Emily Sexton
Engl. 305
10/22/07
Word count: 3,732
Looking Good, Feeling Pain
It’s a lot like knives. It’s like a bunch of knives piercing your most delicate skin. It’s like the stabbing of a wound over and over again in the same spot. These knives move as one element, like a wave of sea water crashing upon edgy rocks. But it’s all going on inside of you, in the tiniest parts of you. You wonder how such a small thing could cause such devastating consequences. But there was no questioning once it hit. Once it hit, I was down for the count. Once it hit, I was uncomfortably aware that my body was under attack, and like a best friend I would do anything to fight for and protect, I would do anything I could to get rid of the pain, to rid my poor, defenseless body of such horrible affliction. My body became so much more precious to me than ever before. So I wiggled and twisted and inhaled and exhaled and squeezed and yelled. Still losing the fight. Pain still unbearable. And so I took my first trip to the emergency room, and so I began walking the path to discovering the cause of all this sudden pain… I was diagnosed with Renal Stone Disease. I was in the 8th grade.
It’s not fair, really. “Isn’t this an old-person’s disease, mom?” I was only thirteen. I started going to see a kidney specialist to figure out the course of action we were going to take to deal with my disorder. There are pills. There are surgeries. There are metal objects that poke and prod and go places I would never say out loud. There are lasers. There are shock waves. There are special diets. There are more tests, more ultrasounds, more x-rays, more radiation. A few days before Christmas, I had another stone episode and ended up in the emergency room for the third time in two weeks. My mom carried me down the three flights of snowy stairs from our apartment to get to the car. “How bad is it, honey?” “Oh Mom… please, make it stop, mom! Just let me die.” Christmas goodies didn’t seem so great, they began to lose their glitter when my immature mind was cluttered with fear and paranoia of the next kidney stone attack.
“A kidney stone is a hard mass that occurs when calcium oxalate or other chemicals in the urine form crystals that stick together. These crystals may grow into stones ranging in size from a grain of sand to a golf ball… Some one million Americans--the majority between the ages of 20 and 40--are treated each year for kidney stones. Kidney stones are more common in men, who account for about four out of five cases.” –The National Kidney Foundation
Over the winter months and into spring, the paranoia consumed me completely. I was always wondering if I would feel that first little pang… if I got a hunger pain or a cramp or anything that might turn into the hours of excruciating kidney stone pain, I was always conscious. Always aware. It might happen at ANY TIME… and there’s nothing I could do to know when. I get dropped off at soccer practice and hear, “drink, drink, drink, Em! Gotta flood out those kidneys!” None of the other kids are thinking about their kidneys as they get out of the car to go play soccer. I end up crying and writhing around in the nurse’s office at school one afternoon. It was the big mile-run day at Indian Hills Jr. High School. The intense heat dehydrated me, as I’m sure it did my classmates also, but my body reacts a little differently than most. I have been a runner all my life, an excellent sprinter. My long legs give me an advantage, and I always ran a successful mile time just a little above average compared to my classmates… until this. I couldn’t finish the mile-run. The knives were back and worse than ever… and I had to explain to the nurse that I had kidney stones. “Really, now that’s interesting… kidney stones in a young thing like you? That’s almost unheard of, isn’t it?” None of the other kids were unable to finish the mile-run in gym that day due to their kidneys. So I spent the rest of the day knocked out from pain medication.
“Stones form twice as often in men as women. The peak age in men is 30 years; women have a bimodal age distribution, with peaks at 35 and 55 years. Once a kidney stone forms, the probability that a second stone will form within five to seven years is approximately 50%.” -Parmar
I entered high school like any other 14-year-old girl. I didn’t know who I was, but I was excited to start a new chapter in my youth. I had a new best friend every month, crushes on all the popular boys, I found out I thrived in my English class and dived in my algebra class. I was a healthy, skinny, athletic blonde with a new haircut and a summer tan. Things change fast though, and they appear differently than they really are. It was a Sunday night in early October, and I fell asleep at 11 o’clock, thinking the next thing I was going to be doing was getting up to go to school. That’s not what happened at all. An hour after falling asleep, I felt my world crash down around me as I realized the pain in my lower-abdomen was not going away and only getting stronger. More knives piercing me over and over again. More waves crushing me. Bricks were piling on top of the knives pushing them harder and harder into my little body. It’s hard to even put the pain into words. After lying in my bed trying to suppress my screams for half an hour, I crawled on my hands and knees in the dark up the stairs to get to my parents’ bedroom. My tears were enough to clue them in on what was going on, so they pulled me into bed with them and tried everything in their power to make me feel better, even though nothing could. I vomited my pain medication back up not even five minutes after I swallowed it, I couldn’t stand nor sit up, I was crying, and all my mom could do was lay next to me and let me squeeze her hand. It was now 4 a.m. and I had had no relief. I had never been in that much pain for that long EVER… I had never imagined it either. It was completely surreal.
“…Usually, the symptom of a kidney stone is extreme pain that has been described as being worse than child labor pains. The pain often begins suddenly as the stone moves in the urinary tract, causing irritation and blockage. Typically, a person feels a sharp, cramping pain in the back and in the side of the area of the kidney or in the lower abdomen, which may spread to the groin.” –The Urology Center of Florida
I had also never been on morphine before. But then again, you would assume most 14-year-olds hadn’t experienced a major narcotic like that. It’s too bad my experience with it almost killed me. I think if I ever did drugs, the way I felt as the nurse stabbed the I.V. into my hand would probably have the same effect. That’s because they mistakenly overdosed me, a lot. We’re talking three milligrams they were supposed to inject versus the ten milligrams they actually gave me. On the bright side, the six hours of straight pain I had gone through by the time I was lying in the emergency room, completely subsided in a matter of seconds. In fact, I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. People were swooping in and out of and around the room in blurs, my mom’s words of worry were muffled and slurred, everyone was on edge and their faces were tense, but I was in another world in my mind. I closed my eyes and thought opening them again might be a little too hard to manage. My body tingled slightly and then it was like a soft darkness veiled over it, like I was covered in a black shroud floating in the sky in some far-off galaxy.
After that, I don’t remember much. I awoke in another room, a real hospital room, the room I would remain for the next three days. I didn’t know why I was awake, it was still very early in the morning… then I found my answer. This is when the vomiting began. If anyone gives you morphine, just remember that it takes away the pain, but it will make your stomach very upset. Don’t ask me why, but I counted… and the official count stopped at twenty-five. Once you vomit twenty-five times, there is obviously no food left in your stomach, so you start to throw up a disgusting substance I learned was called “bile”, a bitter alkaline fluid that comes from your gallbladder. If the hours of leaning over bedpans weren’t bad enough… I got no sleep, I was lonely, I hated the cheery nurses that came in to take my blood pressure and check my I.V., the stench I associate with hospitals made me feel sicker than I already was, I couldn’t hold my head up longer than two seconds, and every now and then I felt waves of kidney pain start and stop like a big tease.
Serious side effects of morphine:
• shallow breathing, slow heartbeat;
• seizure (convulsions);
• cold, clammy skin;
• confusion;
• severe weakness or dizziness; or
• feeling light-headed, fainting.
Less serious side effects are more likely to occur, such as:
• constipation;
• warmth, tingling, or redness under your skin;
• nausea, vomiting, stomach pain, diarrhea, loss of appetite;
• dizziness, headache, anxiety;
• memory problems; or
• sleep problems (insomnia).
It was the longest and cruelest day of my life. I felt like I had the body of an 80-year-old. And when I was finally freed from the cage that hospital had become to me, I NEVER wanted to smell that hospital stench EVER again. Back at home, all I did was lay around. That’s all I really could do. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or walk further than the bathroom without needing someone to help me. My body was going to take a while to adjust back to normal after such a painful experience… and especially because of the heavy use of narcotics I had been exposed to. “Give it a couple weeks, Em… you’ll gain your strength back, just give it time.” But it was too much. I was too young to feel like this, too weak to want to try to get better, and I slipped into a three-fold state of depression: physically, psychologically, and spiritually. I couldn’t look at my dad because I was mad at him for giving me bad genes and looking at him made me want to yell and punch him for the pain he caused me. I couldn’t walk up the stairs without a wave of exhaustion washing over my body, forcing me to grasp the railing like a feeble, old grandmother. I hated God and turned away from Him because He let it happen to me. I stopped praying, I stopped reading my Bible, I stopped going to youth group and church, I stopped everything. I hated anyone I passed by that wasn’t breathing heavily from just walking and moving around. Anyone who was happy and healthy. I looked at them and thought how I used to be just like them before December of my 8th grade year.
The worst was people’s reactions when they found out why I hadn’t been in school for a week. They couldn’t believe I was ailed by such a serious thing. They had no idea what the pain was like. And you could see it on their faces, like when you reveal something really significant to someone and they just sort of take it like they would the weekend gossip. And then after about a week, everyone around you starts to treat you like you’re just fine. Because you’re walking, you’re sitting in class, you’re talking by the lockers with your friends. But inside… inside you’re weak and dead. You have so much healing left to do. So much strength left to gain back. But to the human eye, you look completely normal. I wanted people to understand, I wanted them to know. And I also didn’t want them to know… I wanted to hide it. I struggled with that for a very long time, long after I had gained back most of my physical strength… which took a good two months. When the spring soccer season rolled around, it was time for me to try out for our high school’s team… my first real tryout for a competitive high school sport. After my hospital stay, my visits with my kidney specialist left me with an order to try to “treat” my kidney problems by making sure I was always staying hydrated. Once soccer season arrived, this got much harder. Every time I had to stop and grab an extra drink, I wished I could go back to the careless days at soccer practice when I didn’t once think about preventing such a thing as kidney stones. I performed to my best ability, but sometimes my best wasn’t as good as everyone else because of kidney stones. Sometimes I had to sit on the side lines. Sometimes I had to leave early. Sometimes I couldn’t finish the drills. All because of something inside of me that no one could see. Soccer coaches are accustomed to seeing twisted ankles and torn ACL’s, not kidney stones. They only knew by my facial expression that I was in pain.
