Progress But Same Old

    Every step of life has its own milestones. In my life, turning 12 made me a young woman, 16 allowed dating, 18 was full of voting rights. At some point I finished reading Harry Potter, I bought my first car, I got engaged. For everyone their milestones are different. For me, I decided to add education as a part of my life journey. Due to this, I now face a rather big milestone in that journey. I am finishing my undergraduate degree. As of December 20th, I will have graduated with my Bachelor's.

    Read the rest of this post at: https://www.gossamerlens.com/post/progress-but-same-old

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Holding On and Moving On

     The last couple years have changed me as a person. With this in mind, I yearn to reach out and to blog again. However, I cannot do so as The Damsel. I have changed to much. While I hold onto the core of me. The writer, the poet. I must move on to a different way of expressing and being. For some this change will seem paltry. For me it has been cleansing. I am moving onto a new blog platform. A link all my own, a website fully functional to the new whims I have.

     I am pleased to introduce you to gossamerlens.com 

     In the blogpost of the same name "Holding On and Moving On" you will find an entry into a new chapter. For sometimes as we grow we must make space for the old us but move on to fulfill ourselves.

     If you wish to continue reading my work, supporting my writing, and see how I have grown and wish to grow my blogger presence... I hope you will scroll to the bottom of the gossamerlens.com and give me a like over there. Following 2019 posts will be posted both here and on my new blog. However, come 2020 it will be all about moving on. 

     Much love, and with goodbyes, The Damsel. 

     Ald Idunn, the new me, looks forward to greeting you.

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Swirling, Moving Emotions

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     A Blank Page before me, a head full of thoughts.  

     Nothing written in ages, so many things to write. 

     I am a person who feels. The other evening my cat needed to take a pill. My mother asked me to put it in as she held him. I, a 19-year-old woman, did my best couple attempts. He mewled quite pitifully and my heart burst, and tears came forth. 

     Once when I was maybe 7 or 9, some age not currently mine. My mum and I went through my room and cleaned out things that were broken, unused, unheeded. I threw away a broken heart shaped music box. It locked, it sang, it was from a friend, and it was broken. We threw it away. Sometime, a couple weeks later, I was caught in a frenzy of searching. It may have been late. All I know is the moon was up when my father came into my room to find his daughter rummaging through her room, with a tear-stained face. I cried my heart out over that box. I sobbed into my father's chest over that box. I don't even remember who it was from... Nor my age... Or details. It was broken and I cried for it's loss.

     I felt. 

     With my 19-year-old tears, in mind, over a cat who's sick and doesn't want his medicine. 

     With my 7 or 9-year-old tears over a broken plastic box, in mind. 

     Let's think of lately. 

     About a year ago I got out of my first serious relationship, with an emotionally abusive boyfriend. I have dated a Marine who was lovely, but broken and hurting. I have watched someone, who irks my feminist and human leanings, become president of the U.S. All this while I traveled along a path of faith. A path leading from confusion, in regards to the church I loved, to hurt... to helplessness... to a changing. 

     I have held silence. Because I feel so very much and this past year has been so very hard. I feel insecure in my feelings. I know so many people have it worse. So, who am I to speak of my feelings? Of my hurt? I want to speak to the pain of the world. But all to often I speak of the pain of my world. The world I am oh so much more familiar with. 

    But silence is not my answer. Poetry has been my leaning. Writing is just an extension of my being. So I'm going to try and forget myself, my insecurity, my uncertainty... the me. 

    I simply want to write and give into the swirling, moving emotions that are to be. 

To Study or To Learn?

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     I sit here studying.  I worry about my assignments, the coming tests (especially finals), and ultimately my grades.  We (although maybe it's just me?) as students tend to take in information in order to pour it back out.  All to often it's about grades and not about actually learning and growing off of information.  

     I wish I could say I break away from this.  That I ignore the grade, and just do it for the learning.  I wish I could say this, because I truly value the idea of soaking in knowledge.  I love the idea of learning just for the sake of learning.  Not for doing well on the next test, and then forgetting all the information after the test is over. But the fact is, I'm competitive and I cannot help myself.  

