Sadness Pervades My Soul

Sadness pervades my soul. And then significantly less eloquent than a well thought out sentence, I cry. The tears flow freely from my face as more people learn of my heart breaking. Today I found out that my Marine advisor from Basic Leadership Training this summer, had hung himself on December 3rd. Corporal Andrew William Marrari was only 24 years old. This summer he was engaged to be married in 2011. He was my inspiration, the bane of my existence, and someone to laugh with during the best and worst week of my life. I stand by that. It seems impossible. A young man with so much going for him. A marine that changed my life. If it weren't for Angelface, I would never be holding the position I am today. There are people set in your path to swerve you left and right. Corp, you were that person for me.
I found out at the peak of a lot of other issues tumbling down on me. It was unexpected. I'm not that strong, and no my mascara is not waterproof. This got me thinking some more, after feeling as though I had made some revolutionary breakthrough last night. I talked to a great friend of mine for a while, on the floor of the gym, with volleyballs whizzing by. Maybe the lesson I need to learn this year (that I have been aware of but never believed) is that I DO NOT have all the answers. I can't fix every situation. And I am most assuredly NOT expected to comprehend all that life encompasses. I need to embrace confusion, frustration, doubt, indecisiveness, and fear of the unknown.
I also thought some about suicide. Most people don't know this, but I was as close as I'll ever come to killing myself this summer. I was on the roof, with my father screaming in my ear, telling me it wouldn't matter if I did; the hospital was only 15 minutes away and I wouldn't bleed to death by then. Honestly, it wasn't even the brink, because I could have never done it. But that's just it, I have a release. I was thinking about this on the bus today while I was crying again. Some people cut themselves, get wasted, get high, attack others, are bulimic, or even anorexic. A lot of these self afflictions are because they make people release. I equate writing to cutting. You dig deep and bring up all the things that make you sorrowful, lonely, and longing. You twist the words, embellish them, attract attention, and all for what? To have that feeling of elation when you hit publish and the world can see your emotions finally. When they are verbalized in the only way you know how. This is my self affliction. This is my wound.

Here's another thought. A resolution with no other place to be written. I am going to attempt to take more pictures from my perspective and not of myself. I want to rid myself of the vanity other's see and that I suppose is there. I want to remember what I SAW and not what I was wearing, or looked like. I want to remember the outside.

So thank you life, thank you Corporal, thank you sir. I don't understand AND THAT'S OKAY!!!!

"Open me up and you will see
I'm a gallery of broken hearts
I'm beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken parts"
Be Ok (Ingrid Michaelson)

Dear Samantha

"She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness." Oscar Wilde

"When I go for a drive I like to pull off to the side
Of the road, turn out the lights, get out and look up at the sky
And I do this to remind me that I'm really, really tiny
In the grand scheme of things and sometimes this terrifies me.
But it's only really scary cause it makes me feel serene
In a way I never thought I'd be because I've never been
So grounded, and so humbled, and so one with everything" Kimya Dawson (I Like Giants)

"Character is higher than intellect. A great soul will be strong to live as well as think. " Ralph Waldo Emerson

It’s taken me ages to write this. It’s taken me longer than it should to feel. It’s been too long since I’ve let myself react, feel, love, have, truly cry, or sing with a passion for tomorrows. I want to please people. I want to be approachable. I don’t want to mope. I want to write about my ADVENTURES and not my sorrows. I want joy and faith and salvation and inspiration and productivity and hearth. I need air.
Do you ever realize how easy it is to lay in bed thinking in eloquent speeches, come up with philosophical arguments and ponderings, truly put the conflicts of the recent months into a context of solution? But the warmth beneath these covers would rather hold me captive and draw me into a fitful sleep than allow me the simple energy to grab the flashlight that lays next to my bed, get a pen, and just jot something down on a post it note. I used to; well of course then I would wake up to an unusual amount of scattered sentences with grammar errors in big sloppy highlighter writing. But, they combined to form me. My thoughts mold and melt and form the molten essence that allows for interpretation of experienced experiences. I often take too much of a step back to look at my situations so that I become detached from them. I feel regretful that I cry when I hear a Disney channel star singing about love and it makes me lonely. I hate not feeling wanted, because in my head, there’s not a single reason in the world NOT to want me. Yet no one does.