“A number of risk factors play major roles in stone formation. The first is loss of body fluids (dehydration). When one does not consume enough fluids during the day, the urine often becomes quite concentrated and darker. This increases the chance that crystals can form from materials within the urine, because there is less fluid available to dissolve them.”
On a steaming day later in the summer, I found myself sitting in the familiar small office of my kidney specialist. I walked through the familiar hospital filled with familiar faces all from sad, tired, weak, old men and women hobbling into the elevators and sitting in their wheelchairs in the waiting rooms. Their silver hair and wrinkled hands looked nothing like my long, blonde hair pulled back in a sporty pony-tail and my athletic little legs in my white soccer shorts, no wrinkles to date. Test results had revealed my fatal flaw. I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes at this peculiar discovery. My body doesn’t produce as much citrate as it should be producing. Therefore, I have the tendency to form kidney stones from the lack of kidney stone inhibitors, which comes from citrate. I have a “metabolic abnormality”.
I glanced back and forth between my doctor and my mom for answers to questions I haven’t formed just yet. I figured out that what he was saying was that this isn’t just a momentary problem. My doctor looked at me when he spoke to me, which was weird because I usually had very little understanding of anything he said… I was just a kid; I kind of wished he would just look at my mom instead. This was all very foreign to me. My mind was probably distracted thinking about when my next soccer game was. But when the words ‘citrate’ and ‘metabolic abnormality’ kept flying out of his mouth, I was hooked. Then I looked to my mom for some kind of assurance that everything was going to be ok no matter what words were coming out of his mouth. “There is a medication we could put you on. It has a good success rate. I hesitate though… you’re extremely young to be worrying about taking a pill twice a day for the rest of your life. Discuss it with your mom, don’t feel rushed, we’ve got plenty of time. I’ll see you guys in a few months.” I listened to my mom tell me she agrees that I am too young to start taking such a long-lasting medication. She didn’t promise a solution, because there really isn’t one. But she always hugged me the right way that told me, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, sweetie, but I’m always going to be right here with you to help you through it.”
“…Potassium citrate attaches to calcium in the urine, preventing the formation of mineral crystals that can develop into kidney stones.”
“…About half of children with stones have an identifiable metabolic disorder, which increases their risk of stone recurrence five-fold.”
When the one-year anniversary for my hospitalization came around, I cheered a little inside. I got on with my sophomore year of high school, feeling older, cooler, and healthy again. And I wish with all of my heart I could end the story here and conclude that I lived happily ever after, but I went down the other path, the path to inexplicable pain. I began making weekly trips to the nurse’s office. They saw me so much that year they told me I was kind of like a daughter to them. They got used to my half-bent over posture walking weakly through the wooden door, continuing on to the back room where the lights remain off and I can lie down for one class period or however long it took. They provided me with a heating pad to hold on my back to help with the frequent muscle spasms I was now getting from my disorder… they didn’t hurt as bad as kidney stones themselves, but felt very similar.
One night in February, I awoke to a horrifying sense of deja-vu. “No, no, no… this cannot be happening again. No, please, not again.” I started begging and pleading with God. I wanted Him to reach out and just suck the stone or stones right out of my body with His own two hands. When I made it upstairs and woke my mom up, it was like I was experiencing the October stone attack all over again, but somehow it was worse, somehow it was even more painful. My mom was so cautious to drive me to the hospital. But I knew what was going on inside of me. I knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. And it didn’t. It went on for three more hours… and I threatened to drive myself to the hospital if she wouldn’t do it, I was so desperate for pain relief, I felt like I could just die from the pressure of the knives. I lay crumpled in the passenger seat as my mom drove at the speed of light to get me to that emergency room. I was wailing and screaming my head off. When they got me into a bed, my body started to convulse uncontrollably from all the pain. They rolled me into the x-ray room as fast as they could, promising pain relief in just a couple more minutes… those minutes felt like hours. At last, they covered me with a heated blanket to help with my convulsions, and they gave me an I.V., carefully checking my wristband the emergency room attendant had attached specifically warning NO MORPHINE, so I didn’t find out until later what narcotic they put me on that time. When I was roused sometime in the afternoon from my sleep, my mom mentioned it was some narcotic called Newbane that doctors said they give to women who are in labor. I was just glad it didn’t make me throw up twenty-five times. I lied in that hospital bed for three days, barely moving, speaking, or existing really. It was depressing.
“Some people are more susceptible to forming kidney stones, and heredity certainly plays a role. The majority of kidney stones are made of calcium, and hypercalciuria (high levels of calcium in the urine), is a risk factor. The predisposition to high levels of calcium in the urine may be passed on from generation to generation. Some rare hereditary diseases also predispose some people to form kidney stones. Examples include people with renal tubular acidosis and people with problems metabolizing a variety of chemicals including cystine (an amino acid), oxalate, (a type of salt), and uric acid (as in gout).”
--eMedicineHealth
One year following my February hospitalization, my mom and sister presented me with a single yellow rose. That rose represented so much to me. In its petals, I saw the pain of my past woven into the pain of my present, and inevitably the pain of my future. But it was yellow, like the sunshine. It was hope. Smelling its sweet fragrance made me calm. I think with every long-lasting problem you are forced to deal with in your life, you have to accept it as being a part of who you are. I don’t like having a kidney stone disease. I don’t wish it upon anyone else. I don’t like that it stained all four years of my high school career with tears and sweat and anger. But it also made me stronger, and without that strength, I wouldn’t be the girl I am today. My friends look at me and envy my slender body and my toned stomach. But there’s so much more to me than that. And people recognize that too, which is all that really matters. They recognize my strength and perseverance that comes from my struggle with renal stone disease. They witness my exuberant joy that results from taking full advantage of healthy, happy times after years of suffering and pain. I may appear to have a great body, but my confidence comes more from overcoming time after time after time of painful kidney stone episodes than people complimenting how good I look in my skinny jeans and fitted t-shirt. I live a life of pain, and out of it I am blessed. I will continue a life of pain until the day I die, and I will still try to wiggle and twist and inhale and exhale and squeeze and yell… but I will also smile, because I will overcome.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
"If I ever make a mess, I'll do anything for you..." -Sufjan
I think a part of the reason why I have the internal conflicts and struggles that I have in my life, is because I suck at Pulling Back. I'm a really bad puller-backer. It's a root in the very depths of my soul, it's intertwined in my personality, just who I am. I am great at taking it to the next level though. So that works in positive ways for me when the opportunity comes around for such an act... but pulling back? Not so much my forte. Giving slack. Letting some things slide. Taking it DOWN a notch.
Of course everyone knows I'm loud. I laugh loud, I talk loud, I'm too loud most the time. I like when dramatic things happen that seem like they only happen in movies. I've always been a very good actress because of my facial expressions and animations which are LOUD in non-verbal ways. But there are other times in one's life that one must pull back. This is when I go, oh darn. Crap. Frick. Dang it. Because I know I have a hard time doing this. I'm like.. oh here we go again. How do you pull back exactly? My difficulty with such a thing comes from my abundant desire to please people and my huge heart that I have that makes me care SO much... about everything! I just care. I couldn't try to NOT care, it's basically impossible. If it's not the person that I care about, it's the situation, the ideas and principles behind the person and the situation, the underlying form, the analysis of what is at stake, the value, the root of my cares is love. I just have so much love... I feel like sometimes I have too much love and I have nothing to do with it! That's why I treat people the way I do. Which, hopefully, makes people think of me in a positive way. I know I obviously have treated people badly, but I would also like to think that I realize my way of error and correct it showing that I really do love after all, even if I was being stupid for a while.
Anyway, commitment and loyalty are two big issues I have with "pulling back". I think the two go hand in hand, so I can't really say the other without putting an 'and' and the other with it. Once I am grounded in strong commitment for something, or someone, I am flat-out loyal to it, or them. It never really goes away. But then the situation changes and I am forced to cut back a little. I was used to the level of commitment I was at. I was used to the loyalty that makes me do other things that also increase that commitment... like doing nice things for a person, serving them, making them feel good, cheering them up, treating them like a treasure.
Um... so anyway, I just have a hard time lessening that sense of commitment and loyalty. How do you pull back? I suck at it. And my writing reflects this! Yeah! My english prof here wrote all these comments on my first essay for her class saying that I was "overwriting", that sometimes if I just pulled back a little it would actually make it better writing. And I was just like ugh, you've got to be kidding me! It's just not me, pulling back and all. It's not me. And when I did pull back in my writing for our latest paper, I felt like it was terrible because I knew I would have much rather taken it to a higher intensity... I dunno... I wouldn't have "pulled back" so much.
I really do suck at pulling back. This is kind of a problem at times! like now.