     Through being homeschooled I learned to love and appreciate learning in general.  I legitimately enjoy learning new things, and I want to keep all the information I can.  Yet, a great part of me wants to do as well as I can, and to beat my previous scores. I want to impress the teacher (if possible) or impress myself.  And if I can't impress my teacher or myself I simply strive to get the best number and/or letter grade possible.  I want to do my best.  All to often "doing my best" ends up meaning "get the best grade"... and I'm tired of it. 

     Shouldn't doing your best mean something more than getting a nice letter grade written on that last biology test?  Shouldn't doing your best mean that you are interested? Shouldn't it mean remembering things?  Shouldn't learning meaning something more?

     I think that learning should mean something more.  It should mean something more than studying late to pass tests, working to get the best grade you can, and memorizing facts (or teachers ideas).  Learning, according to Webster, means gaining "knowledge or skills through experience, study, or by being taught."  Maybe we should balance out our focus and think a little less about studying or being taught, and think a little more about learning through experience. 

     I plan on balancing a little more this summer, and having more full experiences. Join me? 

Wibbly Wobbly Adulthood

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     At some point... you become an adult. Correct?  I mean, I don't really know.  It's a little hard to tell if someones an adult, or just a really big kid... Though we seem to have some adults in this world (or people who claim to be).  

     I guess we could say that I question adulthood. How can you not? I mean... nobody really knows when it happens.  Are you an adult when you turn 18?  Or perhaps once you can drink?  Or maybe when you can legally rent a car?  I don't know.  We don't know.  Nobody can seem to agree on when you become an adult. That's a little confusing, don't you think?   

     Well, forget the confusion... I'll just say 18 is adulthood. We will say, 18 is adulthood.  

     In that case, I am an adult now!  That thought is overwhelming.  Not in the way a test may be, or any kind of physical or mental exertion would be.  But rather in the way a sudden realization might be. In fact, it is sort of a realization.  Turning 18 has been a sudden realization that I've been around a decent bit.  I am done with high-school, I am moving into some of my final stages of college... And yet I feel completely unprepared "to adult." Taxes, paying for necessities, my actions being my own... it is all a little overwhelming. 

     
     I feel like no amount of Self-Help  books will help me become the adult I want to be.  So naturally, I've read all the Self-Help books I can get my hands on.  Maybe I'm a little silly.  On one hand I feel ready to be an adult, and on the other I don't want to even think about adulting.  

     Perhaps my anxiety comes from the fact that I don't want to just be an "adult".  I want to be a full functioning and contributing human being.  I don't want to just do things.  I want to see, learn, educate, help, and spread love.  I don't just want to adult. I want to be the best adult I can possibly be.  Humanity needs more then adults who can be confused for "big children."  The world needs more humans who are trying to balance what wibbly wobbly adulthood means. 

Deaths Fingers

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     Death has touched my family with its greedy fingers.  No longer does it claw at my neck, but still it stays near.  It's fingers have effected each in my family in their own way. I will always wish it hadn’t come, or that it could have waited a few years.  That those fingers could have been kept at bay.  However, there is hard truth that will always be reality. Death will claim all of us in the end.  

     January 28th, 2010.  The evening before, we had all sat together joking over dinner; laughing, unaware of what would happen tomorrow.  

     In the midst of laughter, Grandpa spilled his cup of water all over the table while passing food to my brother.  

     With familiar mock anger Grandpa had exclaimed, “Thomas*, how could you spill my water?”

     My brother, understanding Grandpa's humor, laughed along.  Upon questioning Grandpa had jokingly claimed it was all my brother’s fault. Because the food was being passed to him when the glass had been tipped over, Thomas must be blamed.  Laughing along with the general merriment and Grandpa’s kindly sarcastic words, I had gotten a towel, cleaned up the water and righted the glass.

     After dinner we all separated to go to our own beds.  My Nanna and Grandpa retired to my family's rental “cottage” right behind our own house.

