Disintegrate

Dear Friend,

 

Hello again. I'm sorry for my lengthy and abrupt absence from the world of blogger and the boundaries of this lovely blog.

 

You see, I left at a time when I felt entirely uninspired and incredibly unhappy and I've been working ever since to figure things out. I've failed multiple times, experienced things that I wish to never have to go through again, and basically have just tried to figure out who I am, where, why, how I am, and where, why, and how I'm going to my future self. Remember how often I talked of escapism in my previous posts? Remember how adamant about it I was? I think I've come to realize a few things, and that's why I left. I wanted to experiment. I didn't want to come back until I'd achieved what I'd set out to do so that I could come back and explain it all well.

 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Escapism is not all it's cracked up to be. Yes, it is okay to find wholesome outlets for yourself and in some cases, physically leave a situation you're in. No, it is not okay to abuse what may have been a wholesome, but is usually an unwholesome, outlet to get out of wherever you are.

 

Friend, I reached a point where I was desperate. I saw no value in life and turned from everything I'd believed in. I reached the breaking point, the point I almost hit before I found Owl City, and this time I had nothing to distract me. Well, nothing wholesome to distract me. It hit me the other day that I've tried so many forms of escape except the one where you actually leave. Not that leaving is all that practical, but it's the conventional form of escape.

 

It's a scary thing when suddenly the entire world is out to get you and the future you once looked forward to is bleak. When nothing has meaning and your life seems like one of the other billions that have existed and you've nothing unique to offer.

 

Clawing your way out of that is a mess, especially when you purposely lose your faith and refuse to find it again. You slip countless times and end up where I currently am: you exist and are decently happy to exist (once in a while before you lapse back into your scared, meaningless state) but you still crave to escape.

 

The greatest form of hell on earth is having to admit something to a friend that hurts them more than it hurts you. The saddest thing on earth is having to argue for a person's life because they no longer wish to continue the fight themself.

 

I'm out but not unscathed; the scars are no longer visible but that doesn't make their effect any less awful. I've only tasted the very edges of depression, skated along the edge where one begins to see how the depressed think and sympathize with how they feel and I've been affected.

 

Anyway, that's my (as per usual) vague update of what has happened for these last few months. Now onto my topic: escapism.

 

Escapism is a very romantic word. It sounds so nice and it feels so lovely for all of three seconds before you realize that it is oh so very temporary. Permanent escape doesn't exist, but you try for it all the same. You want a mental break and you are willing to take any means to achieve it. The unwholesome versions of escapism only drag you down, so please don't try them. If you're reading this little blog tucked away in a miniscule corner of the internet for the first time, or the twentieth time, I beg you, friend, to get one thing from it: don't try the unwholesome forms of escape. They will only ruin you mentally-you may get away for a minute but don't let that fool you. They suck you in more than pull you out and the mental damage done is not nearly worth the brief mental reprieve.

 

The more I try to push away from everything I've been taught and the more I try to discover on my own the less happy I become. That isn't all true, really. There have been some worthwhile discoveries along the way. But for the most part, the more I try to pretend that nothing exists outside of our little universe the more I feel like I am missing out. I used to have a great faith. I used to feel great moments of joy and very little remorse. I now have little faith. I now feel little joy. Somehow I can't yet go back to where I was yet. Somehow I think I must discover a little more before I settle back into my faith. That probably isn't very orthodox and it probably won't make sense to myself in a few years, but right now it seems like a good option and I'm going to take it.

 

I'm sick of so many parts of life but they're the parts that don't deserve to exist to begin with so it's okay. I want to be positive and I want to be better. I don't know how long this will take but I'm going to work on it. I feel as if I'm on the brink of discovery and there are mindsets I've yet to look through and actions I've yet to accomplish and I'm beginning to get excited for these possibilities.

 

Just when you think you've found something, a new thing destroys what you previously thought and new dimensions are opened before your eyes. Slowly I'm realizing it's an incredible world we live in and I wish for you, dear friend, and for me and for everyone I've yet to meet to discover in the best way possible. I wish that we stop our focus so much on escaping and start our focus on the things that lie beyond.

 

You're only as stuck as the confines of your mind force you to believe. But those confines can be stretched and broken, fear not.