Of course everyone knows I'm loud. I laugh loud, I talk loud, I'm too loud most the time. I like when dramatic things happen that seem like they only happen in movies. I've always been a very good actress because of my facial expressions and animations which are LOUD in non-verbal ways. But there are other times in one's life that one must pull back. This is when I go, oh darn. Crap. Frick. Dang it. Because I know I have a hard time doing this. I'm like.. oh here we go again. How do you pull back exactly? My difficulty with such a thing comes from my abundant desire to please people and my huge heart that I have that makes me care SO much... about everything! I just care. I couldn't try to NOT care, it's basically impossible. If it's not the person that I care about, it's the situation, the ideas and principles behind the person and the situation, the underlying form, the analysis of what is at stake, the value, the root of my cares is love. I just have so much love... I feel like sometimes I have too much love and I have nothing to do with it! That's why I treat people the way I do. Which, hopefully, makes people think of me in a positive way. I know I obviously have treated people badly, but I would also like to think that I realize my way of error and correct it showing that I really do love after all, even if I was being stupid for a while.
Anyway, commitment and loyalty are two big issues I have with "pulling back". I think the two go hand in hand, so I can't really say the other without putting an 'and' and the other with it. Once I am grounded in strong commitment for something, or someone, I am flat-out loyal to it, or them. It never really goes away. But then the situation changes and I am forced to cut back a little. I was used to the level of commitment I was at. I was used to the loyalty that makes me do other things that also increase that commitment... like doing nice things for a person, serving them, making them feel good, cheering them up, treating them like a treasure.
Um... so anyway, I just have a hard time lessening that sense of commitment and loyalty. How do you pull back? I suck at it. And my writing reflects this! Yeah! My english prof here wrote all these comments on my first essay for her class saying that I was "overwriting", that sometimes if I just pulled back a little it would actually make it better writing. And I was just like ugh, you've got to be kidding me! It's just not me, pulling back and all. It's not me. And when I did pull back in my writing for our latest paper, I felt like it was terrible because I knew I would have much rather taken it to a higher intensity... I dunno... I wouldn't have "pulled back" so much.
I really do suck at pulling back. This is kind of a problem at times! like now.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
...and I'll never let this go.
Man... does anyone else feel like they need a good week-long break from school and stuff? Or is that just me? Ok maybe it's just me... but that's how I feel. And the closest break we have is Thanksgiving. It's in November. It's September now. Oh goodness.
There's so much that I have to do! Things just swirl around in my mind constantly it seems... medical tests, start my tutor job, write an essay, make appointments- doctor and teacher both, law & politics exams, make sure I'm doing everything possible to prevent more sickness, read pages of court cases, read chapters in books, finish a book by next Tuesday. And out of it all, I have to figure out what's most important, and how everything follows. I would say right now my health is priority one. Mostly because everything else can't really happen when I am bed-ridden... shocking, isn't it. Then there's the little stuff. Like, clean my room so there isn't week-old soup sitting out on the table, and actually wash my clothes every once and a while.
I'm 19 years old, and I just want everyone to know that I still have trouble taking care of myself.
My latest assignment in my Creative-Nonfiction writing class was to write a personal essay. I missed out on a week's worth of class, in which we discussed and read examples of what personal essays are and how you write one... you know, tone, style, composition, all the basics. So I lacked confidence in writing my own, but I just kept writing because I had this burst of inspiration I couldn't ignore... I ended up writing a 4,400-word story that had me in tears half the time I spent writing it because it was so personal and made me re-live a lot of painful memories in my life. But the product is something... I am really proud of. I don't even know yet if I can turn it in as my personal essay, because of its length. But I think it's one of the best things I've ever written. I threw myself into it at 110 percent, I didn't hold back. At times, I wanted to throw my laptop across the room I was so mad, because I wanted to go to bed and wanted to stop writing but I just couldn't stop. And I'm glad I didn't stop. I don't think it would have turned out the same. I'd like to put it on here... but... it has some names in it and I'm not sure if I should put it on here for anyone to read. I don't know. It's really personal. But if you want to read it and you're a friend, let me know. I wouldn't have a problem with that.
I just think it's so crazy that I look back on my life and I have all these stories. And I have some pretty action-packed, evocative, intense stories... not gonna lie. And to think, I'm going to have so many more stories in like 50 years. Gosh that's crazy.
I've been sick a lot. Understatement. I'm sick pretty much all the time. If you're standing next to me and I don't act sick, it's because I'm acting like I'm not sick. Brief moments-- I'm lucky if it turns into a few hours-- I actually feel GOOD again and healthy and whole... but goodness, they don't last long enough. The worst part about being sick all the time, is being sick all the time and not knowing WHY you're sick all the time. I have some guesses. We have some appointments that are soon going to be made with hospitals and doctors, but nothing is certain right now. All I know is that my body hurts and needs help all throughout the week, for several weeks now. Kidney pain. Shooting pains in places you don't want to hear about. Headaches. Nausea. Sedation. Fevers. Muscle spasms. Backaches. Fatigue. Faintness. Dizziness. That the-room-is-spinning-so-much-I-can't-stand-up feeling... ya know. all that good stuff.
God, I know this is supposed to make me stronger, but all I feel is weak.
I'll be ok. I just have to take it one day at a time. And I am. Tonight I had to leave a show early because I felt like I was going to fall over I was so faint and I got feverish and a splitting headache, but hey- I drove home and tried to focus and not hit another car (I didn't, yayy) and I've been lying down on my futon mattress for almost 3 and a half hours now. I'm doing alright. I can do this. I can wake up tomorrow morning and go to church with Nick. I'll be fine!
"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him."
--James 1:12
I'm trying. <3
There's so much that I have to do! Things just swirl around in my mind constantly it seems... medical tests, start my tutor job, write an essay, make appointments- doctor and teacher both, law & politics exams, make sure I'm doing everything possible to prevent more sickness, read pages of court cases, read chapters in books, finish a book by next Tuesday. And out of it all, I have to figure out what's most important, and how everything follows. I would say right now my health is priority one. Mostly because everything else can't really happen when I am bed-ridden... shocking, isn't it. Then there's the little stuff. Like, clean my room so there isn't week-old soup sitting out on the table, and actually wash my clothes every once and a while.
I'm 19 years old, and I just want everyone to know that I still have trouble taking care of myself.
My latest assignment in my Creative-Nonfiction writing class was to write a personal essay. I missed out on a week's worth of class, in which we discussed and read examples of what personal essays are and how you write one... you know, tone, style, composition, all the basics. So I lacked confidence in writing my own, but I just kept writing because I had this burst of inspiration I couldn't ignore... I ended up writing a 4,400-word story that had me in tears half the time I spent writing it because it was so personal and made me re-live a lot of painful memories in my life. But the product is something... I am really proud of. I don't even know yet if I can turn it in as my personal essay, because of its length. But I think it's one of the best things I've ever written. I threw myself into it at 110 percent, I didn't hold back. At times, I wanted to throw my laptop across the room I was so mad, because I wanted to go to bed and wanted to stop writing but I just couldn't stop. And I'm glad I didn't stop. I don't think it would have turned out the same. I'd like to put it on here... but... it has some names in it and I'm not sure if I should put it on here for anyone to read. I don't know. It's really personal. But if you want to read it and you're a friend, let me know. I wouldn't have a problem with that.
I just think it's so crazy that I look back on my life and I have all these stories. And I have some pretty action-packed, evocative, intense stories... not gonna lie. And to think, I'm going to have so many more stories in like 50 years. Gosh that's crazy.
I've been sick a lot. Understatement. I'm sick pretty much all the time. If you're standing next to me and I don't act sick, it's because I'm acting like I'm not sick. Brief moments-- I'm lucky if it turns into a few hours-- I actually feel GOOD again and healthy and whole... but goodness, they don't last long enough. The worst part about being sick all the time, is being sick all the time and not knowing WHY you're sick all the time. I have some guesses. We have some appointments that are soon going to be made with hospitals and doctors, but nothing is certain right now. All I know is that my body hurts and needs help all throughout the week, for several weeks now. Kidney pain. Shooting pains in places you don't want to hear about. Headaches. Nausea. Sedation. Fevers. Muscle spasms. Backaches. Fatigue. Faintness. Dizziness. That the-room-is-spinning-so-much-I-can't-stand-up feeling... ya know. all that good stuff.
God, I know this is supposed to make me stronger, but all I feel is weak.
I'll be ok. I just have to take it one day at a time. And I am. Tonight I had to leave a show early because I felt like I was going to fall over I was so faint and I got feverish and a splitting headache, but hey- I drove home and tried to focus and not hit another car (I didn't, yayy) and I've been lying down on my futon mattress for almost 3 and a half hours now. I'm doing alright. I can do this. I can wake up tomorrow morning and go to church with Nick. I'll be fine!
"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him."
--James 1:12
I'm trying. <3
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
kidney stones, ISU football, my hero Nick, me= zombie thanks to Darvocet, and critique I just can't accept about my writing... whoaaaa!
I look back on the past few days, and I just don't know what to say about it all. I have so many things floating around in my head right now. I'm having trouble separating it all out and focusing on them one at a time. Instead, everything is just one big blur.
Saturday started out bad the MOMENT I woke up. Seriously. I'm climbing down my ladder from my loft, and the kidney pain hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm just like, are you kidding me? Come on. The rest of the day was off and on, it came in waves, but it was constant. I tried to mask it most the time, but sometimes you just can't. It's never a good day to have kidney problems, but that day was particularly annoying to have to deal with it because I just wanted to have a good time at the ISU football game with friends and have fun and laugh... halfway through the 2nd quarter, I couldn't even hold my self up without someone supporting me, my body was just giving up and I couldn't see straight I was so dizzy and nauseous. I was so desperate to catch a Cy-ride bus to get back to Friley, but none of the buses were coming for at least 15 minutes and I couldn't wait that long... pain was starting to radiate again. We couldn't get ahold of my sister to pick me up and drive me back, so there was nothing to do but just tough it out and try to walk. I walked about half of the journey from Jack Trice Stadium with Nick supporting me and making sure I didn't fall over, stopping every few minutes so I could sit down and regain a tiny bit of energy.. and the other half Nick actually carried me the rest of the way because the pain was so bad, I was crying, and I was exhausted. I don't know how he did it, but somehow we got back to my room and I took my pain medicine.