***  

     That night, I slept well until the sirens came.  I had awoken to see flashing red and white lights dancing on the walls of my upstairs bedroom as a car turned into our driveway.  The siren stopped just moments after waking me.

     Within those moments of waking, and grogginess I had realized that something was wrong.  I slipped out of bed and then went into my sister’s room.  She lay in her bed, eyes open and frightened.  I had beckoned to her, wanting her to come with me, or at least to me.  She clambered out of bed and came.  I slipped my hand around hers, and together we had went into the hall and down the stairs.  

     We went through the living room, family room, and dining room as we traveled to the back of the house.  We went to the window facing the back property.  The window that locked on our Grandparent's front door. My brother had already stood, watching the car outside.  It was an ambulance.  We watched until a man opened the door to the back rental.  He held the door open as a couple of men, along with my mum, carried our Grandpa out on a stretcher.  

     That morning the ambulance left with my Grandpa.  Our parents came running over barefoot.  They came just long enough to tell us that they were taking Nanna and following the ambulance to the hospital. Before leaving they slipped on shoes, and hugged my siblings and I, and said they would send someone to be with us. We knew that they would most likely be gone until mid-afternoon. 

***

     I was left with my siblings.  We sat ourselves at the table in a sort of daze.  My sister was worried and scared, so I tried my best to comfort her.  I promised her that Grandpa would live.  I promised that everything would be all right. I knew that it was an empty promise, but it made her, and me, feel better. 

     Then we heard a knock on the door.  

     It was an older woman that we knew well from church.  We let her in.  She was the one our parents had called so that we wouldn't be alone.  I was glad and relieved.  Here was an adult.  She could make promises that would be kept; she would help my sister be comforted and calm the fear that was rising in my heart.  She would help.  

     So sure was I that she could help, because she was an adult.  

     Instead, she declared that we needed to do the dishes.  She said that service would help us feel better. She claimed it, so we did it.  As my sister and I unloaded, the dishwasher, I got more and more upset.  I wasn’t feeling better, my heart hurt with fear. I felt my Grandpa missing. So I tried to think of it more as service and not a chore.  I couldn’t force down the fear that was still rising.  Unshed tears stung my eyes and the kitchen shimmered and swam through them.  I told myself that I couldn’t cry.  I couldn't let it happen. This would help me feel better, she had said so.  My sister needed me to be strong.  I couldn’t cry. 

     The women swept and talked at the same time.  I could catch phrases like: “This will help your mom feel better,” “She won’t be as overwhelmed,” “You need to keep out of her way so you don’t annoy her,” and finally, “Your parents should have taught you about death.”  I couldn’t listen anymore.  I was done with listening to this woman’s incessant chatter of how we needed to prepare, how we needed to help our parents, and what our mother should have done.  

     “Our parents don’t hide us from the truth.”  I whispered.

     “Well, yes, but your Grandpa is going to die, and they should have prepared you.”

     I was mad; I was upset; I was scared; and this woman who was supposed to comfort us was telling me that my Grandpa would die.  I couldn’t control my tears anymore.  I let go and ran from the room.  I kept thinking: He won’t die!  He cannot die! But he might have... he might now... 

     I cried into my pillow, torn with a fear I had never known. I stayed in my bedroom until I heard the sound of a car driving up the driveway.  It was too early; it was only ten o’clock.  

     When my parents came in to the house, I was already by their side, having met them in the driveway.  I was comforted by their presence.  I kept saying "But you came home? But you're okay."  For a moment I simply needed to know they were back.  However, after that moment and when we hugged, I saw it in their eyes. I knew he was dead.  I could feel it.  They were home too early, their eyes too dim.

***

     Maybe now is an odd time to share this... Maybe Death isn't something to be mentioned around the Holidays.  But for those of us who have lost, though we may not speak of it, the holiday's bring Death closest to our remembrance.  These are the times we are sharply aware of the missing presence at the table, the missing personality, and the traditions that have changed.

