I Find Solace in Isolation and Silence

It has only about a week.

The common question from acquaintances regarding my well-beings is answered with the usual Fine's and Can't Complain's. Such a question would receive a cheery answer when asked by friends.

But when my closest of friends ask such a thing, I tell them of the contradiction between Very Well and My Heart Hurts. As odd as that may be, it is the closest to the truth that anyone may ever become. So I will not lie. The last few days with freedom unquestioned feels incredibly soothing. Because of that, I answered to no one (no one that important at least, and no one answered to me. Life right here and now feels great.

However, that does not exclude me from Loneliness' clutches. Perhaps it is more so now that I am under my own direct command that she and Grief poke and mock me whenever I find the time to think of anything. And that is when I miss everyone so sorely that even one minor heartache moves me to tears.

Knowing me and my absolute abhorrence of any sort of emotional overload, I am prone to taking out rather reckless actions in order to alleviate myself of anything unnecessary. In this case, emotions. Sadly, as that might cause relief for me, it can (usually) cause commotion with people involved. Right now, I digress--I do and don't understand why people would cause such disturbances in the first place. Now back on track. And considering my latest predicament, it did everything but mitigate the trouble in my mind.

So why is it such trouble? If anyone were to ask such a question, I would point out the obvious. Is it not just incredibly annoying to feel infatuation for anyone? Yet by "infatuation," I mean more than simple interest. For the sake of this entry, I shall place this feeling a level above a simple little girl's crush since both would share the same dumb giddiness when the boy would so much as to look your direction. And this annoyed me to high heaven.

Using the information I provided, you can probably work out the logic to get to the outcome: I told him. Unfortunately, in order to protect the sacred line between confidentiality and the Internet, the details will need to be withheld. However, do know that despite his insistence that our friendship continue, I have regrettably been feeling pokes, pulls, and shoves to my almost-nonexistent heart. It may be small, but it is sensitive. Please don't get me wrong. I want nothing more from the boy than the mere acknowledgment of the fact that I did what I did. Yet, neither do I want to disregard his unyielding wishes to hang out with both my cousin and me. This dilemma calls for a rather bipolar me: incredibly happy one moment, whilst in a few minutes, I begin to find the need to be alone.

Can he not realize that as wonderful as he is, that I just do not want to be around him and be reminded of what I quickly grew tired of? Until that time, I find it only more than essential to find at least an hour to myself to recuperate from the actions and choices carried out by a heavy soul.

Well done, Life.

And it has only been about a week.

When I Knocked Out at 8pm

There are times when feeling comfortable already is one of the most enviable emotions one may have. Really, what anyone would give to have that sense of tranquility at such a time of commotion, uncertainty, and unfamiliarity. That is, unless you find it unnatural.

That is how I am.

While knowing that things are heading in a fairly steady direction as classes begin their start, that certain sensation that things are going far better than you had expect can make even the most minor of things the worst outcome. And I fear that.

But I suppose the only thing to do is to wait and see. And that is something that I really don't want to do.

I'm Free...?

Tensions arise between parent and child numerous times. Such a fact about Life holds true for the last couple of weeks that remained of my presence in my home for fifteen years. Yes, that's right: fifteen years. It was only during the last 2-3 weeks of childhood that I felt the most overcome by the love that was shown (or in some cases not shown) by the mother and father.

But it was alright. Freedom was only a few weeks away. The "Clean up your room"s, "I've only cared for you"s, "Don't you love me anymore?"s (et cetera) will soon cease at come the 3rd week of September.

So here I am, sitting quietly at my desk at 2:53 in the AM, typing away joyously due to the onset of insomnia--which couldn't have come at a worst time. And it hits me. I'm no longer typing in the dark, afraid of being caught awake and uninterested in what sleep can bring.

Never before have I felt so relieved. Never.

Okay, perhaps that may be a lie, but I must confess that this feeling is pretty much one of the greatest that I have felt in a long, long while.

--

Funny thing. I honestly meant for this entry to be one of joyous celebration of the newfound freedom that I have gained from overbearing parents. But now that I think about it...

I am lonely.

My thoughts on it?

"Damn. Trapped again."

And I'm Still A Child

Hiccups. One of those respiratory faux-pas around a dangerously superstitious adult will dictate their coy smiles to be directed at you.

"Who are you thinking about?"

Usually, such a question from such playful lips would entice either one of these answers: "Wouldn't you like to know?" or "Nobody, really." But from deep within, a sigh and a weary, empty "everybody" wish to surface.

That is all.

Words Have Never Upset Me So

... That is, until now.

Off the bat, I can't begin to explain what had happened from the hours of 1am to 6am. Truly, if I knew, I would not have fussed for 5 hours about my personal writing style.

But I suppose it all began once I clicked on the link "Publish Post." Just as my thumb struck the Touch-Pad of my laptop, my mind suddenly went blank. Such a scene would have been portrayed in a film as a sudden desertion of color from a room, with white, almost-insane walls that continue at every possible angle. This blankness, this emptiness was soon disturbed, in my mind, by a simple question that reverberated on the virgin walls: "What did I just do?"

As silly as this may sound now, that question shook my very core. It was that quake that ensued 5 long hours of self-criticism and self-loathing.

