What is Rock Bottom, Really?

I think that I've already hit rock bottom. I thought that when I was eleven and suddenly found it harder than usual to be happy. I thought that when I was twelve and I believed that pain on the outside would make pain on the inside go away. I thought that when I was thirteen and I sat on the floor of my room and wrote poem after poem about how much I wanted to die. I thought that when I was fourteen and felt like my heart must be forty because why else would I be having a midlife crisis? I thought that when I was fifteen and felt as if my experiences with depression had alienated me from the outside world, as if I could no longer relate to people my age who cared about the trivial. I thought that when I was sixteen when my chronic pain turned into a chronic illness diagnosis.
That makes six times in six years that I have hit rock bottom and gotten up again. Maybe I like a battered, bruised bird with a broken wing, still trying to fly. And this world keeps pushing me back down. But I tell you, I will fly one day. I will keep trying.
The interesting thing about rock bottom is that once you get there, there's nowhere else to go but up. You can stay there, of course, but I've never been able to keep still for long.
But it's also scary, to realize that this may not have been the worst, that life may have even more troubles for me down the road. But I'll figure out what to do when I come to them, and I'll pick myself up again. If and when that time comes, I'll still be here, trying to fly.
And someday, someday I'll take off, and I will.

Ramblings

Some people spend the whole week waiting for the weekend, or the whole school year waiting for summer. Me? I don't know what I'm waiting for, just that I always am.
Lana Del Rey said it right when she called it summertime sadness. But maybe what it really is is always sadness. Maybe everyone is always sad. Maybe everyone is always searching. Maybe all these things that make them say, "Oh, I'm so happy" are merely distractions. And when they're all alone and they can't sleep, they realize how empty they really are. And how everything they used to fill themselves up is really nothing.
Maybe I want more than this. Maybe I want more than nothing. I'm not looking forward to summer, because summer has always meant days filled with nothing, and I need to live. I need to really live.
Maybe it's true, that you have to give meaning to your own life. Maybe we're all a little bit crazy, and the ones labeled "insane" are the ones who stopped trying to distract themselves. Maybe the ones trying to recover from that insanity are the only ones learning how to actually deal with life and fill the emptiness without the distractions. Maybe, we really are amusing ourselves to death, and maybe we're all cowards in this brave new world.
I know I've been conditioned. You have, too. Conditioned to think it's all fine and we're all okay, that society is doing great and moving forwards. None of that is really true. But realizing this and breaking free from it are two very different things.
What I know is that I don't want to wait any longer. I want to read and write and learn and work and live and love and laugh and dance and run and play and sing and listen and see, touch, smell, taste, experience my world around me. I think I can do anything. I know I can do anything, even something as seemingly impossible as be okay. I know I can be okay.
Maybe sometimes I'll spend the whole night reaching out longingly to that green light. But what is true is that I will find what I am looking for, and at the end of the day, the season, the year, I will still be here. Amen. Amen. Amen.

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou is no longer with us, and this makes me very sad. Her presence in this world was as a wonderfully influential woman. Her books have changed lives, offered words of hope and courage to all who read them.
Yes, as a black (African-American? What's the politically correct term these days?) woman, her words were  written to her fellow black people. But I think we can all take something away from her words of wisdom that instilled hope into their lives. I think that we all need to understand the racism that still perpetuates our society in order to do anything about it. (And yes, I do believe we need to do something about it.)
Anyway, back to Maya Angelou. Her life is sure to leave behind a legacy that only happens every so often. I would like to think that God allows people who have made a special mark on the world to become stars in the sky. Maya would make a beautiful star.
Remember when Michael Jackson died? And how every radio started playing his songs, stores sold out of his albums because people rushed to buy them, people hung posters in their rooms and schools did concerts and they even made a movie? I hope the same hype happens over Maya, that bookstores need to order more copies because there's such a high demand, that her poems will be searched for on Google, that people will hang posters in their rooms and English classes will teach about her and students will recite her poems at speech meets.
I hope she is honored.
I hope she is remembered.