 

Love,

 

Madeline

 

P.S. Madd, Olivia, Meri. My dear friends and girls I so admire and love. I'm sorry for leaving and I hope you haven't given up on me just yet. I have a feeling I'll be talking to you all soon, but until then know that I've missed you more than I can say. Hope this post finds you well.

 

 



Where I Found Innocence

Dear Friend,

 

Where is innocence? Where has it gone? How did I manage to lose it and when did this happen?

 

I've always imagined innocence as a dwindling quality, slowly decreasing as each generation is introduced to the world. That is a pretty large generalization, I realize, but tell me I'm not the only one who's imagined this phenomena, please. I see my brother and sister learning swear words earlier than I know I did, and that is the lesser of the evils I've encountered. Maybe I just miss a time I've imagined and have applied to real life without its consent, a time of innocence up until some undefined age.
 

However, when I began to feel the strongest that innocence was being gobbled up by some unseen monster and it was losing the fight that, arguably, mattered most, I found it.

 

Sitting on the bus in the midst of Disney World, after a day of crowds and bratty children and claustrophobic situations that-while I don't have a phobia-made me feel a bit panicky and then worn down nonetheless, I was feeling very done. With what, I'd rather not specify. I'm not sure that I can. Regardless, as I was readying myself to shut out the few people on the bus, resigning myself to give a glazed-over stare out the window for the thirty minute drive, a little girl caught my eye.
 

This little girl sat across from me with what I assume were her mom and dad. She had brown, curly hair in two pigtails and a sweet smile. What struck me most was her general aura; her mannerisms showed off the very essence of a quiet compassion. She held an Ariel doll in her arms which wasn't remarkable in and of itself given the place we were driving through, but what I noticed was the way she took care of the doll. Instead of rowdily messing around with it, she gently brushed Ariel's hair, careful not to pull or tug at it. She looked genuinely happy with the doll as well. When stimulation and the next biggest things and the three-second gratification period have become the norm, it's refreshing to see someone (young or old) appreciate something that won't talk back or respond in any way. Occassionally, the girl would look up from her beloved doll and chat with her parents, but for the most part she quietly sat there. I'm guessing she was a bit shy. This came through in the times she would catch my eye and we'd share a smile. Hers was very timid but incredibly genuine as I imagine (or hope) mine was. Something about the look she gave me, the smile, gave a tug on my heart. Is it crazy to say I saw myself in her? I saw my six-year-old self, the one who was extremely shy-as if that's changed-and naive. When I saw her, I saw myself when I was innocent. When I saw her, I wanted to protect her from anything the world threw at her because I saw something so positive that I knew it would target her and would attempt to drag her away from herself.

Faith is restored in the form of one sweet little girl acting in the right, good way. I only hope her life develops into something great and she holds onto at least one shred of that great innocence she displayed on that bus. I also hope that I might dig deep and find some of my own. I don't think we can ever lose all of our innocence (though we may come close) but I do know that we can hide it well. However, should we truly look, I think we can rediscover ourselves in their child-like states and maybe allow them to appear more than we currently do.

 

 Love,

 

Madeline



Actual, Uncharted Dreams and False Tenets of Failure

Dear Friend,

 

Lately I have been forced to take my hands off of my ears, open my eyes, and acknowledge that the future must be dealt with no matter how scary it may be. Between college interviews and meetings to decide what I'd-gasp-like to do with my life, I've been forced to confront one of the things that most scares me.

 

I've talked about potential. I've, admittedly, used that word a bit too much and maybe diluted its meaning in the process. But I think I do so with the hopes that I'll be able to remind myself-and you-that it is there. That there is always potential so long as we're here and breathing. Every option is available because at any moment you could stop and start again. You could take the radical path and risk failure.

 

How romantic is it that we could pursue anything? That the sky truly is the limit and even then we could go beyond? We've been lured into troubled thinking, however, where career paths are determined and we must follow exactly in that path set before us. There is no wiggle room because that would mean taking risks and that would mean possible failure. We are taught passions should be less important than security.

 

Failure. Maybe that's what I fear most. But what does failure actually mean? I've come to ponder that a lot. I used to think it meant taking a path and having it blow up in your face. But now I've come to define it in a slightly altered, more specific way. It's taking a path that means nothing to you in the first place and losing (or winning) in it. If you love something and you go for it and it doesn't work out, you haven't failed as maybe you've been made to believe. You've lived much more than the millions of people that allowed others/preconceived notions/themselves to rule their minds and keep them "realistic."