Oh, the pain medicine.... it's a love-hate relationship let me tell ya. Darvocet is your friend, and your enemy at the same time. It's a narcotic and it helps my body deal with the pain from kidney stones, but it also has the power to completely sedate me, cause extreme dizziness and vomiting, nauseousness, drowsiness, and other things... trust me the list doesn't get any better. It also makes me completely loopy and do things I seriously don't remember and lose a lot of my inhibitions. My sister came and sat with me and Nick for a couple hours, then she left and Nick just stayed with me the entire night, helping me whenever I needed something and just being an amazing support system for my weakest moments. Oh my gosh, if everyone I knew saw me the way Nick saw me Saturday night, I would flip out. I'm too vulnerable, too weak, too helpless, and too needy. I hate it.
Sunday was the after-effects of the pain medicine.... if I wasn't sleeping at my sister's apartment for 3 hours, I was confined in the quarters of Friley not doing anything at all, just kind of sitting there. existing. but not really with it. Later in the evening I felt a little more alive and hung out with Bri, Nick, Eric and Scott up on 5th floor and had some laughs, but then I took two steps back and couldn't walk back to my room without Nick holding me up and coaching me as I took each step almost fainting at times. I hate the picture these occurrences paint of myself, but I can't change them, I can't control them! And I know that I can't help the fact that the pain and the side-effects make my body act the way it does, I can only be as strong as my body lets me be.... and when I have kidney problems, that's not much strength at all. Monday was unpleasant at best, I made it to one meal at least. I slept and rested most of the time if I wasn't making it to two of my three classes (one just couldn't be achieved). I broke down in tears several times because of my frail state, and had to be pep-talked into just being able to walk to Kildee for my psych class. I was afraid of the unpredictability of my disease, and the fear drives me to tears sometimes. The kidney monster can hit whenever it chooses, and I will be helpless no matter where I am and no matter who I'm with.
Walking down the hall to go to the bathroom makes my body gasp for breath, because it feels like I just ran a marathon. Going up a flight of stairs makes me lose my sense of balance and makes the room start spinning until I can't stand up straight. Last night, I got sharp knife-life kidney pains in my OTHER flank, confirming I have problems with both kidneys and not just the left, and it hurt so bad I couldn't walk at all and Nick carried me to my room.
If I didn't have Nick here in Friley to help me do the simple things that kidney problems make so difficult for me to accomplish, like walking to the bathroom or getting up to go eat a meal at the udcc..... I seriously don't know what I would do. I suppose I could recruit Brian or Eric or even Nick Howard to help me, but they'd probably get freaked out by it and that in turn would make me freak out because I hate making people uncomfortable more than anything else. I could call my sister, but honestly with her schedule I don't know how she would ever have the TIME to help me do those simple things like walk down the hall, plus she'd have to drive 10 minutes every time and that's just not even feasible, not with how frequent the problems happened the past few days. Bottom line, Nick has been my hero, and I couldn't be more grateful for someone to take care of me when I can only do so much to take care of myself.
Guess what? I'm friggin dropping Astro.120, THAT'S WHAT!
My allergies have turned into a full-fledged cold I think.... or just really, really bad allergies. The kidney pain exits, and something else enters- that's how it always is with me, you just learn to deal with it.
I got a B on my first essay in my English 305 class, and it pissed me off more than anything because of the comments I got from my teacher.... I could go into it more in another post, but I'm seriously upset. I'm definitely going to talk to her about it, because it's kind of ridiculous. I know that piece was an A. And her comments about my writing are just unsettling, really unsettling. There's no other way to describe it. It made me think... huh... maybe I should find something else to be my NUMBER ONE PASSION IN THE ENTIRE WORLD that I can actually BE REALLY GOOD AT, gosh dang it. Don't mess with my passions. I'm unsettled.
I'll end with these impeccable lyrics from Copeland's "Love Is a Fast Song"-
You dont have to be ashamed
because youre a miracle through and through
you dont have to be ashamed
of the miracle inside of you
what has love become
its not like we used to hear in those old songs
and its not like yours
what has love become
your love is in motion
and its spinning me around
my heart is in motion
for the movement thats in you
you should not be angry
if all she wants is your money
you should not be angry
because all you want is her body
what has love become
its not like we used to hear in those old songs
and its not like yours
what has love become
your love is a fast song
and im dancing because im loved again
my heart is in motion
for the rhythm inside you
your love is a slow song
its resounding through my world again
my heart is in motion
for the song inside of you
your love is in motion
and its spinning me around again
your love is a fast song
and im dancing because im loved again
your love is a slow song
its resounding through my world again
my heart is in motion
for the song inside of you
Saturday started out bad the MOMENT I woke up. Seriously. I'm climbing down my ladder from my loft, and the kidney pain hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm just like, are you kidding me? Come on. The rest of the day was off and on, it came in waves, but it was constant. I tried to mask it most the time, but sometimes you just can't. It's never a good day to have kidney problems, but that day was particularly annoying to have to deal with it because I just wanted to have a good time at the ISU football game with friends and have fun and laugh... halfway through the 2nd quarter, I couldn't even hold my self up without someone supporting me, my body was just giving up and I couldn't see straight I was so dizzy and nauseous. I was so desperate to catch a Cy-ride bus to get back to Friley, but none of the buses were coming for at least 15 minutes and I couldn't wait that long... pain was starting to radiate again. We couldn't get ahold of my sister to pick me up and drive me back, so there was nothing to do but just tough it out and try to walk. I walked about half of the journey from Jack Trice Stadium with Nick supporting me and making sure I didn't fall over, stopping every few minutes so I could sit down and regain a tiny bit of energy.. and the other half Nick actually carried me the rest of the way because the pain was so bad, I was crying, and I was exhausted. I don't know how he did it, but somehow we got back to my room and I took my pain medicine.
Oh, the pain medicine.... it's a love-hate relationship let me tell ya. Darvocet is your friend, and your enemy at the same time. It's a narcotic and it helps my body deal with the pain from kidney stones, but it also has the power to completely sedate me, cause extreme dizziness and vomiting, nauseousness, drowsiness, and other things... trust me the list doesn't get any better. It also makes me completely loopy and do things I seriously don't remember and lose a lot of my inhibitions. My sister came and sat with me and Nick for a couple hours, then she left and Nick just stayed with me the entire night, helping me whenever I needed something and just being an amazing support system for my weakest moments. Oh my gosh, if everyone I knew saw me the way Nick saw me Saturday night, I would flip out. I'm too vulnerable, too weak, too helpless, and too needy. I hate it.
Sunday was the after-effects of the pain medicine.... if I wasn't sleeping at my sister's apartment for 3 hours, I was confined in the quarters of Friley not doing anything at all, just kind of sitting there. existing. but not really with it. Later in the evening I felt a little more alive and hung out with Bri, Nick, Eric and Scott up on 5th floor and had some laughs, but then I took two steps back and couldn't walk back to my room without Nick holding me up and coaching me as I took each step almost fainting at times. I hate the picture these occurrences paint of myself, but I can't change them, I can't control them! And I know that I can't help the fact that the pain and the side-effects make my body act the way it does, I can only be as strong as my body lets me be.... and when I have kidney problems, that's not much strength at all. Monday was unpleasant at best, I made it to one meal at least. I slept and rested most of the time if I wasn't making it to two of my three classes (one just couldn't be achieved). I broke down in tears several times because of my frail state, and had to be pep-talked into just being able to walk to Kildee for my psych class. I was afraid of the unpredictability of my disease, and the fear drives me to tears sometimes. The kidney monster can hit whenever it chooses, and I will be helpless no matter where I am and no matter who I'm with.
Walking down the hall to go to the bathroom makes my body gasp for breath, because it feels like I just ran a marathon. Going up a flight of stairs makes me lose my sense of balance and makes the room start spinning until I can't stand up straight. Last night, I got sharp knife-life kidney pains in my OTHER flank, confirming I have problems with both kidneys and not just the left, and it hurt so bad I couldn't walk at all and Nick carried me to my room.
If I didn't have Nick here in Friley to help me do the simple things that kidney problems make so difficult for me to accomplish, like walking to the bathroom or getting up to go eat a meal at the udcc..... I seriously don't know what I would do. I suppose I could recruit Brian or Eric or even Nick Howard to help me, but they'd probably get freaked out by it and that in turn would make me freak out because I hate making people uncomfortable more than anything else. I could call my sister, but honestly with her schedule I don't know how she would ever have the TIME to help me do those simple things like walk down the hall, plus she'd have to drive 10 minutes every time and that's just not even feasible, not with how frequent the problems happened the past few days. Bottom line, Nick has been my hero, and I couldn't be more grateful for someone to take care of me when I can only do so much to take care of myself.
Guess what? I'm friggin dropping Astro.120, THAT'S WHAT!
My allergies have turned into a full-fledged cold I think.... or just really, really bad allergies. The kidney pain exits, and something else enters- that's how it always is with me, you just learn to deal with it.
I got a B on my first essay in my English 305 class, and it pissed me off more than anything because of the comments I got from my teacher.... I could go into it more in another post, but I'm seriously upset. I'm definitely going to talk to her about it, because it's kind of ridiculous. I know that piece was an A. And her comments about my writing are just unsettling, really unsettling. There's no other way to describe it. It made me think... huh... maybe I should find something else to be my NUMBER ONE PASSION IN THE ENTIRE WORLD that I can actually BE REALLY GOOD AT, gosh dang it. Don't mess with my passions. I'm unsettled.