Why I Need Feminism

I need feminism because I am a teenage girl becoming a woman in a world that is not safe for me.
I need feminism because in ten years when I have a job, my paycheck will be less than my male coworkers', simply because I am female.
I need feminism because everywhere I go, whether it is school or church or even just out shopping, I am told to cover up much of my skin so I'm "not a distraction."
I need feminism because my parents tell me at least once a week to "never go anywhere by myself" when I'm in college. "Especially not at night."
I need feminism because when I meet a guy, I automatically feel like I cannot trust them. Even if they're nice. Especially if they're nice.
I need feminism because in 225 years of US presidents, every single one of them has been a man, and maybe I'm tired of studying men all the time in my history class, maybe I'm ready to vote for the woman on the ballot even if I don't agree with her views because I am ready to see my gender represented.
But these things only affect me, and I'm not the one who needs feminism the most.
Over 200 girls in Nigeria need feminism because they were taken from their families and their lives while they were at school, trying to get an education so they could secure a safe future for themselves in an unstable country.
Six people in Santa Barbara need feminism because a young man went on a premeditated killing spree over his anger about women. Because he thought he had a right to "have" women.
The 20 percent of the American female population that will, statistically speaking, be a victim of rape at least once in their lifetime need feminism, because too many men don't know what the words "no" and "stop" mean. (Really, do we want these men driving on our roads and highways if they can't understand the word "stop"? That sounds pretty dangerous to me.)
If 20 percent isn't enough for you, consider the fact that that's just in the United States. That it doesn't factor in the number of women who have been stalked, threatened, or harassed.
Colleges offer self-defense classes for women. Self-defense tools and pepper spray come in cute keychain forms. But when are men told simply not to rape? What college offers a class that teaches men how to not rape, teaches men how to stand up for women who are?
I need feminism because this is my world, too.

The Shattered Vase

The day I first saw you, I thought, “Wow, how beautiful.”

And that night my confused young  heart cried

Because I knew you would never notice me.

They call it a crush, because it doesn’t just break your heart,

It shatters it, as if the four chambers and all their valves and ventricles

Are pieces of a fragile vase, that the dog accidentally knocked over onto the floor.

 

I have since learned that I only want what I cannot have.

 

The day we became friends,

My slightly less confused but still vulnerable heart felt so much joy

Because finally I could love you in a way that wouldn’t break me.

And when I loved you like this, almost immediately,

No more crush. No more shattered heart.

 

Maybe because I’m shy, or maybe just messed-up,

But my relationships with people had always been tainted with confusion. 

They aren’t now, but back then, I went through the beginnings of my teenage life

Not understanding a single thing about what was going on, or what I felt.

I wasn’t confused about you, or me, or us. 

You were mine, and that always meant friend, safe person.

 

The psychologist said that I was afraid of people leaving me.

That I was afraid of saying, “I need you,” to anyone.

And so I pushed people away.

Because as long as I had people I would need them.

I hated needing, hated the feeling that I was not enough on my own

While simultaneously feeling like there was too much of me.

The more I pushed people away, the more I desperately craved them.

 

I wanted validation. Affection from people.

Not attention, because that implies scrutiny, and I hate being scrutinized.

 More of something that said, “You are worthy and deserving of my love and care.” 

 

I was scared, as I am now, that I would lose that something.

For the most part, my worries have proved in vain. People have not left.

But you have. You’re still here, but you’ve left, which is even harder.

You don’t even realize you’re gone.

You think I am all grown up, and I don’t need you anymore.

Well, I do. I need you and I hate every moment of that need.

Because I feel invalidated.  I feel unworthy. And then I feel stupid, because of course that’s not true.

But I want it anyway. And then I feel horrible and selfish. Maybe I am.

But, “I need you. I need you. I need you.”

 

When I dreamed of this, I imagined consistency.

I imagined that I would be important to you.

I am your hello in the hallways.