 

Maybe I should take back every time I've gloated about being realistic. Sadly, I don't think I can beat that part of me out of myself, but I can temper it. Being realistic gets you nowhere. It is fear that you will fail if you try. That is ridiculous, ludicrous, and completely wrong. You fail if you don't try. You fail if you allow outside and/or internal pressures to scare you and stay your mind.

 

The moment you stop dreaming and the moment you stop trying to pursue those dreams is the moment you die.

 

The way you've been taught is a lie. The things you've been taught to fear are wrong. Don't fear failure because you don't know where it'll take you. Rather, fear monotony, fear never taking risks, fear the false sense of security and what brings it because it will take you nowhere.Your mind may be cracked open from any sort of society-defined failure and the thoughts you'd tried to push down may finally see the light of day.

 

I'm in a dangerous mood and I'm going to formally disclose things I am still too afraid to say out loud but am willing to take the first steps by sharing here.

 

I think a formal education will benefit me in some ways. I don't think I will learn many life lessons of any sort since I imagine it to be a fairly specialized, focused way of learning, but it is good to know things even if they won't directly relate to you. My dream, however, is to work in Uganda. I think I'm meant to be there, my heart pulls when I see pictures or hear mention of it, and I want to help. I'm not entirely sure how yet, though I've considered micro finance or partnering with a group that does work there, but that's my (semi-vague but developing) dream. Is it crazy? Maybe. Slightly risky? I'd say a bit over slightly. Nevertheless, it exists and I don't want to keep ignoring it. Who knows? It may lead to my having an effect on the world. Leading change that was desperately needed and that brought relief. That inspired. There's no telling but in keeping a dream the possibility for that exists.

 

Seventeen years it took me to come up with this meager conclusion about the future and the things I've been told and the things I feel and the things I aspire to and the things I may fail at and what the word fail actually means. At this moment, I feel better for my altered perspective but the realist in me still wants to tread carefully. I trust that age brings wisdom but I'd also love to hear the wisdoms of you, my friend, if you feel you have any to share. Or take a risk and share even if you think it isn't very wise; you've just read a portion of that sort of thinking. I'd also be glad to hear of your dreams. Please don't be shy.

 

To brighter days, passionate dreams, and incredible futures. I'll meet you there.



Love,

 

Madeline



Potential

Dear Friend,

 

At the risk of being cliched and cheesy, I wish you a happy new year and that this year will truly bring things you couldn't have seen coming. Good things, hopefully. But sometimes the bad things end up becoming good things, so remember to keep your mind open. You'd be amazed what happens when you do.

 

I've never been one for change, so each new year brings me a bit of melancholy as I reflect on what I did (and didn't) do in the past year. I am sentimental and nostalgic. A new year means I'm older, further from the innocent years of childhood. It's scary but also full of potential.

 

Potential. I've been hearing that word a lot. Here's hoping I live up to the potential so many others see in me. I think that's my resolution. It's a large one; it encompasses almost every move I make. All the same, I want to be better. I want to live up to my expectations and go further to live up to the expectations of others. Not in an unhealthy way, of course, I trust the people whose expectations I plan to live up to.

 

 

 

I want to, as backwards and completely off as this sounds, make a change. Haha. The girl who hates change wants to make one. I am so sick of living a mediocre life, so maybe if I resolve to be better, I could change not only myself, but the world around me. It's that oh so elusive dream that many get, but I'm trying not to completely discredit it because, well, what else do I have left if not that?

 

I realize resolutions take time, and I'm prepared to prepare and to wait. From there, we'll see how things go.

 

For once, I might actually be excited to see how this new year goes and what it brings. Maybe what I've learned from this past year, which has been more than I can even express, will make me better equipped for it.

 

All I know is it's a time for change and I hope that you and I are ready to face it. Get ready, it's coming and I know we're meant to reach potentials and shatter expectations and change for the better.

 

You, my dear friend, are going to do great things.I hope you take this statement seriously because I believe it with all of my heart. You will do things you didn't even think possible. Maybe not in this next year, but soon enough.

 

I can't wait to hear what this year, and the years after, bring your way. I hope we can sort out our resolutions, our futures, our pasts, our potentials, and all of the other billions of marvelous things in our lives together.