I'll end with these impeccable lyrics from Copeland's "Love Is a Fast Song"-
You dont have to be ashamed
because youre a miracle through and through
you dont have to be ashamed
of the miracle inside of you
what has love become
its not like we used to hear in those old songs
and its not like yours
what has love become
your love is in motion
and its spinning me around
my heart is in motion
for the movement thats in you
you should not be angry
if all she wants is your money
you should not be angry
because all you want is her body
what has love become
its not like we used to hear in those old songs
and its not like yours
what has love become
your love is a fast song
and im dancing because im loved again
my heart is in motion
for the rhythm inside you
your love is a slow song
its resounding through my world again
my heart is in motion
for the song inside of you
your love is in motion
and its spinning me around again
your love is a fast song
and im dancing because im loved again
your love is a slow song
its resounding through my world again
my heart is in motion
for the song inside of you
Thursday, September 06, 2007
"You can get all the love that you need once you give it away." -Mae
Well. I'm sitting here in my room, on my futon cushion on my floor (because the actual futon broke), listening to the amazing voice of Hayley Williams from Paramore and the sounds of the rain outside. I just finished my last sip of hot tea in my favorite mug- yellow and white, from Starbucks, with a cute little stamp picture of a brew. My throat started hurting today, and tonight it is just hurting worse and worse... I'm hoping the tea shall remedy temporarily. I've gotten really lucky with my allergies and being back here at ISU this year, because last year... oh man... it was absolute misery. But, still. When allergies hit at all, they hit all the same.
I went over to Aubrey's this afternoon, and we finally talked about what's been going on for the past two weeks. Oh my gosh it was so good to just TALK. Ugh. Everything is ok now, everything turned out to be just misconstrued and it got dragged out into this big thing that wasn't a big thing at all. I needed to hear her side, I needed my best friend to tell me things that I can't see about myself sometimes. After we talked, everything seemed so clear and obvious, like it all made sense and of course things got messed up for a while there. I'm just so glad that burden is off my shoulders now!
I just feel like pieces of my life that were sharp and detached are now coming back together with a new smoothness to them. It makes me feel so good inside, like all the pain and strife is worth it to get to this point.
In my Creative-Nonfiction writing class today, we were put into small groups and given an exercise that had to do with writing metaphors. Each group was given a sort of common abstract idea, and we had to come up with metaphors for what that abstraction smells like, how it looks, and how it sounds. Out of all of the words, my group was assigned 'love'. Oh, goodness. Here we go. I began thinking wow, this is so easy for me, I write about love all the time and think about it all the time too- all of the different kinds of love, not just romantic. But we had to do it collectively with the other members of our group. So we started talking about what to put, and that's when it got messy. It was so strange to me for some reason. My group had SUCH a difficult time coming up with the sounds, smells, and sights for love. And, I realized it towards the end of class, that it was so difficult because love means so many different things to every person. People base it off of experience, or lack of experience so maybe from what they have seen in movies, or read about, or dreamed about. People personalize the word love by how it has affected them, their definition comes from their stories, their home-life, the way they were raised, the people they have experienced in their lives. It was actually frustrating, kind of. The guy in my group, Nate, kept trying to get us to use "Love sounds like the thunder of an approaching storm"... and that just didn't make sense to me, because love doesn't give me that sound when I think about it... at all. The best I came up with was that it sounds like glass shattering because of the pain that comes from love, or maybe it sounds like rain falling- soft, beautiful and unstoppable. The only thing we all agreed on was that love smells like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter's night. Because love brings warmth to to the soul, and it can comfort. The other girl in my group, Heather, kept saying that all of her metaphors have to do with bad relationships because of her past experiences, so nothing she said really connected with me. Love is so sacred to me, I understand that pain and heartache comes from love and there is an ugly side to the beautiful side of love, but overall love is amazing and should be considered to be dream-like, surreal, and the best thing to ever happen to a person. I dunno, it's just how I think of it. For the "looks like", I did- Love looks like sunshine streaming through your bedroom window, gently waking you for a new, precious day. I dunno. There are so many dynamics of love, maybe my perspective right now is just very happy and cozy and positive and that's why I had a hard time with this exercise. The whole thing was just very weird to me the entire time, and I had to restrain myself at times from exclaiming- What are you people saying!? this is LOVE we're talking about!!
well, I think I'm going to try to fall asleep soon here.... <3
I went over to Aubrey's this afternoon, and we finally talked about what's been going on for the past two weeks. Oh my gosh it was so good to just TALK. Ugh. Everything is ok now, everything turned out to be just misconstrued and it got dragged out into this big thing that wasn't a big thing at all. I needed to hear her side, I needed my best friend to tell me things that I can't see about myself sometimes. After we talked, everything seemed so clear and obvious, like it all made sense and of course things got messed up for a while there. I'm just so glad that burden is off my shoulders now!
I just feel like pieces of my life that were sharp and detached are now coming back together with a new smoothness to them. It makes me feel so good inside, like all the pain and strife is worth it to get to this point.
In my Creative-Nonfiction writing class today, we were put into small groups and given an exercise that had to do with writing metaphors. Each group was given a sort of common abstract idea, and we had to come up with metaphors for what that abstraction smells like, how it looks, and how it sounds. Out of all of the words, my group was assigned 'love'. Oh, goodness. Here we go. I began thinking wow, this is so easy for me, I write about love all the time and think about it all the time too- all of the different kinds of love, not just romantic. But we had to do it collectively with the other members of our group. So we started talking about what to put, and that's when it got messy. It was so strange to me for some reason. My group had SUCH a difficult time coming up with the sounds, smells, and sights for love. And, I realized it towards the end of class, that it was so difficult because love means so many different things to every person. People base it off of experience, or lack of experience so maybe from what they have seen in movies, or read about, or dreamed about. People personalize the word love by how it has affected them, their definition comes from their stories, their home-life, the way they were raised, the people they have experienced in their lives. It was actually frustrating, kind of. The guy in my group, Nate, kept trying to get us to use "Love sounds like the thunder of an approaching storm"... and that just didn't make sense to me, because love doesn't give me that sound when I think about it... at all. The best I came up with was that it sounds like glass shattering because of the pain that comes from love, or maybe it sounds like rain falling- soft, beautiful and unstoppable. The only thing we all agreed on was that love smells like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter's night. Because love brings warmth to to the soul, and it can comfort. The other girl in my group, Heather, kept saying that all of her metaphors have to do with bad relationships because of her past experiences, so nothing she said really connected with me. Love is so sacred to me, I understand that pain and heartache comes from love and there is an ugly side to the beautiful side of love, but overall love is amazing and should be considered to be dream-like, surreal, and the best thing to ever happen to a person. I dunno, it's just how I think of it. For the "looks like", I did- Love looks like sunshine streaming through your bedroom window, gently waking you for a new, precious day. I dunno. There are so many dynamics of love, maybe my perspective right now is just very happy and cozy and positive and that's why I had a hard time with this exercise. The whole thing was just very weird to me the entire time, and I had to restrain myself at times from exclaiming- What are you people saying!? this is LOVE we're talking about!!
well, I think I'm going to try to fall asleep soon here.... <3
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
"Or, storyless, it may spiral in on itself, circling hte core of a single image or idea, without climax, without a paraphrasable theme."
My lyric essay assignment. It took me 2 and a half hours of solid, focused writing. I think I'm pretty satisfied. Lyric essays are nice because they are in closest form to poetry, and poetry is my favorite because of the language and imagery encompassed into it. This is what the Seneca Review published on lyric essays:
"they forsake narrative line, discursive logic, and the art of persuasion in favor of idiosyncratic meditation."
"The lyric essay partakes of the poem in its density and shapeliness, its distillation of ideas and musicality of language."
"...often accretes by fragments, taking shape mosaically..."
"While it is ruminative, it leaves pieces of interpretation. Its voice, spoken from a privacy that we overhear and enter, has the intimacy we have come to expect in the person essay."
"We turn to the lyric essay-- with its malleability, ingenuity, immediacy, complexity, and use of poetic language-- to give us a fresh way to make music of the world."
Emily Sexton
Engl. 305
9/3/07
"Diseased"
It’s happening again. I am lying in a cold sweat, helpless and writhing in pain. Doctors and nurses swarm around me. Their voices all blend together into one sound. The white walls are silently screaming at my frailty. Wrinkled faces above me speak as if I understand. The truth is I have no idea what is going on. Hands are prodding me, needles are poking me. I just want to know what’s going on, but I cannot voice these thoughts and I cannot move out of fear. I am being rolled into another room, and somebody pulls my convulsing body onto a metal table. X-rays seem so cool when you’re a little kid, but lying underneath dangerous waves of radiation is not all that it’s cracked up to be. My mind is lost in my body’s pain; all I can do is feel. And everything feels bad. Everything hurts. I am too young for this type of thing. I thought grown-ups deal with this stuff. Sickness shouldn’t burden my life yet. I have not even entered high school.
The hospital bed is comfortable, but the narcotics seeping into my bloodstream may or may not have a heavy influence over that observation. However, the room is anything but comfortable. The emptiness and lack of color laugh at me, mocking my inability to move or smile. I feel very alone and very numb. The air smells like that hospital food smell, as if the food is sick and in need of some healing also. Unfamiliar faces walk in and out of my frosted vision every now and then. There is a tube running from a needle in my hand to a bag of clear liquid hanging from a pole on wheels. I feel like ripping it out and letting the blood squirt onto the clean, white sheets just to spite this hospital and all the hurt it reminds me of. I swim back and forth between consciousness and a clouded reality. Pain ebbs at my side, teasing me, as I wonder if it will peak again or remain dull. It never really goes away. It’s always enough just to remind me that it’s there.