*All names changed for privacy 

Feeling Neverland

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     Colleges have begun to flood my email and snail mail with information about their programs. They send me explanations of why their program is "just right" for me.  Many of my good friends have already moved off to college, or to go on two year missions for our church. And as these two things align, I realize an ever growing fear.  A fear of growing up.

     I don't mean I have a fear of growing old.  Age is superfluous in my mind.  I don't fear my face being lined with wrinkles, nor my hands becoming blemished and shaking. What I fear is having to leave my childhood home, leaving friends for college, and forgetting to enjoy simple things because of responsibility.  To fear. It hurts. 

Anxiety runs like veins 

Like nerves 

Linked to brain 

To heart

Pushing to be known 

Running on it's own

Logic wishing to call

But the feeling coursing 

Love being twisted

To fear and ache

Happiness being turned

To withered leaves

Ready to fall

My heart

Yearns and calls

Into the chasm 

Of faith

And somewhere

The thread is tied

I hold 

Despite 

The pain of fear

The pain of anxious everything

Poem 214 ~ 3/18/2015

     I feel like Wendy Darling.  One foot in the nursery, and one out the door.  Stuck on the stories, playtime, and dreams of childhood.  Yet, working on gaining a career, living on my own, and attempting to become a thoughtful adult.  In some ways I am ready to move into the world. Still in others... I'm trying to find Neverland.

     The draw of stuck time pulls, but the reality of moving through life appeals.  I may feel Neverland wishing to be near.  But to grow up, that shall be my awfully big adventure. 

Yellowing Pages

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Sitting here writing

Wisps of image

Shrouded shadow

Of Imagined future

Passed before me

Danced like film

Across my vision

The cold

It touched my shoulder

The sounds

They faded away

Like yellowing pages

And I saw your face

As it could be

Your arm over

Around my shoulders

The whisper 

Of those words

The ones I love

To hear you say

Then it crumpled 

Like falling dough

The bread collapsed

And I was chewing 

On nothing

Poem 105 ~ 4/10/2013

     Memories, feelings, and thoughts diminish over time.  What once was often changes.  Sometimes, looking over older poems the emotions I wrote feel like a lie.  As the writer, I know what each poem was born through.  However, just because the adoration, pain, or perspective has passed as I've grown... that doesn't negate the validity of writing.  Every poem has helped me realize, handle, and come to grips with what I have felt.  At the moment of creation, each poem has filled it's purpose.  

     I have grown, I have changed.  I continue to feel, and I must accept the moving on that is life.  You cannot cling on to who you have been, or who you were.  Later it may feel like you chewed on nothing.  But at the time, that "nothing" felt like something.  Poetry is a way to express my now, and reflect on the past.  

     "I am a slave to emotion... Pens... Keep working... Until I need you no more... which will be when I stop feeling" 

                    Poem 106 ~ 4/11/13

To Feel My Love

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You say

My cheeks

Are beautiful

These ones

I contour

And hate

Trace my jawline

With your kisses

Hold my hips

Breathe my air

Hold me

Like poetry

Love me

Like warmth

You are the first

I can see forever

Despite the chasm

Of unknown

I'm afraid of falling

But it almost

Looks appealing

And my heart is breaking

But my breath is leaving

Oh Gosh

These feels

Poem 234

What it is to be...

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Sinking in misery

I curl around her

Arm around waist

Holding hands

Feet warming the other's 

We eat the silence

Embracing essence.

Crying in silence

Loving her 

Wishing for better

For less heartbreak

Greater kindness

For her. 

Breathing in hair

The hair

Smelling like mine

Our colors blending

The eyes matching

Noses just alike. 

Hearts different

Yet seeing

Just knowing 

I don't wish 

Her heart

To understand

The pain of mine.

She and I 

Trusting. 

Her so sweet

Already begging 

To understand

Pain.

Pain shouldn't be 

I don't want tears

For they shatter

They speak of things

She is to beautiful 

To see

To feel

To crack from 

To mend up.