 

Many thanks for the support you've given me in the past and advanced thanks for the support you will give me in the future. You are a great friend.

 

Good luck and God bless.

 

Love,

 

Madeline

Thinking...For Once

Dear Friend,

 

At about 1AM this morning, I was deep in the middle of a discussion about whether we exist as thoughts of greater being(s), whether we are the greater being, whether we exist at all, what our significance is, if we have significance, if there is a god, and what his significance is. While my atheistic friend and I didn't totally agree on everything, it was interesting to ponder all of that and hear her side of the story.

 

That isn't my point, though. My point is that I can't remember the last time I was engaged in any conversation like that. I can't remember ever actually attempting to give answers to questions that may be unanswerable, or justifying what I believe to someone who doesn't believe it. I haven't used my brain, really used it, in some time.

 

So often I find myself skating over things, giving minimal effort, and still doing well. But that's on the outside. What about my inside? I haven't been exercising whatever intelligence God has given me, and it's about time I start.

 

There are so few people willing to get into a debate, or at least a discussion, like that. My conversations almost never go that deep, but now I'm realizing what I've been missing out on and I'm beginning to want to change all of that.

 

I'm tired of simple answers that have been fed to me and I have accepted without questioning. I'm tired of not reasoning and puzzling through things. I'm tired of letting my God-given gifts and brain go to waste as I turn on my autopilot and go through everything mechanically.

 

I think, therefore I am (-Descartes). It is central to being human, to existing at all, to think. I must think or I'm really not here at all. I want to exist, and I seem to be existing, so I must be thinking. But I want to exist more, I want to think more. I want to have meaningful thoughts.

 

Is this making any sense?

 

I guess what I'm getting at, what it all boils down to, is that I am going to stop accepting and start thinking. I'm going to start having bigger, greater conversations and stop shying away from sharing my opinions. I stand to make some mistakes, but I also stand to learn a lot, and I'm really excited at this prospect.

 

Love,

 

Madeline

Surrounded By All This Beauty

Dear Friend,

Music has always been a large chunk of my life. I know so many can say the same, and this isn't such an outstanding claim. However, hear me out.

My mom tells me that when I was little, she would sing to me and I would beg her for more if she stopped. My dad was forced to sing me to sleep most nights in the glorious days when I was an only child and could demand such things (but I would be lonely without my siblings, so I guess it all worked out). I was the child that couldn't get enough of it. Listening to music until my other family members begged to turn it off was my specialty; I never tired of it. Dancing and singing were things I did-and still do-frequently.

How much a part of us does music become. It is one of the things that is international, universal. It saves, it breaks, it repairs. So much is contained in such a beautiful medium.

My life can be broken into pieces of time by the music I listened and listen to. It typically defines what I did and who I was and what I'm doing and who I am. Most of the time.

For the first few years of my life I listened to a great amount of Newsboys-Entertaining Angels was my favorite song. It still is, really. My dad also sang Amazing Grace to me many nights before bed. You Are My Sunshine is one I remember my mom singing to me quite vividly.

My next memories are of my being anywhere from 6-10. Any time we drove somewhere, we'd listen to music. We listened to everything from ABBA and Queen (I disliked these groups at first but later came to appreciate them) to Coldplay to Relient K to more Newsboys.



Later on, at about eleven and twelve, High School Musical (the movie) and Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls were all coming out (Disney channel-sponsored fare) so I was listening to a lot of that. I also had a complete obsession-I'm afraid to admit-with Corbin Bleu. I recently listened to my old c.d. of his again and was pretty excited when I was able to sing along to many of the songs ( I hadn't listened to it since I was probably twelve). The power of music, I tell ya.

Next comes my middle school years. I had a rough time in middle school as it just was a lot to take in and a bit of a shock for someone who was fairly innocent going into it. I rode the bus to and from school everyday, so in order to tune everyone out (and to remain sane) I listened to plenty of music on my dinosaur white iPod that is still in my nightstand drawer. It was and still is my baby.

As the Twilight series was popular then, I read those books, watched the movies and listened to the soundtrack-often on repeat. I also had a great love of Rihanna when she sang fairly decent songs. Disturbia and Don't Stop the Music were always playing. Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden was a treasured song as well.  

