Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds driftin on by you know how I feel
Its a new dawn
Its a new day
Its a new life
For me
And Im feeling good
Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom in the tree you know how I feel
Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, dont you know
Butterflies all havin fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
Thats what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
Yes, Virginia, You Can
Today, January 20th, 2009, was a historic event. A day for my generation to tell our children about. A day united in the hope that the world may soon change, for the better.
I only have vague memories of Bill Clinton's election as president. The first time I was only in the 5th grade and knew very little if anything about politics. I understood that the president was decided through a national vote and would serve then as the leader of our country but the capacity of that meant very little to me. I hardly had any idea about the world outside my suburban town. What I did know about the campaign was that my parents supported Clinton but I didn't know why. I knew he played the saxaphone and that the current president George Bush did not like broccoli. And then there was the other candidate, who had big ears, a lot of money and what everyone told me was no hope at actually winning the presidency.
I recall my younger brother and I accompanying my mother when she went to her polling booth at the nearby middle school. I also remember my brother and I being so misbehaved we were in deep trouble when we got home. Hardly one to remember every childhood squabble, my mom vividly remembers the night as well, our misbehavior overshadowing all other significances of that night.
We must have watched the inauguration at school. I feel like I know it happened but I can't say I can remember it at all. I do have a small glimmer of Clinton playing his sax on the television that night, although the context escapes me.
When he was reelected four years later I was older, a high school student. I had taken history and politics courses and I had a greater idea of the world at large. Yet I paid little attention to the campaign. In fact, I have absolutely no clue who Bill Clinton even ran against. It was such a given that he would simply remain president. Was there an inauguration that year? Is the president re-sworn in when he takes a second term? I'm embarrassed to say I just don't know.
In the year 2000 I turned 18 and was able to vote in my first presidential election. But truthfully I was far more interested in the fact that I could vote than I was in the candidates running. I supported Gore because I was decidedly Democrat but I could never have had a conversation on his platform or his policies. I basically had one stance to quote, I was definitely pro-choice and George W. Bush was not. This was about as solid a reasoning as any it seemed.
I was registered in my hometown but away at school so I voted via absetee ballot and therefore the day of the election was hardly different than any other day. Election night was spent in my dorm at Michigan, college students blasting the polls from every bedroom, running up and down the halls. The race was tight and when we went to bed that night we still had no idea who had won. I don't remember finding out the results and I certainly do not recall watching Bush being sworn in as president that January. I simply went back to being part of the apathetic generation.
Then September 11th happened. Politics were on everyone's mind. Our country went to war for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about. I lived abroad and feared the judgement towards my nationality. "Everybody wants to be American. The world wants to be like us." No, they didn't. There was little respect for our nation, a harsh opinion of our politics, our president, our entire culture. We became a global embarrassment.
The campaign leading up to the 2004 election should have inspired me, should have made me and others like me sit up and pay attention. But it didn't. We were shamed. And we thought the nation agreed. But John Kerry was simply not the right figure to get behind. Most people I knew supported him but not because of him. It was merely a matter of being not in support of the current president. And this proved to not be enough to move a nation. We didn't step up to the plate. We didn't show up in droves at our polling booths. I again submitted an absentee ballot in advance and went to bed without even watching.
Again I don't remember watching an inauguration. Was Bush sworn in again? Did he draw a crowd of supporters? For the second time our president lost the popular vote but won the electoral college. He wasn't someone the majority of the country wanted. He stayed in office mostly because we were complacent.
Today was different. This year was different. This president is different. Finally.
I will admit I had initially been a Hillary Clinton supporter. I thought she was without a doubt the most qualified person for the job. But I was quick to switch my loyalty to Barak Obama. In 2004, when I was briefly living in Chicago, I would meet up occasionally with a high school friend in the city for a summer internship. She was working on Obama's Senate campaign and she could not say enough about this man she was supporting. "He will be president one day, I promise." When he secured the democratic nomination, her words were the first thing that came to mind.
And I followed this whole campaign. I watched every single debate. I, like so many other young voters, those who hadn't had a candidate who spoke to them ever, finally had a reason to sit up and pay attention. Maybe it was because the policies suddenly spoke to me. Roe v Wade and the Republican agenda to overturn the precident it set remained a concern. But there was more now. I found myself one of the far too many who couldn't afford proper health care. My friends were being laid off due to the crumbling economy. My hometown of Detroit declined at an exceedingly rapid rate. My brother and roommate, school teachers, complained of the decline in our educational systems. It wasn't about helping an unknown "other" anymore, things had gotten personal, too close. The country needed to change.
