Pretty amazing how life can transform you into a completely different person than the person you were as a kid, or the person you were 5 years ago, or even 2 months ago. I remember when I could barely raise my hand in class I was so embarrassed. Or the thought of talking to a boy...oh my god. I wouldn't dare! Or the thought that I could be wanted?! Never. Though now I feel a bit of ego burn and I think I need to tone it down a notch or two.

I can't say I've ever been so angry, confident, confused, lost, happy, and sad all at the same time. Daily I feel with such great intensity and I absolutely love it. Perhaps it's just a manic stage, but I am letting go of so many fears. I just don't give a fuck what anyone thinks anymore. The fact that people watch me, look at me, compliment me, whatever - just makes me angry. But I let them think that they're making me happy. They're just being human and that's fine. I use this persona and I love using it. But it scares me that some people are beginning to recognize how incredibly angry I am inside. I don't think many people at work ever thought a little pretty polite chica would throw a mad punch like I do. And spend hours doing it. People realize that my energy has to be coming from somewhere, that it has to be fueled by something.

I think about a lot of things when I workout. I've always used it as an escape. It's really hard to do when you're sad. It's not a priority when you're happy. But it becomes an addiction when you're angry. Realizing that I've been angry for a fucking long time.

I'm so tired of being nice. Of giving myself, or at least as much as I can to others, and then end up being taken advantage of or used in some way. It has happened again and again throughout my entire life. Of course, it's my own fault. I allow it to happen because I can't stop caring. I remember letting the horde of middle school girls cut in front of me in the fucking lunch line so that every single one of those little bitches could get their fucking chocolate milk before me. And guess what I got once I finally got to the milk section?? Fucking 2%. I'm so fucking sick of getting 2%. It tastes like fucking ass and I've put up with it for way too long. I can feel my skin growing thicker as I think about it. The more anger I feel, the more angry I get. (Wow intelligent statement Sara.) I'm not bothered by feeling angry. It's rather addicting and it's kicking my ass into some good fucking shape.

I wonder what it will take to get me to the point where I stop forgiving. Where I stop caring. Where I simply give up on people the moment they let me down. I'm extremely envious of those that can simply let go of people not worth their time. It's a trait that I doubt I'll ever acquire. If only I had an easier time letting go. Truth is - I don't. I don't let go. Of anything. I've held on to things that upset me as a fucking kid. I hold on to memories that are only in the past. I hold on to tons and tons of shit and carry it willingly. Why?????!!!!!!

And then I must end with a contradiction to my question. I like carrying shit. LoL. Maybe I enjoy drinking the fucking 2% milk because it tastes so nasty. Just like I love anger and pain. I need a sport that is full-out aggression upon the opposite sex. Where if I get hit in the fucking face or a jaw broken, ribs concaved, or cracked skull - I wouldn't care. Or vice versa. Maybe I'm kidding....? Or maybe I'd like the fucking attention?

3AM. I love early morning rants. Until next time.

Going to go box the hell out of a fucking bag.
For another hour today. (Oh baby, you gotta believe that 2 hour long sessions with a heart rate at 185 bpm is addicting.)
I can't fucking wait!
Yay.
Abs.
Of course.
And two fucking cans of chicken today. And like a nibble of a fucking pancake. Makes the body look even fucking better. I love pain. And I think it's worth it to put up with pain for certain reasons. Like your fucking image - because that's all that this retarded society can see. They can't see you. Nothing that is inside. They see only see how you portray yourself. What is my number one reason for feeling pain? I'll feel pain for those I love any day. I don't mind it. I love it. I want it. Give me the S & M baby. Because you cannot experience happiness without feeling pain. My memories of happiness are worth pain. And I'll repeat; I don't mind it, I love it, and I want it badly. I'd rather live with it than become numb.

I'll just look down.

I'll just look away.

My flaws speak loudly without a cover up.

At least I can pretend to be happy.

Maybe I'm a ghost?

Whatever right?

Working my ass off. Why? Anger issues?

You crack me up.

Hebrews 13:5
"Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you."