Early high school, I got into Skillet and listened to their Awake and Alive album often. I don't remember listening to anything else really. My freshman year is now sort of a blur.



Sophomore year of high school was pretty much my rock-bottom year. Something snapped. I don't think I was listening to much music, I was getting into arguments with my parents constantly, and it was surrounded by much unhappiness and far too many mistakes. However, just as I was feeling most down, I found-you've probably guessed it-Ocean Eyes. There is something to be said for an album that is equivalent to a life source. I clung to that album. I played it so many times I don't think it's possible to count them. That music saved me. Each and every song brings a memory and hope. I've been feeling down lately, actually, and finally did what I was reluctant to do-put on Ocean Eyes, sat back, and allowed it to work its magic. Guess who felt better in a manner of minutes? This album is most dear to me. It brought happiness, optimism, and hope when I thought there was none. I truly cannot praise it enough.



Currently I listen to Owl City (of course), Lights, Ed Sheeran, Benjamin Francis Leftwich, Passion Pit, Of Monsters and Men, some Imagine Dragons, and plenty of other things. There's so much music to be discovered and I'm enjoying uncovering it. So much to do and so little time to do it.



So there you have it. Ah, music. It's been my saving grace in many ways. It's dragged me up from the pits I've gotten myself into and convinced me to keep going and fighting and living. It's comforted me when things seemed beyond anything I could handle. It's convinced me that despite my limited viewpoint, there is so much out there-talent, fun, happiness, bits of magic, and beauty. And if it's possible that so much beauty exists, I sure don't want to miss it all.

I hope one day I can hear your story, your life, via music. It's a very personal thing and I'd love to be able to get to know you in that way.

Love,

Madeline





Hidden Reflective Surfaces

Dear Friend,

 

Sit down and shut everything out. Pretend that what is reality isn't truly for a while because being a realist is just so hard sometimes. Fearing disappointment just brings more disappointment and that contradiction isn't fun in the least.

 

Escape even if you really can't. Even if you realistically can't. Physically I'm present, but mentally? I haven't a clue. I'm struggling to keep up but that's okay. Inhale and exhale and just be for a while because there's too much, as you say daily, and your coping mechanisms just aren't where they used to be.

 

Do everything you can to push away. Away and escape are two of my favorite words at the moment. I desperately crave both of them but I know not how to attain them except through dreams. Physical means haven't developed enough yet.

 

Everything begins to blend and fade and what are you left with after that? When everything becomes nothing and nothing; everything, what do you have left? Maybe I'll contemplate that for a while as I float. Float's a good word, too. Another favorite.

 

Parading around constantly easily becomes tiring. Have we lost our real selves already? It's too soon to tell but I've got a horrible feeling deep down inside that it could happen soon. Or that I wouldn't be able to tell in the first place. If you've worn a mask nearly since the day you were born, are you anything but the mask anymore? The signs are pointing to yes, but are they really? Or am I just fooling myself again.

 

I love imagery and analogies of the mask so much. One time I watched an episode from The Twilight Zone that involved a family that appeared to be nice on the outside, but when they visited their dying relative whom they stood to inherit money from they showed their true colors quickly. The dying relative had them all put grotesque masks on and made them wear them until the clock struck midnight, as a part of the inheritance agreement. At first the family refused-as we all do at first-but eventually they gave in-as we all seem to do in the end-and put the masks on. And waited. And became meaner as the night went on. At midnight, the relative died, taking the form of the skeleton mask he had donned earlier in the night. The others' faces took the forms of the masks they were wearing-all of which were the reflections of the people they were on the inside (greedy, self-absorbed, and otherwise).

 

What if our true selves showed up in the masks we wore? Do they now? Perhaps. But I still think it's fairly easy to hide most of ourselves behind one.

 

We Wear the Mask

 

WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

 

Paul Laurence Dunbar



One time, just once, I'd like to come back from the dream-like state I enter sometimes and truly see things for what they are. Masks lifted, parading stopped, faking paused. How interesting would that be?

 

Supposedly we reflect whatever we have on the inside. I used to think we were mirrors. Maybe we are, but we've managed to pull sheets over the reflective surface to hide. I'd like to uncover those mirrors for a while and get to know them really and truly. Or would I?

 

Slipping into reverie is pretty enticing. Pretending might just be easier and less painful (though slightly less rewarding.)

 

Love,

 

Madeline