As much as I loved Hillary Clinton, and still do, I now know she was not the right person for the time. We needed Barak Obama. My apathetic generation suddenly had someone that they could look up to. Hillary Clinton may have been qualified for the job but she represented a thought that scared some. We could have ended up with two entire decades led by only two families. Our political system, created in retaliation from the exclusive monarchy of Europe, would have become what it had set out to escape. The Clintons will always maintain a strong force in politics, the Kennedy's continue to spread their influence, the Bush's aren't going anywhere soon. There will always be political royalty. But we didn't want that as the face of our nation. Not now.
I cried on election night like so many others. And I felt wrong about it because I didn't think I had that right. But this win was something so personal, so familial, so touching to so many. It was more than just that we had finally crossed a racial barrier most thought would never happen in their lifetimes. We suddenly had this man, this intelligent, articulate, man who had experienced LIFE. Yes, his education was elitist (as the opposition so often pointed out) but it was because he had worked for it, not been handed it by being born to a prominent family. He was, for the first time really, living proof of the American dream.
Yes you can, truly be whatever you want to be.
I only have vague memories of Bill Clinton's election as president. The first time I was only in the 5th grade and knew very little if anything about politics. I understood that the president was decided through a national vote and would serve then as the leader of our country but the capacity of that meant very little to me. I hardly had any idea about the world outside my suburban town. What I did know about the campaign was that my parents supported Clinton but I didn't know why. I knew he played the saxaphone and that the current president George Bush did not like broccoli. And then there was the other candidate, who had big ears, a lot of money and what everyone told me was no hope at actually winning the presidency.
I recall my younger brother and I accompanying my mother when she went to her polling booth at the nearby middle school. I also remember my brother and I being so misbehaved we were in deep trouble when we got home. Hardly one to remember every childhood squabble, my mom vividly remembers the night as well, our misbehavior overshadowing all other significances of that night.
We must have watched the inauguration at school. I feel like I know it happened but I can't say I can remember it at all. I do have a small glimmer of Clinton playing his sax on the television that night, although the context escapes me.
When he was reelected four years later I was older, a high school student. I had taken history and politics courses and I had a greater idea of the world at large. Yet I paid little attention to the campaign. In fact, I have absolutely no clue who Bill Clinton even ran against. It was such a given that he would simply remain president. Was there an inauguration that year? Is the president re-sworn in when he takes a second term? I'm embarrassed to say I just don't know.
In the year 2000 I turned 18 and was able to vote in my first presidential election. But truthfully I was far more interested in the fact that I could vote than I was in the candidates running. I supported Gore because I was decidedly Democrat but I could never have had a conversation on his platform or his policies. I basically had one stance to quote, I was definitely pro-choice and George W. Bush was not. This was about as solid a reasoning as any it seemed.
I was registered in my hometown but away at school so I voted via absetee ballot and therefore the day of the election was hardly different than any other day. Election night was spent in my dorm at Michigan, college students blasting the polls from every bedroom, running up and down the halls. The race was tight and when we went to bed that night we still had no idea who had won. I don't remember finding out the results and I certainly do not recall watching Bush being sworn in as president that January. I simply went back to being part of the apathetic generation.
Then September 11th happened. Politics were on everyone's mind. Our country went to war for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about. I lived abroad and feared the judgement towards my nationality. "Everybody wants to be American. The world wants to be like us." No, they didn't. There was little respect for our nation, a harsh opinion of our politics, our president, our entire culture. We became a global embarrassment.
The campaign leading up to the 2004 election should have inspired me, should have made me and others like me sit up and pay attention. But it didn't. We were shamed. And we thought the nation agreed. But John Kerry was simply not the right figure to get behind. Most people I knew supported him but not because of him. It was merely a matter of being not in support of the current president. And this proved to not be enough to move a nation. We didn't step up to the plate. We didn't show up in droves at our polling booths. I again submitted an absentee ballot in advance and went to bed without even watching.
Again I don't remember watching an inauguration. Was Bush sworn in again? Did he draw a crowd of supporters? For the second time our president lost the popular vote but won the electoral college. He wasn't someone the majority of the country wanted. He stayed in office mostly because we were complacent.
Today was different. This year was different. This president is different. Finally.