I’m missing another day of academia, another day of my youth wasted on woe. My sister leaves for school. Hours and hours later she arrives home, telling my mom about her day and the A she got on a test. My body screams at me, desiring to be out running around like my sister, learning about Shakespeare in English class and going to soccer practice. I tell it to stop whining, weakness has chained us to this bed. It wishes for death sometimes, but my mother’s kind words and loving touch push those futile thoughts far away. I am motionless. I am lying in the exact same place I have been all morning and afternoon, in my room and under my covers. If I get up and try to walk around, I drown in dizziness and it overtakes me. Nausea is like an annoying fly that just won’t leave me alone. It has become my only company. This ongoing battle strains every muscle inside of me and tests every ounce of strength I can muster. I keep on fighting.
I could have died, they told me. Six years ago, my life could have ended. I never would have made it to college. I never would have fallen in love. I never would have seen the east coast. I never would have traveled to another country… I wouldn’t be living right now, period. If that isn’t a scary thought, I don’t know what is. People wonder why I live with such joy, why I laugh so loud. They wonder why even someone hinting at the idea of a hospital fills me up with so much emotion, I might explode. If only they knew the whole story. Maybe if they knew a nurse’s error could have eradicated my existence in the blink of an eye, they would understand a little better. An accidental overdose on morphine could have taken my life, but I am still here. Lungs still breathing. Heart still pumping. I am still alive.
My friends are crowded around; they’re holding my hands and rubbing my back. Everyone’s eyes are on me. They begin to pray over me as I cry and cry and cry. The pain exhausts every inch of me, but I can hear their words float through the air and fly straight up to heaven. My tears stop pouring over and the pain subsides in a matter of seconds. How do you explain something like this? Even in life’s cruelest moments, miracles can be found. Hope can never be destroyed, even in our lowest of times. This is the light that shines through the darkness of a diseased life.
The darkness has overcome me this time. I have lost count now. How many days have dripped with this sorrow that comes from defeat? How many times have I been forced to not participate and have fun with the other kids? How many times have I been unable to contribute, unable to function like everyone else? I am so low. No one is here to hold my hand this time and whisper in my ear, “you can get through this, everything will be ok.” I think about the past five years with weariness in my heart. I wonder about the next fifty with fear at the forefront of a mingled mixture of feelings. I’m old enough now though, to know I must go on. Tomorrow is a new day. Perhaps pain will hinder me, perhaps it will not. That’s just the way it is. For the rest of my life, kidney stone disease will ravage my body. And every time it happens, I will be 13 years old again, lying in the hospital, having no idea what is going on, just feeling… hurting. But I will be living. And that’s all that really matters.
"they forsake narrative line, discursive logic, and the art of persuasion in favor of idiosyncratic meditation."
"The lyric essay partakes of the poem in its density and shapeliness, its distillation of ideas and musicality of language."
"...often accretes by fragments, taking shape mosaically..."
"While it is ruminative, it leaves pieces of interpretation. Its voice, spoken from a privacy that we overhear and enter, has the intimacy we have come to expect in the person essay."
"We turn to the lyric essay-- with its malleability, ingenuity, immediacy, complexity, and use of poetic language-- to give us a fresh way to make music of the world."
Emily Sexton
Engl. 305
9/3/07
"Diseased"
It’s happening again. I am lying in a cold sweat, helpless and writhing in pain. Doctors and nurses swarm around me. Their voices all blend together into one sound. The white walls are silently screaming at my frailty. Wrinkled faces above me speak as if I understand. The truth is I have no idea what is going on. Hands are prodding me, needles are poking me. I just want to know what’s going on, but I cannot voice these thoughts and I cannot move out of fear. I am being rolled into another room, and somebody pulls my convulsing body onto a metal table. X-rays seem so cool when you’re a little kid, but lying underneath dangerous waves of radiation is not all that it’s cracked up to be. My mind is lost in my body’s pain; all I can do is feel. And everything feels bad. Everything hurts. I am too young for this type of thing. I thought grown-ups deal with this stuff. Sickness shouldn’t burden my life yet. I have not even entered high school.
The hospital bed is comfortable, but the narcotics seeping into my bloodstream may or may not have a heavy influence over that observation. However, the room is anything but comfortable. The emptiness and lack of color laugh at me, mocking my inability to move or smile. I feel very alone and very numb. The air smells like that hospital food smell, as if the food is sick and in need of some healing also. Unfamiliar faces walk in and out of my frosted vision every now and then. There is a tube running from a needle in my hand to a bag of clear liquid hanging from a pole on wheels. I feel like ripping it out and letting the blood squirt onto the clean, white sheets just to spite this hospital and all the hurt it reminds me of. I swim back and forth between consciousness and a clouded reality. Pain ebbs at my side, teasing me, as I wonder if it will peak again or remain dull. It never really goes away. It’s always enough just to remind me that it’s there.
I’m missing another day of academia, another day of my youth wasted on woe. My sister leaves for school. Hours and hours later she arrives home, telling my mom about her day and the A she got on a test. My body screams at me, desiring to be out running around like my sister, learning about Shakespeare in English class and going to soccer practice. I tell it to stop whining, weakness has chained us to this bed. It wishes for death sometimes, but my mother’s kind words and loving touch push those futile thoughts far away. I am motionless. I am lying in the exact same place I have been all morning and afternoon, in my room and under my covers. If I get up and try to walk around, I drown in dizziness and it overtakes me. Nausea is like an annoying fly that just won’t leave me alone. It has become my only company. This ongoing battle strains every muscle inside of me and tests every ounce of strength I can muster. I keep on fighting.
I could have died, they told me. Six years ago, my life could have ended. I never would have made it to college. I never would have fallen in love. I never would have seen the east coast. I never would have traveled to another country… I wouldn’t be living right now, period. If that isn’t a scary thought, I don’t know what is. People wonder why I live with such joy, why I laugh so loud. They wonder why even someone hinting at the idea of a hospital fills me up with so much emotion, I might explode. If only they knew the whole story. Maybe if they knew a nurse’s error could have eradicated my existence in the blink of an eye, they would understand a little better. An accidental overdose on morphine could have taken my life, but I am still here. Lungs still breathing. Heart still pumping. I am still alive.
My friends are crowded around; they’re holding my hands and rubbing my back. Everyone’s eyes are on me. They begin to pray over me as I cry and cry and cry. The pain exhausts every inch of me, but I can hear their words float through the air and fly straight up to heaven. My tears stop pouring over and the pain subsides in a matter of seconds. How do you explain something like this? Even in life’s cruelest moments, miracles can be found. Hope can never be destroyed, even in our lowest of times. This is the light that shines through the darkness of a diseased life.
The darkness has overcome me this time. I have lost count now. How many days have dripped with this sorrow that comes from defeat? How many times have I been forced to not participate and have fun with the other kids? How many times have I been unable to contribute, unable to function like everyone else? I am so low. No one is here to hold my hand this time and whisper in my ear, “you can get through this, everything will be ok.” I think about the past five years with weariness in my heart. I wonder about the next fifty with fear at the forefront of a mingled mixture of feelings. I’m old enough now though, to know I must go on. Tomorrow is a new day. Perhaps pain will hinder me, perhaps it will not. That’s just the way it is. For the rest of my life, kidney stone disease will ravage my body. And every time it happens, I will be 13 years old again, lying in the hospital, having no idea what is going on, just feeling… hurting. But I will be living. And that’s all that really matters.
Monday, August 27, 2007
speak up, I want to hear your voice
My first assignment for my English 305-Creative Nonfiction class. We had to write a paragraph about our voice, and where it came from.
Emily Sexton
Engl. 305
8/27/07
My voice has been performing ever since I can remember. If there are people present, I have an audience, and my voice wants to be heard. My older sister has always been ambitious, smart, and, well, older… so I grew up in her shadow. My voice learned how to compensate for being number two in the family by being loud, funny, and animated. If I wasn’t singing, I was laughing, if I wasn’t laughing, I was retelling a dramatic event, if I wasn’t doing that, I was using my voice to entertain or receive a reaction one way or another. My voice can never be boring, so it must be exciting, passionate, and vivacious. My voice cannot be lost in someone else’s wake, so it always screams, always responds, always makes noise of some sort… and always finds ways to please whoever may be listening. I am the energetic one, with the ever-changing voice.
Emily Sexton
Engl. 305
8/27/07
My voice has been performing ever since I can remember. If there are people present, I have an audience, and my voice wants to be heard. My older sister has always been ambitious, smart, and, well, older… so I grew up in her shadow. My voice learned how to compensate for being number two in the family by being loud, funny, and animated. If I wasn’t singing, I was laughing, if I wasn’t laughing, I was retelling a dramatic event, if I wasn’t doing that, I was using my voice to entertain or receive a reaction one way or another. My voice can never be boring, so it must be exciting, passionate, and vivacious. My voice cannot be lost in someone else’s wake, so it always screams, always responds, always makes noise of some sort… and always finds ways to please whoever may be listening. I am the energetic one, with the ever-changing voice.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
"...then ask me what it's like to have my self so figured out. wish I knew."
This is one of those days, or, rather... one of those WEEKS, where all I want to do is sit somewhere and drink coffee, or tea, all day long (forget food!). And watch the weather, and think about life, and talk about the things that really matter. I feel like I'm spinning.
I wish I were in Paris, or Rome, or Florence... sitting in a quaint cafe, discussing the beauty of the city and art and favorite poets and authors. I could sit on a dock overlooking the sea and write about people as they walk by and somehow write an amazing piece that links humanity with beautiful metaphors like gardens and the ocean, just from my observations, and learn about life and teach others about it.
