Friday, August 28, 2009

Thoughts I am Thinking

This post is more for my own records than anyone else. That being said, if you choose to read it, I ask that you read the following two paragraphs first.

After writing this post, I was not sure if I would post it or not. I debated with myself, and finally gave it to my sister to get her opinion. Her suggestion was adding a happy ending, so people would not think (basically) I was about to kill myself.

My solution is this Disclaimer: This post is by no means my cry for help, or anything similar. It is me, recognizing for once, that I have suffered with depression for a long time. I have no suicide intentions or ideations. I do not equate myself with psychopaths. These are thoughts, and nothing more. I feel 100% safe.


Where to begin…

When I write the pages of my life story, where will I begin? Shouldn’t every story have a dramatic start and a happy ending? Or perhaps a happy and innocent beginning with a tragic ending. It’s hard to pinpoint a starting point in my own life story. I do not remember my birth, and the details of my early childhood seem so foreign to me now, I can’t start there. But where then? At the onset of adolescence? After finishing High school? After starting my current job? None of my options leap out of the page at me. I suppose I will just start with:

Who am I?

That question seems so cliché. It’s been done and overdone millions of times. Adding my own query to the pool does not even ripple the water. But it is a valid question. I tell people all the time that you cannot get anywhere without first knowing where you started and who you are. How hypocritical that I really can’t answer those questions for myself.

I know who I want to be, or who I think I want to be, but there is much to be desired when reality meets dream. I wish I were successful and driven, an icon to strugglers everywhere. I wish I were in control. Not just of my surroundings and my personal space, but my emotions. Right now, it seems like I am constantly on the brink of another exploding session. I pity the targets that are hit constantly with my rage, but it is just that. Years of pent-up rage.

Lots of stuff has happened to me over the years. Some of it is clear as day to me, but most of it is more like mud. The memories surface sporadically, and usually when they do, I wish they hadn’t. It’s much easier to have the memories be skeletons in my closet, because I can shut the door and ignore them. It is another monster altogether to be confronted by said skeleton. It rocks the foundations of my world. It shakes everything I had known to be true.

I found a poem I wrote when I was 18. I think it was right before I went to Hawaii, to escape the hell that was home at the time. It shocked even me. I had completely forgotten the entire incident. I had forgotten how lonely and forgotten I felt. I had forgotten the utter sadness that drove me to run away, thousands of miles to the island of Hawaii. Not even my therapy baby could save me from the fate I was heading into. I had to get away from the hurt.

The hurt of that incident is one of those memories that was like mud to me now. I move on from and forget things, which is a good survival mechanism on one hand, but a bad idea for someone trying to function as a human being. Emotions are not bad things. They are the one thing that humanizes the entire human race; the one tie we all share. The truly monstrous people you read/hear about are people who lack basic emotional response—the sociopaths who do horrific things without remorse and without emotion. Those are the ultimate monsters of our world; they look like us, but they lack that basic connection with others.

Michael Meyers from Halloween, is the best example. He has haunted our nightmares for over 30 years. The reason he makes a consistently good villain is because he never cares. He kills and slaughters people without second thought, and for sure without remorse. He stares at people he is killing; confused about the situation, but unable to make the emotional connection required for true remorse. He is the embodiment of monster.

I have learned (or been conditioned) to turn the emotional response off in stressful situations; it is better for me to never deal with a problem than to confront the fact that a problem exists. Thinking back on so many things in my life, I wonder how many other situations in my life have been smoothed over with the magical putty that is my mind. I literally feel like someone took a big spatula and smoothed over all the bumpy spots; all I am left with is a smooth finish. It is disconcerting; to look back on your life and remember only an eerie smoothness. Not memories, or happenings, but just a smooth surface, like an undisturbed pond. Literally a picture in my mind where I know memories should be.

It is only because I know there should be more there, that I am even aware of this sensation. I have fleeting memories of bad things, and they never meet up with that glassy surface. It is an uncomfortable feeling, like you have forgotten something important; like you know there is more to the story, but you are not sure you want to know at this point. I am truly scared about what I might find out if I ever go digging further into my memory. But, I figure it’s got to be better than the fallout from these anger attacks.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Open Water

Water fascinates me. I adore playing in water, whether it is a chilly lake or the ocean. A day (or even a few hours) playing in water cannot be beat. There is nothing I would rather do with my time. I have always loved swimming and playing in the water. I am not sure what the allure is, but I love it. Since I was super little, I have loved playing in the water. Not much except my size has changed.

Water also scares the life out of me. Since I was at least 12, I have had a fear of open water. I do not like what I cannot see below me; I have an irrational fear of it. I grew up hearing stories of my Dad and his adventures on the high seas, and I was always scared of sharks in the water. I even panic in pools and lakes, certain that there is a shark below me, biding its time until it eats me.

I know these fears are irrational, and I have known for a long time that they are not normal, but I have never said it out loud. Uttering those words somehow lets the Universe know that I am in on this big conspiracy. I am not sure why speaking my fear scared me for so long, but I somehow thought that the sharks circling below me were being lenient on me because I was unaware of their presence.

I am also "secretly" afraid of ghosts. It's a paralizing fear. One that I only overcome through self-talk or a lot of effort. I feel the same way about vocalizing my fear of ghosts; you just don't do it. Somehow, the ghosts leave me alone if I don't know they are there. However, saying out loud that I know they are there, or I am scared of them, means they will somehow become very angry. Angry ghosts = horror movie setup. Everyone knows that the fat girl is either a) non-existant in the horror movie, or b) dies early.

I cannot allow myself to be in either category. Thus, I live with my paralizing, irrational fears, safely tucked into my mind. No one I encounter is any the wiser until now. I guess my secret is out. I suppose I will have to be weary of ghosts in my mom's house, and watch out for those sharks next time I float the river.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

I sing you to me, redone

Well, I found this among some papers I had written when I was 16. I haven't changed any of the wording, and I am actually pretty impressed with how well it was written. If it seems familiar, it is likely because it is very similar to my thoughts on the movie Australia, though I have to admit, I expressed my thoughts much better when I was 16 than my previous post. :)


The best of both worlds

That is how most people look at being biracial. I tend to agree--by being partially raised in two different cultures, AKA worlds, I can take the best that each has to offfer & create a better combined culture.

However, this system is largely flawed, for it may be able to create a better, more well-rounded person, but from my own experience, one must still choose which of those two worlds to live in. For, you cannot inhabit them both at once. The simple answer for this dilema would be 'follow your heart' or 'just be true to yourself.' But the answer is not so simple if you consider that by having the benefit of being raised in two cultures, neither of them will ever be without flaw in the minds of those involved.

I was greatly blessed to grow up 1/2 Tongan and 1/2 white, because I was able to take the good parts from both the American culture and the Tongan culture and combine them in my self. The trouble comes when I contemplate the huge choices in my life...I must choose one of the two worlds to make my primary home, yet in my mind, they are both flawed. Am I thus cursed to wander aimlessly; serching for something that does not exist?


Well, I still stand by my 16 year old thoughts. There is not a perfect culture; one without flaw. The difference is that I no longer feel like I need a perfect culture. The imperfections that I see in both cultures are no longer enormous obstacles that I have to overcome. Neither will ever be perfect; I just have the unique opportunity to be able to see both for what they are, and still choose the best aspects for my own personal life.