I will admit I had initially been a Hillary Clinton supporter. I thought she was without a doubt the most qualified person for the job. But I was quick to switch my loyalty to Barak Obama. In 2004, when I was briefly living in Chicago, I would meet up occasionally with a high school friend in the city for a summer internship. She was working on Obama's Senate campaign and she could not say enough about this man she was supporting. "He will be president one day, I promise." When he secured the democratic nomination, her words were the first thing that came to mind.
And I followed this whole campaign. I watched every single debate. I, like so many other young voters, those who hadn't had a candidate who spoke to them ever, finally had a reason to sit up and pay attention. Maybe it was because the policies suddenly spoke to me. Roe v Wade and the Republican agenda to overturn the precident it set remained a concern. But there was more now. I found myself one of the far too many who couldn't afford proper health care. My friends were being laid off due to the crumbling economy. My hometown of Detroit declined at an exceedingly rapid rate. My brother and roommate, school teachers, complained of the decline in our educational systems. It wasn't about helping an unknown "other" anymore, things had gotten personal, too close. The country needed to change.
As much as I loved Hillary Clinton, and still do, I now know she was not the right person for the time. We needed Barak Obama. My apathetic generation suddenly had someone that they could look up to. Hillary Clinton may have been qualified for the job but she represented a thought that scared some. We could have ended up with two entire decades led by only two families. Our political system, created in retaliation from the exclusive monarchy of Europe, would have become what it had set out to escape. The Clintons will always maintain a strong force in politics, the Kennedy's continue to spread their influence, the Bush's aren't going anywhere soon. There will always be political royalty. But we didn't want that as the face of our nation. Not now.
I cried on election night like so many others. And I felt wrong about it because I didn't think I had that right. But this win was something so personal, so familial, so touching to so many. It was more than just that we had finally crossed a racial barrier most thought would never happen in their lifetimes. We suddenly had this man, this intelligent, articulate, man who had experienced LIFE. Yes, his education was elitist (as the opposition so often pointed out) but it was because he had worked for it, not been handed it by being born to a prominent family. He was, for the first time really, living proof of the American dream.
Yes you can, truly be whatever you want to be.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
"Sometimes it seems like we're all living in some kind of prison. And the crime is how much we hate ourselves. It's good to get really dressed up once in a while. And admit the truth: that when you really look closely? People are so strange and so complicated that they're actually... beautiful. Possibly even me." -My So-Called Life
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Happy Birthday to me
So I am what I believe to be OLD now.
Congrats to me. High fives and ass slaps to everyone.
Congrats to me. High fives and ass slaps to everyone.
Friday, January 9, 2009
About Bad Poetry
Why if I think its so bad, am I posting my old poetry? Because its FUNNY. Seriously. Its amazing how dramatic one can be over something and then years later find it hilarious.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
Her
(circa Jan 2002)
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
Name change
So I've been encouraged to change the name of my site by many at this point. Just 5 minutes ago Caitlin called out from her room, her voice echoing through the wall, "But you don't write about sex, there's nothing tawdry on your site at all, it gives the wrong impression."
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
Secret Currency of Love
A couple months ago my former boss at HarperCollins contacted me to help out with makeup on a video shoot. The book was called The Secret Currency of Love: The Unabashed Truth about Women, Money, and Relationships and its a collection of essays from various women, speaking openly about how money has played a role in their relationships.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
with my depression
(circa fall 2001)
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Character drop
OK, I've changed my mind. When it comes down to it, the Isaac stuff isn't nearly as fun to write about as the other boys. His significance in my life revolving mostly on the fact that he left.
Its all probably something I should be telling my therapist about, if I ever finally start seeing a therapist rather than simply spill my issues on the world wide web. Basically, the change Isaac made on me is something that I understand now, looking back, reading my thoughts from that time. Then I merely thought I had my heart broken for the first time.
But the thing was, I never actually loved Isaac. And as many times as he told me he loved me, I don't really believe he ever did. Not that he was insincere. He was just such a lost and lonely boy that he was desperate to be in love. And I filled some kind of safe void for him. Because I would never hurt him, I didn't exist in the same world as him. While his home life was crumbling, his parents practically drinking themselves to death, having affairs, attempting suicide, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves, his fantasy life created around me was a safe haven. When his high school girlfriend broke his heart because he was too depressed to be around, when he dropped out of college cause he couldn't will himself to care about a future, I was always there on the other end of the email or the phone. Comforting him.
