I knew there had to be other ways. Sometimes I think he enjoyed seeing me so frightened by the towering cliffs that raised the size of football fields. I held my breath so often when passing the cliffs that the sight of them frequently made me sick. My dad had grown up in California and could drive Highway One with his eyes closed. However, driving only feet away from the edge, the bottom of the cliffs held no comfort for me, being covered with jagged rocks that even appeared to stab the waves as they crashed on them.

I could still feel the motor home winding around and bending back into the cliffs of Highway One. My stomach seemed to be left behind, only to have it rush back making me even more nauseated. It was similar to ridding in an elevator where your stomach just drops out from under you. Despite my best efforts there was nothing I could do to stop myself from feeling the motion of the RV. At least I couldn’t see the ocean and the cliff’s edge when shoved behind the passenger seat. The thought of the edge alone caused me to begin to shake again. Finally I gasped for air after holding my breath for so long. Being close to the engine, it tasted like stagnant exhaust fumes, which only made me suck the air in faster and harder. Breathing in quickly already makes me dizzy, but combined with the engine fumes only intensified the whirling in my head. I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my skull and welcomed it, hoping I would lose consciousness momentarily, and I did.

I drifted in and out of dream and nightmare. Sometimes I was aware that it wasn’t real, and other times I wasn’t. Over and over again I would see the mid-sized beige RV flying off the road and plummeting to the ocean and rocks below. I heard my own voice screaming and yet I knew I wasn’t. It was replaying in my head like a song that is on repeat making me more and more anxious.

I awoke from my nightmare sweaty, mildly disoriented and a little nauseated. I had no idea where I was. I began to blink my eyes rapidly realizing that they were open and I still couldn’t see. I started to panic trying to move my arms that were still asleep from being laid on. This fear was far worse than the now seemingly childish fear of the cliffs. I kicked my legs and flailed rather clumsily while racking my brain trying to figure out where I was. I began to wonder if I was buried underground, thrown unceremoniously into a coffin whilst still alive. I started to hyperventilate for the second time. When I generated enough oxygen into my lungs again, the taste of the air revealed I wasn’t in a coffin, or underground, but rather, still in my hiding place.

I could no longer hear the engine and the RV seemed eerily still. Fear took over for the third time that evening. Did my family leave me? Did we finally fall off the cliff? Why weren’t we under water? A thousand scenarios went through my head, each one making my mind spin in thought. My dad’s snoring broke my reverie and I understood that we had stopped for the night. I slowly stopped struggling so violently with my stiff limbs and wriggled myself out of the small confined space. The moon lit up the RV through all windows with a soft, cream colored, dull light that allowed my eyes to adjust quickly.

I looked back at my hole that had once given me so much comfort and solace. It now brought a new emotion, fear and the nightmare of being buried alive. My body got colder as the realization sunk in. I seemed to shrink even smaller in my already too big world and I had nowhere to run and even worse, nowhere to hide. I glanced at my hiding place one more time and knew it could no longer be my refuge from the deathly cliffs that surrounded me so often. I stood frozen, losing all track of time. I might have been there for hours before retiring to the small couch next to me, where I slept an eerie and vacant dreamless night.

I didn’t attempt to go back to my hiding place the entire trip. After being so terrified by the small confining space, I embraced the openness of the ocean next to me. The cliffs still make me nervous, my stomach still leaving me often, but nothing compared to the nightmare of being trapped, blind, and alone in my used to be hiding place.