Chin on shoulder

Knees tangled

Listening to breath

Feeling her breath

We inhale together

And I know 

What it is 

To be "sister"

Poem 224 ~ 4/5/2015

Heart in Hand

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Talking with a friend, we found ourselves discussing the state of his relationship with his girlfriend.  As we spoke he stated, "I just feel like I just keep giving my heart, but it isn't being accepted. Obviously it is, since she and I are dating... But it's like I am giving my everything, and they aren't appreciating it."  The response I gave him was one that I have found all too often to be true.  With friends and people I truly trust I have encountered the following.

    You extend your hands, offering up your heart, and the other person looks at it.  They see it, and they say they like "that part" and "this part."  You offer them the whole of your heart, and they simply like or love parts.  So, they accept the whole thing.  But they are truly only accepting certain parts and pieces of you.  It hurts because you want them to take it... but really you want them to look at your offering and for them to look up into your eyes and say "I love it. I love all of it. Thank you!"

    At the time I wasn't dating anyone, so I felt this conversation was more for my friend’s benefit.  However, as I thought more about it I realized... I am both the offerer and the person who says, "I like this part."  I offer my heart to myself, and my whole life I have never looked into my eyes.  I have looked at the heart and told myself that I only like pieces.  I like when I produce a good poem.  I love when I manage to make someone smile.  But, I have never looked over my whole heart, looked into myself, and said, "I realize your humanity, and that you are weak like all others are at times. Yet, I love you.  I will love the whole of you."

    I am my own hurt.  Everyday I cannot help but have my heart in sight of my own judgment.  And every day I judge.  I don't think I am the worst of people, but I sometimes say things to myself that I would never tell anyone else.  Why?  I can look at others and give them the benefit of the doubt.  But I know myself, and thus I don't give myself that benefit.

    Maybe the key, however, is to look at the whole of my heart and realize, I am trying.  My hands offer up.  I wish to accept.  I want to love myself.  For to love is to respect, trust, and be comfortable with.  To feel at peace is a part of loving yourself.

     I offer myself my heart.  In my hands it has lain for years.  The faults and the strengths wishing to be equally understood and seen.  And I see them.  I see it, and I love it.  I love all of it.  I wish to help myself to become stronger.  But, I will lead kindly and I will learn to love more fully.  For peace in my own head and skin... that is the beginning of all I want.

Inspiration

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Oh joy of joys! 

Elation that I feel

In my bosom burn

Why were you

So long in coming

To this mistress of yours?

I wanted to write

For the world

For you

And now my joy! 

I can write any and all

But why all this time?

I may be a child

But I am old in heart

A fine polish emerging 

You look at my face

You see youth

But eyes deceive like fools

You touch my heart

And you will find

The age of time

So why did you wait?

Why so long in coming

When I longed for you?

But at last my joy 

You are mine... 

Though not for long

My wisdom knows; 

Tomorrow I will yearn 

For the something I still lack

Yet, there is peace in my soul 

And joy fills my heart

For now at least, 

In this precious moment.

Poem 43 ~ 9/11/2012

A Mother

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She drinks in the sobs
Of her child.
She comforts and consoles.
She brushes away the tears,
From a plump little face.
She kisses away the hurt,
And the sorrows of a second.
She firmly tells the child, "No."
Then she distracts with a toy.
She softly sings her darling to sleep,
On those fearsome nights
When only a mother's voice
Can comfort her child.
She cleans a child's muddy clothes
Without a word of thanks.

~

And as her child grows
She consoles the hurt of minutes -
The whiplash of a careless comment;
The sting of not being able to go;
The laughing faces of her child's peers.
She leads her child to safer waters,
Steering by example.
And when her child is hurt,
Truly hurt,
She hurts as well;
And her heart aches
For the wants of her growing child.

~

And when her child leaves
She gets the front row seat;
To watch the play unfold.
And if the play shows danger,
For her grown up child,
She simply slips back stage
And helps her child iron
The kinks out of their play.

~

And why does she do all this?
She does it because she loves
Her little child
With the tenderness of a butterfly
With the strength of an elephant
And with the heart of a lion.
What a wonderful love
Is the love of a mother!