He would send me these words:
"I have never felt more alone and sad in my entire life. I know that I'm not alone but I have pushed everyone out. I don't have any direction and I don't know what to do... I'm not looking for pity but these are the thoughts that run through my head all the time. That's why I thought of you the other day. I was trying to remember a time when I was really happy. When I felt worth something. Like I meant something to someone... I never thought, until I met you, that I could open up to a someone and let them know me. I felt an overwhelming attraction to you, both physically and on a person to person basis. You and I seemed to be on the same wavelength, I could go on forever... I meant what I said when I told you I love you. And I know if we were together I know I would fall completely in love with you."
And it was this devotion he had towards me that let me trust him. Let me pretend in the way he did that whatever else was going on in our lives, we had this one magical, amazing connection that transcended all else.
Before Isaac's departure from my life in the winter of my freshman year of college, I was a hopeful, naive, and trusting young girl. My journal was filled with endless crushes that came and went, declarations of love for boys I don't even remember, ego bruises, rejection, a gambit of emotions. The enthusiasm I had before Isaac has never appeared in my journals again. The word love was never uttered again til Ryan, and never since. When I look back on the beginning of my relationship with Peter, who entered my life only a couple months following the Isaac fall, its strange to see how little life I put into my feelings. How guarded my words became. I never trusted him nor did I confuse my interest in him as love. I assumed he would hurt me before things even began. And I was always one foot out the door. Ready to run.
And its the same way now, this insecurity, a fear of being hurt that causes me to sabotage potential before its off the ground. Perhaps we all go through this one catastrophic change in our formative years. I suppose my experience is no different then most. We've all had our hearts broken, there wouldn't be pop music or chick flicks without that common human bond. But what I find interesting is the evidence of the change. Its amazing to me that I wrote it down. That I can recognize the change in tone, in diction (or maybe that's from too many lit courses for my English major). That I am able to look back and see where my life took a sudden turn.
To this day, I don't think I've ever felt as completely torn apart as the night things changed between he and I. And I doubt I'll ever fully heal. Perhaps one day I'll actually write about the night it happened. For now I'd rather not relive the whole experience too in depth.
A year or two ago I found Isaac on myspace. I dropped him a brief note, sending my best. He wrote back:
"I was wondering how long it would be before we met on myspace. I appreciate you reaching out to me and making contact. Considering our mishaps, I'm glad that you are willing to contact me.
That night at western... well actually, I was too far gone up to remember it. I can wager that I was probably a jerk, and sought things of you that you were not willing to give. And I deeply apologise. It is because of nights like that, and there were many that I was out of my mind and body, that I gave up drinking. Its a poison for me that has so negatively affected my life."
We never wrote again. It was all that needed to be said and I'm relieved that his life has gone in a better direction.
Its all probably something I should be telling my therapist about, if I ever finally start seeing a therapist rather than simply spill my issues on the world wide web. Basically, the change Isaac made on me is something that I understand now, looking back, reading my thoughts from that time. Then I merely thought I had my heart broken for the first time.
But the thing was, I never actually loved Isaac. And as many times as he told me he loved me, I don't really believe he ever did. Not that he was insincere. He was just such a lost and lonely boy that he was desperate to be in love. And I filled some kind of safe void for him. Because I would never hurt him, I didn't exist in the same world as him. While his home life was crumbling, his parents practically drinking themselves to death, having affairs, attempting suicide, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves, his fantasy life created around me was a safe haven. When his high school girlfriend broke his heart because he was too depressed to be around, when he dropped out of college cause he couldn't will himself to care about a future, I was always there on the other end of the email or the phone. Comforting him.
He would send me these words:
"I have never felt more alone and sad in my entire life. I know that I'm not alone but I have pushed everyone out. I don't have any direction and I don't know what to do... I'm not looking for pity but these are the thoughts that run through my head all the time. That's why I thought of you the other day. I was trying to remember a time when I was really happy. When I felt worth something. Like I meant something to someone... I never thought, until I met you, that I could open up to a someone and let them know me. I felt an overwhelming attraction to you, both physically and on a person to person basis. You and I seemed to be on the same wavelength, I could go on forever... I meant what I said when I told you I love you. And I know if we were together I know I would fall completely in love with you."
And it was this devotion he had towards me that let me trust him. Let me pretend in the way he did that whatever else was going on in our lives, we had this one magical, amazing connection that transcended all else.