I find it hilarious that adults have taken to calling me disrespectful and full of attitude, that because I am right or even wrong, they’d rather let their emotions win (and claim logic) while they rant in tones usually associated with those of 2 year olds. I was taught respect. I learned discipline. So when I TRY SO HARD to utilize those lessons and not step on the toes of others, or take things with a calm grain of salt, I am suddenly the one you are “walking on eggshells” around. Do people not realize that our comments and criticisms are mirrors. I can be moody and grumpy. But more often than that I am a listener, an advisor, a comic relief, or a shoulder to cry on. I want you to come and cry. So why don’t you want me to?

Now listen here, creativity is what has shaped our WORLD, and SOCIETY. Art and thought, recipes, scents, fashion, writing, reading, singing, laughing, even writing laws is a creative development of our minds. I can see the future I want in front of me, but the steps to getting there have crumbled and I don’t have the cement or the grit to rebuild them. I can see myself in the kitchen trying new holiday cookie recipes, or designing a dress for my daughter, or laughing over something with my husband, working at preserving history in a field that I’ll work my butt off to become involved in.

Yeah, so maybe my church abandoned me. So maybe my father kicked me out. So maybe I’m just the person you come and ask answers from despite the fact that I care about you more than a name or an acquaintance and know indefinitely more about you than you could ever me. So maybe I didn’t finish my novel because I’m a slacker, and I didn’t think of a new year’s resolution because I SIMPLY forgot. Maybe I’m vain and selfish, beautiful and undiscovered. Silly, confused, inquisitive, descriptive, glittery, sloppy, philosophical, argumentative and LOUD. That’s me. I was born 17 years ago to a loving mother with a loving counterpart and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I met a man who’d adopt me as his own and if I had a better memory and less blush might call Dad or sir. I rose above adversity.

Yet for some reason this time it seems different. I’ve told more than one person that I feel as though God has thrown situations into my path, taught me to solve problems, yet not allowed for a solution in these. I want one, but maybe the NEW lesson is that there is none. There is only forgiveness IN THE MAKING, and future in the front.

I make promises I know I can’t keep. I laugh when I want to cry. But hey, it’s just dawning on me now that I’m A LOT like any other teenager in America, and that while my problems are bad and I want a pillow to scream into, someone next to me is probably feeling the same. At first this notion made me feel robbed. How dare they create me without uniqueness, how dare we all be human? Gasp. Then I rethought as I often find myself doing.

The year is 2010. A new decade. Last year was brilliant and devastating. I shamed myself and others. I learned and grew, flew and soared and crashed and burned. I’ll remember 2009, the year I was 16, as my transition from childhood to a semblance of adulthood. Now these first few days of January have been hard on me, honestly. But I think in taking my friends’ advice and writing this and rambling incoherently, I may know why. To switch consciously from these two stages is like a fissure in life. It’s disrupting, but overcome-able.

I plan on reading more nonfiction. Becoming more organized. Embracing stress. Not making the jokes to fit in, but laughing for the simple pleasure of togetherness. I plan on waiting. PATIENCE. COURAGE and STRENGTH. Womanhood, ladyship, confidence and development of instinct. Noting the little things.

Current Reading List:
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
The Professor and the Madman
Julie and Julia
History as Art and Science
My Sister’s Keeper
The Time Traveler’s Wife
On the Art of Life and Vice Versa
For Whom the Bell Tolls

Dear Samantha, courage and compassion are virtues. Don't be halted by the inconsiderate lackies of your enemy, for they shall rule your life if you are. Stand strong, press forward, and love. Sincerely, Your Conscience

Hello, and Good-morning Sunshine.