 Poem 7 ~ 2011

Snapshot of Some Favorites - Books Part Two

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    I hope you have seen Part One, since this is the continuation.  I wished to give just a few more in order to complete the "Top 10" I promised some of my followers.  So here we are!

     ~ Bleak House by Charles Dickens
I cannot begin to describe how lovely I find Dickens writing to be.  I greatly enjoy the flowering sentences, and the in-depth description.  However, I know that americans are more about coffee, so it's okay if its not your cup of tea.  This book contains Esther Summerson.  She is my all time favorite female character.  Besides her lovely self, each character is intricately detailed, known, and highlighted.  This book also examines some interesting aspects of life which should be thought of more.  Some of these being what is true service, what is the essence of love, and what difference it makes if one is kind.

     ~ The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo
What joy fills my heart when somebody mentions this book.  All of these books define different moments in my life, and realizations of some sort.  This book was my realization of childhood.  I was in a land of my own for a bit there... and this book speaks to that.  Light, yet heavy it follows the adventures of a lovely little mouse with ears that make him a social outcast.  Yet, he is full of hope, light, and love.  This book is simply delightful, and if you missed out on it during the first 12 years of life, I would highly recommend visiting it now.

     ~ The Giver by Lois Lowry
This book was originally meant as a stand alone, but has grown into a series.  I cannot say how it thrills me that there is more.  However, this book in of itself is simply wonderful.  It asks you to think about what defines humanity.  It calls into account things like the value of a human life.  Plus, it makes you wonder what would be lost if emotions were less.  Being a rather emotional person, I found it fascinating to think about what I would be if I felt less, and acted less.

     ~ The Book Thief  by Markus Zusak
I was honestly surprised by this book.  It is pure poetry.  When I say that... I mean that the phrasing is spectacular, the feelings are gifted, and the story pulled at my heart.  I think it redefines historical fiction.  It doesn't simply add a bit more understanding of the past.  This book wraps up emotions that we should learn to empathize with and gifts it to you in glowing lines of beauty.  Told from the perspective of death it was innovative, creative, refreshing, and yet had a strange feeling of deja vu.  I could praise the freshness of its antiquated feelings for many paragraphs yet.  So, I'll just leave it at that. 

     ~ Joan of Arc by Mark Twain
Later in his writing life, Mark Twain published this book.  "Mark Twain" had become a name that people would buy from simply because it was him.  Interestingly enough, this book wasn't published under that name.  He published it anonymously because he wished it to be judged because of it's quality, not because he wrote it.  Twain dedicated this work to his wife, and considered it one of his best works.  Honestly, I disagree with him.  It isn't "one of his best."  It is his best work.  Having read all of Mark Twain that I can lay my hands on, this is by far the most well done.

Snapshot of Some Favorites - Books Part One

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     My favorite books list is finding itself all to often revised.  So, for this moment, I would like to share them as the stand, right now.  Please, enjoy!

    Also, if you find yourself wanting to purchase any of them, click on the title!

     ~ Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis
As a retelling of the Cupid and Psyche myth this book hits harder then I think most would expect.  I find it fascinating due to the depth given to the characters, refreshing plot that is still true to the myth, and that the whole thing is poetic. Overall it has a great plot, yet at the same time becomes an interesting metaphor towards the end. Every time I re-read this book I gain something new.

     ~ Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card
Many have read Ender's Game.  Some have read the Ender's series. Perhaps not as many have gotten as far as the The Ender's Shadow Series. This book is the 2nd in that quartet.  I love it for the philosophical questions it poses, intriguing characters, quick paced plot, actions scenes, and the part science plays in it. Truly one to get to. Really only need to read Ender's Game, and Ender's Shadow to enjoy this book.

     ~ Anna Karenina by: Leo Tolstoy (Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky)
For a good while I would proclaim this book as my top favorite. Adults would be a little shocked, as it is about an out of marriage love affair. However, this book is about so much more.  It asks you to question, ponder, and re-define what love is and what it means to be faithful. Interestingly, very little physical contact is described (maybe a couple small kisses), yet it is one of the most romantic books I have ever read. It is a true raiser of questions and further thought.