I am your occasional text message conversation.

 

It would hurt less if you were trying to hurt me.

It’s easy to push away people when they are trying to hurt you.

But see, that’s the thing. You love me. I can’t push that away.

Whatever we do have, it’s better than nothing at all.

 

It would hurt less if you did this to everyone.

But no, you have your people. And I do not seem to be one of them.

But of course, I still am. Of course, I’m being stupid.

We have our thing. We have our friendship. And isn’t it wonderful?

Then why do I feel like I am

Only a second-class citizen in your world?

 

The thing that makes me feel so selfish about all of this,

Is that you are so happy. You have everything,

All that you could ever want.

You have all of these things and how could you possibly need me?

I don’t have any of it and how could I possibly not need you?

 

This letter isn’t supposed to make you change anything. I’m fine with things the way they are.

This letter is to let you know how I feel about it. So I’m not lying anymore.

But the scary thing is, I don’t think things will change.

I know if I died, you would miss me and you would cry.

But don’t worry. I would never kill myself over my own selfish invalidated feelings.

 

But if we didn’t have whatever we do have,

If I wasn’t your hello and your occasional text

Would you miss it? Would you try to get it back?

Would you need it? Or would the others be enough for you, so you didn’t need me?

Would I be another forgotten one?

Don’t worry. I won’t play hard to get.

Partially because it’s not in my nature, but mostly because I’m afraid you wouldn’t try to come after me.

 

I’m afraid you wouldn’t even notice.

You have everyone you need in your world.

There is no room for me.

 

You gave me so much in the beginning, and all I wanted to do was return the favor.

I watched you need things, and go somewhere else to find them.

I was always there. I’m always here.

 

You should know that this is not a good-bye poem.

I will still be all those things that I try to be for you.

I will still try to contact you, and pretend it doesn’t hurt when you don’t answer.

When the darkness comes, I will still be there, just like before.

I want you to know I’m not going anywhere.

 

But people say that when you feel something, you shouldn’t keep it inside.

You should say it.

I tried, God I did. But a crowded hallway is not the place, and a text message is not the medium,

And our time alone felt too precious to spoil.

 

You said once you liked poems because they showed that the person spent time thinking about the subject.

Well here. Have this poem.

The time spent on this is only a fraction of the time I spent thinking about you.

 

So I’m sorry, if I need more than you have to give. I’m sorry, if there’s not enough room for me.

I’m sorry, I know, I’m being stupid. But I think that my feelings have validation.

 I think it’s time you knew

The vase is falling.

Catch it, if you so desire. Place it back on the table and be gentle.

Pick it up when it falls and breaks and spend hours gluing it together again.

Sweep up the shattered pieces and throw them in the garbage, because it was never that pretty anyway.

I am shattering.

 

 

 

Galaxy

I am a bundle of contradictions

Mixed up jumbled together opposites.

I am logic and order and numbers.

Everything adds up and makes sense

And you draw a neat little box

Around your solution at the end.

But I am also creativity and spontaneity and art.

Chaos and confusion and color.

I am the perfectly put together lawyer,

Defending a client in court.

I am a doctor in scrubs,

Saving the life of a patient.

I am a painter,

With color in my hair

And a sparkle in my eyes.

I am a beggar,

Living on the streets,

Hungry and alone.

I am a dancer,

Naked and wild.

I am everything,

And nothing,

All at once.

 

I wonder how can this be.

Maybe it is because I am a galaxy.

I am filled to the brim

With stars and planets and nebulae,

And rainbow patterns of dust,

Swirling around in the gravityless land

Beyond the atmosphere.

 

But while I am all these things,

I am a vacuum of empty space,

Black holes, waiting to swallow the sky.

Hungrily searching to obliterate all in their wake.

 

So maybe on the days when I break down,

Maybe on the days that I’m sure I’ve hit rock bottom

Because my soul is an empty, searching black hole

Aching, deep in the middle of my chest,

I need to remember

The galaxy in me.