From the age of 12, I had already accepted that writing, in its essence, was indeed not for me. Analytical reading, class discussions, all of that I could handle and perhaps even enjoyed. But in-class, timed writing became my biggest academic fear. A planned, uninterrupted monologue that, at many times, contained beneath its blank ink and lined edges, my very heart with which I answered the prompt. Unless the prompt was completely muddled and thus a bullshit answer was to be had.

I suppose it wasn't until 12th grade, senior year, the year I decided to join Academic Decathlon, when the idea of timed writing didn't pose some scholastic peril. Practice was indeed necessary to settle my nerves, to get my thoughts organized, to allow my voice to flow fluidly from mind, to hand, to paper. Perhaps I had enough practice, being able to bring in medals in the Essay portion during both Regional and State competitions. But timed writing wasn't the only monster I had to face that year.

As many seniors would now, the 12th and final year of high school also brings about the dreaded College Application Period. Ugh. Even the mere words chill. And so it was, hour upon waking hour brought about essay after essay. And it was with one in particular that I felt most proud.

Perhaps, I thought, I don't suck at writing all that much.

Until 1am this morning. I suppose it would be almost impossible for me to explain the fear that had struck at such a deep hour in the morning. I mean, how can I expect you, a mere reader, to understand the ongoings within my mind? So with all due respect, I must confess that I don't.

But you know what? It's ok. Because in the end, none of this really matters as I smile sheepishly amongst the warm presence of my dearest friends.

Besides, who the hell would really speak like this in common conversation? Really.

And with that, I'm ready to start the day with a nap.

Oh I Am Stubborn

Plans of self-imposed exile have gone well for the last two weeks. Thanks to that choice, I find myself happier, as if I've gone through a mini-Enlightenment without the heavy dose of Buddhism or Taoism.

But having come back from seeing my old C-team Big Brother and Sister, I sit here in the stillness and silence of my room, finding it impossible to find reasons as to why crying would be unjustified. Had it only been quiet in my room, Loneliness, mercifully, would have passed.

Still, I am strong, right? Throughout my 18 years on this Earth, there has not been a time where I actually succumbed to the Silence and Stillness of this house. Right?

I realize now that I've asked myself that question many times before. And always, my answer disappoints me. But whenever that would happen, I could always take comfort in the thought that I would be seeing Anna tomorrow, that everyone would be smiling during round of coffee. The Silence cannot bother me. And it didn't.

But now I confess that I am afraid of it. It is nothing compared to quiet moments that bring peace to a mind such as mine. The idea of tomorrow doesn't bring the routine comfort that it did back in high school. Uncertainty never terrified me more than it does now.

Questions that I've avoided before take this chance to pester me: What if I don't mean anyone like my friends? What if I find that no one I will meet shall live up to the standards that my subconscious has set? What if I feel this alone for the years to come?

Optimists frown upon this questioning and admonish me to hope. Idealists stand with them and criticize me for being as pathetic as this, assuming the worst of my college experience. Perhaps they're right, but who are they to order me out of the mindset that has defined my very being for years? Who are you to convince from my negativity?

--

I don't know. I just need another dose of familiarity before I leave this Valley. Perhaps I just need to see one more familiar face before I'm forced to gaze upon foreign ones.

Perhaps, at this precise moment, I just want to see my Brit again. It's been too long since I've last laughed along with him.

My Mother Could Very Well Have Been On LSD When She Had Me

I shall smirk throughout the duration of this entry. Perhaps a slight chuckle shall grace our presence.

Sitting in the darkness of my room, fighting off the heaviness of Sleep, I ponder (as usual) upon the many things that have recently happened in the life of a silly 18-year-old girl.

Ouch. My laptop just burned my lap. Pillow, where art thou?

I... already know that I am one of an incredibly whimsical nature. How else would I amuse myself in the early hours of the morning? And so many of my close friendships have begun with one simple statement: "Leslie, you're so weird."

I do not deny that the usual utterance of that statement from the very lips of my closest peers only brings out in me affection for the sayer. Their acceptance of that fact, their very acceptance of me being who and what I am, moves my ever-hardening cold heart.
But when strangers, people who barely know even one-fourth of my history, living less than a year of my life with me, let those words fall matter-of-factly from their lips, there is nothing else I want to do but shun almost everyone in my life. And this is something I can barely explain without people out there, people of very short tempers, getting angrier and angrier as I try my best to avoid their accusing glances.

--You know what? I don't care.

I've gone through the scrutiny of this world before and I have many people who have lived alongside me, understood me, and embraced the very core of my being. My insanity, my craziness, my utter youthfulness, whatever you want to call it; it is me. And I honestly do not see any reason why you have the right to judge and criticize me, expecting me to change just because you will me to.

Do not act as if you have me all figured out. Just because you know one complete and proven trivia about me doesn't mean you have access to change my mood and my behavior. Yes, I may have been open enough to enclose unto you information about myself that may further give reason to my present being, but only Time will provide you the right to be justifiably disappointed in me. And only until Time allows, will I listen to your childish retorts.

And that, sir, is something you need to accept. I do not and I will not submit to you nor will your frustrations faze me in the least. I am not yours to change.

So don't you dare stamp your foot at me like a child spoiled rotten to the point of forgetting respect. Not even for you will I break a promise I've made to everyone I hold dear. Not even for you.

--

After having written that, addressed to a person blinded, I only realize how many other things crossed my mind in this past hour...

I am exhausted. With everything.