Before Isaac's departure from my life in the winter of my freshman year of college, I was a hopeful, naive, and trusting young girl. My journal was filled with endless crushes that came and went, declarations of love for boys I don't even remember, ego bruises, rejection, a gambit of emotions. The enthusiasm I had before Isaac has never appeared in my journals again. The word love was never uttered again til Ryan, and never since. When I look back on the beginning of my relationship with Peter, who entered my life only a couple months following the Isaac fall, its strange to see how little life I put into my feelings. How guarded my words became. I never trusted him nor did I confuse my interest in him as love. I assumed he would hurt me before things even began. And I was always one foot out the door. Ready to run.
And its the same way now, this insecurity, a fear of being hurt that causes me to sabotage potential before its off the ground. Perhaps we all go through this one catastrophic change in our formative years. I suppose my experience is no different then most. We've all had our hearts broken, there wouldn't be pop music or chick flicks without that common human bond. But what I find interesting is the evidence of the change. Its amazing to me that I wrote it down. That I can recognize the change in tone, in diction (or maybe that's from too many lit courses for my English major). That I am able to look back and see where my life took a sudden turn.
To this day, I don't think I've ever felt as completely torn apart as the night things changed between he and I. And I doubt I'll ever fully heal. Perhaps one day I'll actually write about the night it happened. For now I'd rather not relive the whole experience too in depth.
A year or two ago I found Isaac on myspace. I dropped him a brief note, sending my best. He wrote back:
"I was wondering how long it would be before we met on myspace. I appreciate you reaching out to me and making contact. Considering our mishaps, I'm glad that you are willing to contact me.
That night at western... well actually, I was too far gone up to remember it. I can wager that I was probably a jerk, and sought things of you that you were not willing to give. And I deeply apologise. It is because of nights like that, and there were many that I was out of my mind and body, that I gave up drinking. Its a poison for me that has so negatively affected my life."
We never wrote again. It was all that needed to be said and I'm relieved that his life has gone in a better direction.
Monday, January 5, 2009
To begin...
In order to represent the impact of Isaac's departure from my life, I have to first build him up to the extend I had done so many years ago. he must become a symbol of perfection. An unrealistic fantasy of a man. Beautiful. Open. Loving. Naive to the pain of the world and optimistic of all possibilities.
It was the summer when I was 15 years old that we met. A summer I look upon now as the time my teenage life really began. It was over this three month period of adolescence that I first became aware that boys actually noticed me. And I relished over this new found power.
When my freshman year of high school came to an end, a popular senior boy asked me on a date. A real one. My first. We went to dinner, caught a movie, and later over coffee he asked, "Do you even have any idea just how unbelievably beautiful you are?" I blushed. I had never been told I was beautiful by a boy before.
He was of course too old for me and I soon began seeing his more age appropriate friend, a boy my parents dubbed the Nice Boy from Farmington. He however was a bit too nice and after cheating on him a couple times with my delinquent neighbor, I ended things to begin a fling with a long-haired, pothead. Luckily it was on this self esteem high that I was floating when Isaac and I first met because had I not been the aggressor, things may never have started at all.
It was the summer when I was 15 years old that we met. A summer I look upon now as the time my teenage life really began. It was over this three month period of adolescence that I first became aware that boys actually noticed me. And I relished over this new found power.
When my freshman year of high school came to an end, a popular senior boy asked me on a date. A real one. My first. We went to dinner, caught a movie, and later over coffee he asked, "Do you even have any idea just how unbelievably beautiful you are?" I blushed. I had never been told I was beautiful by a boy before.
He was of course too old for me and I soon began seeing his more age appropriate friend, a boy my parents dubbed the Nice Boy from Farmington. He however was a bit too nice and after cheating on him a couple times with my delinquent neighbor, I ended things to begin a fling with a long-haired, pothead. Luckily it was on this self esteem high that I was floating when Isaac and I first met because had I not been the aggressor, things may never have started at all.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
A memory of Isaac
(circa fall 2001)
No more than fifteen years behind me
And I've never known what its like
to have a love life
I have never even had a like life
But here we sit alone for the first time
A drop of liquid falls on my toe
Or is it a drip?