     ~ The Foundation Trilogy by Issac Asimov
This is a classic set. I couldn't name a single one as they offer so many different things. This makes the list simply because Issac Asimov is a masterful writer. He puts life into his works.  These books explore different faucets of branches in philosophy and math.  Being that Asimov is a science fiction writer, they also explore how those branches intertwine with science. Sort of out there though, it makes for more of a philosophical series then a story set in a futuristic place. 


     ~ Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
I cannot begin to describe how hard I cried over this book. Unlike many books it wasn't just the ending. It pulls at your heart throughout the entirety of the novel. And since it is a rather big book, it leads to a lot of different points to cry. To many people skip the "boring history" part in the middle. Let me tell you, it adds so much more. This book is one that gives you food for thought every step of the way. Besides, it weaves a lovely and tragic tale that still manages to give you a sense of hope, and joy at the end. I also happened to love the movie, and learned to play many of the broadway musical numbers on the piano. Truly, this book is a book of emotions. 

     See Part Two for more!

Something Beyond "Self"

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     Sitting, we share poetry.  Bits and pieces of our souls are spilled into the air of our local library, at an open mic event.  Sifting through lines of varying shades of "good."  We listen.  Looking at the faces of those laughing, crying, and stoic... I saw and I learned.

     Pain is life.  For everyone it brings its own sting.  Some experience the loss of a parent, grandparent, child, or friend.  Others experience being abused by someone you should be able to trust.  For some the greatest pain is hate of oneself.  For still others being shunned by peers and experiencing bullying is apart of life.  We all hurt, and it is all different.  Even if you meet someone who has gone through the same circumstance as you, their experience is different.

     For many of us in the world we cling to a higher power, something beyond ourselves.  Not only christians do this, but Hindu, Islamic, and Buddhist religions look towards higher beings.  Even those who don't believe in a God or supreme being(s) sometimes turn to science as a a higher source of truth.  However, we sometimes forget to look beside us.  Debates arise between people, and we set up walls and barriers.  We claim our pain as ours.  Sometimes it is what makes us feel "unique."  But pain is one of the things that should really bind us.

     Yes, a mother loosing her teenage daughter to a marriage full of abuse, and loneliness is different then a mother who watches her child move from California to New York.  However, they are both mothers.  Even if they cannot empathize, they can sympathize.  We can hold each other, wipe tears, offer solace and simply... be there. We should look at each other as what we are, human.  We are connected.

     Those I shared my pain with, they didn't make a big deal, they didn't see me cry.  But they looked into my eyes, and saw me.  The walls that could have stood (my religion, gender attraction, schooling differences, dress, and appearance) were broken down between us.  Maybe not forever, but for that moment. And that moment matters.

Shout Out to 1D Fans:

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     I almost wouldn't write this.  I happen to really like just writing... thoughts.  I think voicing is better then preaching.  Thus, that is what I try to do.  But in the past few days I have seen pain, frustration, and hurt that honestly scares me.

     Over Google+ and, I have noticed, a large amount of social media an influx of Zayn, and One Direction, related negative emotion is pouring in. People are hurting.

     I consoled a friend who was falling to pieces over Zayn... And I just... It was so sad. Yes, I enjoyed Zayn. He is cool. And it's sad when a band member leaves. But it's just awful when you realize somebody who meant to give such joy through music... Is now being punished by his fans. He wanted to make his and 1D's fans happy.  Instead some are cutting and and flirting with, and acting on suicidal thoughts. Can you imagine how awful that must be for Zayn? He didn't want to give a lie by remaining in the band when he wasn't happy there. But now fans are disgracing the past 5 years he gave them, by hurting yourselves and wishing to inflict self harm. 

     Please, go to the old albums, cry over him all you want. I get band dedication. I am sympathetic. But don't give so much pain to a man who spent 5 years trying to make you smile! Put down the knives, stop looking for the rope. Remember, he loves you. He gave you as much as he could, and that's all an artist can ever give.

     To feel is to be human. To hurt yourself because of it, is to need help.