If I were moved back into my dorm at ISU, I would have my room dimly lit with soft background music playing (Brand New, "Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't"). I'd be bumming around in my blue wangsta (gangsta + wigger) warm-up pants, a large valley soccer sweatshirt from many years ago, big fluffy slippers, and I'd be typing this from my spot on my futon as a storm brews and blows against my window facing Lincoln Way, making me feel safe and warm.
I'm spinning. There's an orbit in my head, and I'm riding the line in-between planet carefree fun and planet responsible reality. The latter is much bigger, scarier, and closer. But I'm excited, oh so excited for what is to come. I have no fear. Just promises of living for something real, something more than just this world.
Does anyone really know what they want to be? Am I not already who I am going to be, because I am being right now? Am I not this person that lives every day out- will I not be this person someday later on because I attended a 4-year university and have accreditation to my name that I don't have just yet? I know not my course, but Somebody does. That's all I care about.
And to end this entirely strange collection of thoughts...
"Oh we're so c-c-c-controversial.
We are entirely smooth.
We admit to the truth.
We are the best at what we do.
And these are the words you wish you wrote down,
This is the way you wish your voice sounds,
Handsome and smart.
Oh my tongue’s the only muscle on my body
that works harder than my heart.
And it’s all from watching TV,
And from speeding up my breathing.
Wouldn’t stop if I could.
Oh, it hurts to be this good.
Holding on to your grudge.
Oh, it hurts to always have to be honest
with the one that you love.
Oh, so let it go."
--Brand New
Lots of Love <3>
I wish I were in Paris, or Rome, or Florence... sitting in a quaint cafe, discussing the beauty of the city and art and favorite poets and authors. I could sit on a dock overlooking the sea and write about people as they walk by and somehow write an amazing piece that links humanity with beautiful metaphors like gardens and the ocean, just from my observations, and learn about life and teach others about it.
If I were moved back into my dorm at ISU, I would have my room dimly lit with soft background music playing (Brand New, "Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't"). I'd be bumming around in my blue wangsta (gangsta + wigger) warm-up pants, a large valley soccer sweatshirt from many years ago, big fluffy slippers, and I'd be typing this from my spot on my futon as a storm brews and blows against my window facing Lincoln Way, making me feel safe and warm.
I'm spinning. There's an orbit in my head, and I'm riding the line in-between planet carefree fun and planet responsible reality. The latter is much bigger, scarier, and closer. But I'm excited, oh so excited for what is to come. I have no fear. Just promises of living for something real, something more than just this world.
Does anyone really know what they want to be? Am I not already who I am going to be, because I am being right now? Am I not this person that lives every day out- will I not be this person someday later on because I attended a 4-year university and have accreditation to my name that I don't have just yet? I know not my course, but Somebody does. That's all I care about.
And to end this entirely strange collection of thoughts...
"Oh we're so c-c-c-controversial.
We are entirely smooth.
We admit to the truth.
We are the best at what we do.
And these are the words you wish you wrote down,
This is the way you wish your voice sounds,
Handsome and smart.
Oh my tongue’s the only muscle on my body
that works harder than my heart.
And it’s all from watching TV,
And from speeding up my breathing.
Wouldn’t stop if I could.
Oh, it hurts to be this good.
Holding on to your grudge.
Oh, it hurts to always have to be honest
with the one that you love.
Oh, so let it go."
--Brand New
Lots of Love <3>
Friday, July 27, 2007
2 old poems
I wrote this in early 2006, and it became the inspiration for one of my favorite paintings from my AP Studio Art collection my senior year of high school. Lately I've been trying to take my inspiration and this whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and put them into poetry.. but I've been having trouble getting a good rhythm, so I've been looking back at old poetry to maybe stir up something.
I'm the queen of fixing grammar errors
but I cannot speak these words
I listen with my heart
but cannot submit to the truth
I'm amazing at smiling through pain
but cannot laugh away your face
I'm great at writing out my feelings
but cannot feel great after I write them
I'm so strong when I'm around you
but cannot hide my weakness when I am not
I'm good at crying out to my Father
but cannot hear what He says back
I'm able to withstand the hard times
but cannot see light at the end of this
I'm joyful whenever you see me
but cannot be happy in my isolation
I'm alright with admitting that I've fallen
but cannot figure out how to rise up
I'm ok with change and adapting
but cannot accept that I'm losing you
I'm the biggest optimist you've ever known
but cannot convince myself you'll ever hug me again
I'm a vigorous fighter in most cases
but cannot fight off the inevitable
I'm skilled in bouncing back
but cannot go anywhere but down
I'm a lover, I'm a dreamer, I'm an artist
but I cannot find the love in this pain
I cannot dream away this nightmare
I cannot paint this hole in my heart.
-----
And this is a poem I wrote actually a little over 2 years ago, in April of 2005.... it inspired my absolute FAVORITE painting, because it made me feel so much as I wrote it, and every time I read over it again... it was easy to represent the tone in beautiful colors. There is nothing I love more than using color to demonstrate how I feel.
All the voices fade away
the colors around me turn to gray
background noises gradually drop out
no more whispers, no murmurs of doubt
Alone I lay, broken on the floor
ever-hopeful heart like an open door
lingering scent upon my soul, I pray:
please stay, oh I pray that you stay
With time on my side I am so high
above mountains of worry and rivers run dry
high I sigh while I glide along a cloud
breaking the silence I SCREAM OUT LOUD
ALIVE I scream and ALIVE I bleed
escape the cage and be free, resist the feed
take heed: the others oppose your heart
their words will wound like a poison dart
Tonight my light guides me down my path
I know not when I will next face your wrath
but somehow dark edges remain on the outside
all I see: a sunset offshore of the restless tide
With water rising ever-presently all around me
fears of drowning swim into view constantly
like millions of grains of sand in my hand
these thoughts will slip through the cracks; I will stand!
-tall! amongst the angry and ignorant crowd
with voices that pierce, I still remain proud
if fight you I must, then FIGHT YOU I WILL
I will protect my heart, MY LOVE YOU CANNOT KILL.
---
<3 the end.
I'm the queen of fixing grammar errors
but I cannot speak these words
I listen with my heart
but cannot submit to the truth
I'm amazing at smiling through pain
but cannot laugh away your face
I'm great at writing out my feelings
but cannot feel great after I write them
I'm so strong when I'm around you
but cannot hide my weakness when I am not
I'm good at crying out to my Father
but cannot hear what He says back
I'm able to withstand the hard times
but cannot see light at the end of this
I'm joyful whenever you see me
but cannot be happy in my isolation
I'm alright with admitting that I've fallen
but cannot figure out how to rise up
I'm ok with change and adapting
but cannot accept that I'm losing you
I'm the biggest optimist you've ever known
but cannot convince myself you'll ever hug me again
I'm a vigorous fighter in most cases
but cannot fight off the inevitable
I'm skilled in bouncing back
but cannot go anywhere but down
I'm a lover, I'm a dreamer, I'm an artist
but I cannot find the love in this pain
I cannot dream away this nightmare
I cannot paint this hole in my heart.
-----
And this is a poem I wrote actually a little over 2 years ago, in April of 2005.... it inspired my absolute FAVORITE painting, because it made me feel so much as I wrote it, and every time I read over it again... it was easy to represent the tone in beautiful colors. There is nothing I love more than using color to demonstrate how I feel.
All the voices fade away
the colors around me turn to gray
background noises gradually drop out
no more whispers, no murmurs of doubt
Alone I lay, broken on the floor
ever-hopeful heart like an open door
lingering scent upon my soul, I pray:
please stay, oh I pray that you stay
With time on my side I am so high
above mountains of worry and rivers run dry
high I sigh while I glide along a cloud
breaking the silence I SCREAM OUT LOUD
ALIVE I scream and ALIVE I bleed
escape the cage and be free, resist the feed
take heed: the others oppose your heart
their words will wound like a poison dart
Tonight my light guides me down my path
I know not when I will next face your wrath
but somehow dark edges remain on the outside
all I see: a sunset offshore of the restless tide
With water rising ever-presently all around me
fears of drowning swim into view constantly
like millions of grains of sand in my hand
these thoughts will slip through the cracks; I will stand!
-tall! amongst the angry and ignorant crowd
with voices that pierce, I still remain proud
if fight you I must, then FIGHT YOU I WILL
I will protect my heart, MY LOVE YOU CANNOT KILL.
---
<3 the end.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
"I think that we've got what it takes to get this heart start beating again..."
"...So take it all the way!
Whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
deep inside we both know it
everything's hanging on this moment
whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
every action begs a reaction
we'll figure it out, and make it happen
whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
so just let go and fall into it!"
Life's tugging at me again. You know how things just make you feel a little crazy sometimes, like you want so much more, but you're just not getting it. I'm a pretty open person, at least I'd like to say so without being labeled as one of those crazy, psycho open people who make everyone else feel uncomfortable they're just SO open about anything and everything. I'm not afraid to be vulnerable. I'm afraid of being taken advantage of when I'm in a vulnerable state, because it's happened more than once, but, being vulnerable itself doesn't scare me. I can admit to certain things that I guess some people have a really hard time admitting. Maybe because I grew up being a weird kid who wrote all the time and one of those freaks who kept notebooks and notebooks full of stuff they wrote throughout their life..? You can't be a writer if you're a liar. Writing is so intimate, people smell bs (censored) before they get to the second paragraph. So I've been disciplined through writing to just be honest. Being honest doesn't make things easier all the time, and it doesn't take away confusion... but the truth shall set you free. duh. everyone knows that.