Drop
Drip
I ignore the rain
And hold your hand in mine
as we sit it silence
There's an unspoken connection
From your eyes locked in my gaze
And I feel
the exhilarating rush of our instant attraction
Turning itself into a mutual lust
Between us
And I know you understand
That feeling
It's new to me
Stronger than anything
I had previously experienced in relation
to a boy
But here I am with you now
Comforted by your presence
And the realization that I am capable
of being loved
By someone
I begin to cry
Was it ever raining at all
or always just my tears?
No more than fifteen years behind me
And I've never known what its like
to have a love life
I have never even had a like life
But here we sit alone for the first time
A drop of liquid falls on my toe
Or is it a drip?
Drop
Drip
I ignore the rain
And hold your hand in mine
as we sit it silence
There's an unspoken connection
From your eyes locked in my gaze
And I feel
the exhilarating rush of our instant attraction
Turning itself into a mutual lust
Between us
And I know you understand
That feeling
It's new to me
Stronger than anything
I had previously experienced in relation
to a boy
But here I am with you now
Comforted by your presence
And the realization that I am capable
of being loved
By someone
I begin to cry
Was it ever raining at all
or always just my tears?
Cast of characters
As previously mentioned, I'm pulling from my old journals for stories and while the two whole people who actually read my blog already know these folks i will soon be referring to, I thought I'd give a little insite anyway. Just for the hell of it.Three boys played extremely significant roles during the time of my life that I'm focusing on. Two of them have been written about on this blog already, their impact still maintaining a firm grasp on my life and self. The other is someone who has in many ways been forgotten. A person who flitted in and out of my life quickly, yet dramatically, and it was really only by reading the words I wrote at 19 that I realized how my experience with him had changed things in a way I can no longer deny.
So here they are: Isaac, Peter, and Ryan (Peter's name had previously been omitted and instead been referred to only as Boy in the past but since I'm fairly certain he's not going to be reading this anytime soon, we'll give him his name back).
Isaac I met when I was 15 in Holland, MI, a small town where my best friend at the time had family. We had taken a Greyhound bus across the state to stay for a week, spending our days with her cousin Matthew and all his friends, who were our age. One of these friends was a cute, shy boy named Isaac. I was his first kiss late one night out in the rain and we stayed in touch for years after, sending long emails and pseudo professions of love. Isaac was my first faraway fantasy, a role Ryan later took on. He became this perfect being in my mind and the fallout on a winter night in 2001 has left me scarred in ways I did not realize.
Peter was for all intensive purposes my college boyfriend, even though at no point in the three years that we were on and off did we ever give ourselves a label of exclusivity. Regardless, we both always referred to the other as our exes and when he graduated the year before me, he professed my role as the person he felt closest to during all those years. Peter was also the first boy I ever slept with and therefore he played a role far more complicated in my life.
Ryan is most easily described as my actual first real love. And to this day he has remained the only person I ever have loved. He is the only one of the three who is still in my life as we do write, text, and call occasionally. And there is always still the inkling that our relationship is not something which will always exist in the past tense. He is also the only one who will probably ever read the words I've written about him over the years. Once I sent him the beginning of the short story I began on our relationship, his only comments were to correct a couple errors in grammar. He lets me tell the story the way I remember it and I appreciate that.
So there they are. I will be alternating between their stories as I write, I have no interest in being totally chronological, but use the labels below to section out each individual as necessary.
Let the stories begin!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Time to cheat...
Alright, I admit it, I'm about to start cheating with this blog. When I was home over Christmas I found some of my old journals (I have like 100 of them randomly boxed all over my parent's house so every time I'm home I tend to discover another one). Anyway, one of them was from the college years, most specifically when I was taking creative writing courses, getting into poetry, and hopelessly in love with a boy across the ocean. Needless to say, I think I did some of my best writing during those days. Their journal pieces, so they're totally raw, but I want to start borrowing from them, editing on them, and posting some stuff here.
My top New Years resolution is to focus on my writing. To promise myself at least one solid half hour each day of quality time between my computer and my ideas. I also want to post at least one thing a day here. These two things however are not necessarily the same. My writing is sometimes just for me and I don't want it on here yet. SO that's where the old work comes in.
Who knows, maybe people might take interest in my 19-22 year old thoughts...
My top New Years resolution is to focus on my writing. To promise myself at least one solid half hour each day of quality time between my computer and my ideas. I also want to post at least one thing a day here. These two things however are not necessarily the same. My writing is sometimes just for me and I don't want it on here yet. SO that's where the old work comes in.
Who knows, maybe people might take interest in my 19-22 year old thoughts...
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