If I could wish for anything right now, it'd be to fall in love. Not just, I want to be with you all the time, I think about you every second of every day love, but- I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side love. The love that drives you so crazy, you write love songs and poetry and it makes you feel like you don't care what happens as long as you're with the person you're in love with. Is it obtainable? Is it unrealistic? Sometimes I think it'll never happen, I'll be completely honest. Sometimes I can't imagine having a husband and kids someday because I can't see myself ever getting to that place in my life. But, ugh, other times? I just want to sit in my room all day and sing and dance and write about love. And not think about anything else. I just want to dream about the one who's going to come into my life and change me forever. The one who will sweep me off my feet and hold me in their arms until death do us part.
Sometimes I hear a song and it makes me feel like love- does that make ANY sense? to feel like love? I mean to feel like a cloud is surrounding your body and you're embodying love itself? and I stop breathing for a moment because my heart feels so incomplete when I realize how we were not meant to be alone and by ourselves. We were meant to be unified with another counterpart, to share our lives, to share our souls together as one. I close my eyes and all I see is a silhouette somewhere far off in the distance, far enough to be out of reach, but close enough to still be in view.
I blame this insanity on my recent viewing of one of my favorite movies ever- Wicker Park, and also listening to too much Mae. If I had someone do everything to find me and finally find me and come behind me and sit there just waiting for me to turn around and meet their gaze, and then cling to me and forget the hundreds of people walking around us and only see the person holding my face and kissing me and looking at me like I'm the most beautiful person their eyes have ever seen.... I would probably die of happiness, shock, and utter joy. No, I'd just know what love really is.
If you don't have a clue where I'm getting this lovey-dovey-mushy-gushy crap from, listen to "Breakdown", "The Everglow", and "Ready and Waiting to Fall" by Mae... and then watch the movie Wicker Park and pay close attention to the last scene. I'm serious!
"...But that September sky
how it whispered "I love you"
but I couldn't take it any longer
no I couldn't stand..."
Whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
deep inside we both know it
everything's hanging on this moment
whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
every action begs a reaction
we'll figure it out, and make it happen
whoa, whoa
and our hearts are on the everglow
so just let go and fall into it!"
Life's tugging at me again. You know how things just make you feel a little crazy sometimes, like you want so much more, but you're just not getting it. I'm a pretty open person, at least I'd like to say so without being labeled as one of those crazy, psycho open people who make everyone else feel uncomfortable they're just SO open about anything and everything. I'm not afraid to be vulnerable. I'm afraid of being taken advantage of when I'm in a vulnerable state, because it's happened more than once, but, being vulnerable itself doesn't scare me. I can admit to certain things that I guess some people have a really hard time admitting. Maybe because I grew up being a weird kid who wrote all the time and one of those freaks who kept notebooks and notebooks full of stuff they wrote throughout their life..? You can't be a writer if you're a liar. Writing is so intimate, people smell bs (censored) before they get to the second paragraph. So I've been disciplined through writing to just be honest. Being honest doesn't make things easier all the time, and it doesn't take away confusion... but the truth shall set you free. duh. everyone knows that.
If I could wish for anything right now, it'd be to fall in love. Not just, I want to be with you all the time, I think about you every second of every day love, but- I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side love. The love that drives you so crazy, you write love songs and poetry and it makes you feel like you don't care what happens as long as you're with the person you're in love with. Is it obtainable? Is it unrealistic? Sometimes I think it'll never happen, I'll be completely honest. Sometimes I can't imagine having a husband and kids someday because I can't see myself ever getting to that place in my life. But, ugh, other times? I just want to sit in my room all day and sing and dance and write about love. And not think about anything else. I just want to dream about the one who's going to come into my life and change me forever. The one who will sweep me off my feet and hold me in their arms until death do us part.
Sometimes I hear a song and it makes me feel like love- does that make ANY sense? to feel like love? I mean to feel like a cloud is surrounding your body and you're embodying love itself? and I stop breathing for a moment because my heart feels so incomplete when I realize how we were not meant to be alone and by ourselves. We were meant to be unified with another counterpart, to share our lives, to share our souls together as one. I close my eyes and all I see is a silhouette somewhere far off in the distance, far enough to be out of reach, but close enough to still be in view.
I blame this insanity on my recent viewing of one of my favorite movies ever- Wicker Park, and also listening to too much Mae. If I had someone do everything to find me and finally find me and come behind me and sit there just waiting for me to turn around and meet their gaze, and then cling to me and forget the hundreds of people walking around us and only see the person holding my face and kissing me and looking at me like I'm the most beautiful person their eyes have ever seen.... I would probably die of happiness, shock, and utter joy. No, I'd just know what love really is.
If you don't have a clue where I'm getting this lovey-dovey-mushy-gushy crap from, listen to "Breakdown", "The Everglow", and "Ready and Waiting to Fall" by Mae... and then watch the movie Wicker Park and pay close attention to the last scene. I'm serious!
"...But that September sky
how it whispered "I love you"
but I couldn't take it any longer
no I couldn't stand..."
Saturday, June 23, 2007
"pull it together boy- you don't look so well..."
"i close my eyes and pretend you're sitting here with me
while i try to put my finger on exactly what it was that made you leave
and it took some time to walk away from that
and it took some time to walk away from that
and time is all that i have." -the wedding
I don't think there is anything worse than a writer who cannot seem to come up with anything great to write. Especially when they're thirsting for something great, not just something ok, not just something to fill up space, not just something good... something great. Whenever I post lyrics and nothing but lyrics, it means that I essentially could not come up with anything of my own creation to write. I have to turn to the inspirations of others. Others far more creative, far more successful, far more talented, far more anything that I would hope to be.
But that is an interesting verse up above.
I just watched Nacho Libre with James and Aubrey, and I thought it was hilarious.
I'm going to 8:30 church in the morning and I'm going to make Aubrey poop her pants probably for doing so. If that really happened, I don't know what I'd do. But wow that would be a funny sight..... for sure.
<3
while i try to put my finger on exactly what it was that made you leave
and it took some time to walk away from that
and it took some time to walk away from that
and time is all that i have." -the wedding
I don't think there is anything worse than a writer who cannot seem to come up with anything great to write. Especially when they're thirsting for something great, not just something ok, not just something to fill up space, not just something good... something great. Whenever I post lyrics and nothing but lyrics, it means that I essentially could not come up with anything of my own creation to write. I have to turn to the inspirations of others. Others far more creative, far more successful, far more talented, far more anything that I would hope to be.
But that is an interesting verse up above.
I just watched Nacho Libre with James and Aubrey, and I thought it was hilarious.
I'm going to 8:30 church in the morning and I'm going to make Aubrey poop her pants probably for doing so. If that really happened, I don't know what I'd do. But wow that would be a funny sight..... for sure.
<3
Thursday, June 07, 2007
"We should get jerseys 'cause we make a great team, but yours would look better than mine 'cause you're out of my league"
I took a college creative writing class my senior year of high school, and one of our assignments was to write ourselves a letter of encouragement to keep writing. My teacher said she would send them to us at a random time after we graduated. I had totally forgotten about the whole thing! But yesterday, I got a letter in the mail, and it was in my handwriting..... and it was that letter! I read it and it seriously almost made me cry. Actually, I couldn't even believe I had written those words. But... obviously, I did. Soooo... I thought if there were any other writers out there (which, I know there are), I would show you what my letter said... it actually was a HUGE encouragement about writing, so, here it is if you want to read it:
Dearest Emily (or, insert your name here),
You're still writing poetry, right? You're still keeping notebooks and notebooks and notebooks full of your thoughts, memories, and feelings on your daily life? Don't ever forget how much you LOVE doing that, and how much JOY it brings to your heart. Keep writing! Remember this quote from the sweet movie Finding Forrester: "The first key to writing... is to write. Not think." Sit down at your computer and just start typing! You don't need to think about what you're going to type- just do it. No matter where you are in your life right now, take a moment and remember how passionately you feel about writing. Just because you read over what you've written and you realize that it is possibly the worst thing you've ever written... no worries! "You write the first draft with your heart. You rewrite it with your head." Your heart is sometimes going to produce one big mess of stuff on the paper or on the screen because at times your heart will feel like one big mess, but don't fret about it- because that's natural and it doesn't mean you're a bad writer. You can always go back and polish something off and make it better. You learn as you go what worked great and what did not work at all. You make mistakes as a writer, but just like anything else in your life- you learn from them and move on. The world is not always going to praise you for what you write- no matter if it's your best friend, or a complete stranger, or some prestigious professor critiquing your pieces, never forget: "What we write for ourselves is always better than what we write for others." Ultimately, you write for yourself, Em. You write because you love writing, and strangely you somehow understand your life better when you put things down on paper or on a screen. It is a special thing that makes you the person that you are and the person that you always will be. Remember that you can write about ANYTHING! Write letters to God, write your prayers and your worries and your fears to Him. THe possibilities are endless. You can write about hysterical things that happened during your day, you can writer about your crazy antics with your friends, love, and music. You can evenwrite about a bad time you hadt that you now understand had to happen in order to bring you to where you are right this second. All of these things (and SO much more) are significant in your life and deserve to be documented because you have a gift, Em- a gift of writing! Not only are you good at it, but you enjoy finishing a poem and looking back at it years later and remembering how you felt when you wrote it. Don't even try to deny it! Don't lose that joy. If you have been neglecting to write lately, don't even worry- start again today! The important thing... is just to WRITE. And remember... Jesus loves you no matter HOW crappy your first draft is. :-)
Love, yourself :-)
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