I love to play with words. As if that wasn't already apparent. Hence. The word "love " (for examples) can be just about anything. And when we look out of the context of Neo-Western thought, we get into even deeper, more complex meanings.
Just a few examples,
"I really loved that meal." Just a basic, that was great ma.
"Hmmm. I loved that meal." Sarcastic undertones.
Or, "I love my dog. Isn't he great?" Love really doesn't mean that much right? I mean, if the dog dies, and you don't get over the grief soon - there is some sort of problem. But if a friend, family member, spouse, etc, passes, grief is expected and socially acceptable for quite some time. One of my mom's friends was obsessed with dachshunds. She owned at least eight at any given point in the year; but most were so obese that they ended up breaking their hind legs and needing a rigged wheel-chair like device for that allowed them to move around, maneuvering with their front legs. Due to severe stress on the lower back, most of these obese dogs would barely make it a year. Maybe 2, if they were lucky. Anyway, every time one would die, Ms. Lanto would hold a funeral. She always invited my mom and my down syndrome brother. Paul had no clue what was going on at these funerals and most of the time ended up laughing or saying something like, "pooor baby gogggy die." Despite the humor of it all, Ms. Lanto loved Paul's company. She needed friends to pay their "respects" to these retarded creatures that she loved so dearly. How the hell one comes to love such a ridiculous pet, only God knows.

I suppose the point to all of this is - what is the point of loving something that is completely replaceable? I mean, dachshunds could easily populate the planet with the proper conditions set in place. They'd all be the same. Maybe a few genetic abnormalities. A few albinos. A few mutants. Etc. But pretty much all the same.

Unfortunately, human beings are a bit too complex to be replaceable. We have far too many characteristics. Far too many personality traits, odd little behaviors, patterns, (and the not-so-patterns), and complex behavioral histories to be put on the level of dachshunds...well according to me...perhaps not Ms. Lanto. In fact, we are so complex, that we have attempted to define why we love.

There is evolutionary theory which states that we are attracted to those with characteristics we deem as attractive and thus "healthy" - leading to further reproduction and increasing the chances of good genes being passed on to the next generation.

Then there is social exchange theory which states that people's feelings toward one another is dependent on his/her perception of rewards and costs, the kind of relationships he/she deserves, and their likelihood for having a healthier relationship with someone else. Social reinforcers, more commonly known as "rewards" make it worthwhile to stay involved in the relationship.

The traditional biological view sees 2 major driving factors in love; sexual attraction and attachment.

Psychology does not attempt to explain why love exists as much as it attempts to define love; defining love as a combo of companionate love and passionate love.

And finally there are hundreds upon thousands of religious, social, and scientific explanations for this one little word.

I love to play with words.

This word drives me crazy.

It means way too many things!

When I start to think about it, I start to feel like Edward Norton in Fight Club as he transitions into Tyler Durden. Chronic insomnia. Staying up late on caffeine. But of course instead of fight club, I have Sara's blog.

Hehehe.

Where I spend far too much time pondering, and writing out the random shit that exists and randomly appears within my brain.

So have I come to any conclusions yet about how I love to play with words? Did I mention that I love it? Or do I love it?

Some words such as la, la meaning the, drive me crazy. Because it is a word that has too many meanings! You can't just say, "I love you." to one person, then to another, and it somehow means the same thing?! No. But our English language has only allowed for so much!

Well it's nearly 3AM. Sadly, I must be up in 3 1/2 hours. I don't want to sleep. I just would like more caffeine. Sometimes I wish there was a 24 hour fitness in this god forsaken town because I would hit it up right now. And see though I'd like that, it probably wouldn't be beneficial to my health or to sanctity of mind to those who care about me. Although, they wouldn't have to know about it I guess.

So. That's my next goal I guess. Right? A 24-hour fitness in Kzoo. Dear God. Sara. Rose. What has come into your head?

Yes, that's right. You are the lucky winner and I am the one who is going to be psychoanalyzing you! Call and step up today, and let a real psychologist help you!!

That will be my motto. I can see the headlines right now. :) Ah. Well. The eyes are tired. The body is tired. But the mind is still awake and refuses to ss ttttttttt oooop ttypingn=.dd

Ok...suppose it's time.

Edit: I couldn't help but return to this to note - the main reason to writing this blog was to simply state the the word love is grossly overused. Couples say it in the goddamn morning, afternoon, and night. It almost makes me want to hurl. They say those little words are so important to say on a daily basis in a marriage. Whatever. People use words to hurt. Sometimes people use words to confuse. Words are simply in place to get a reaction of some sort. What really matters is the action the comes with the words. So I love reactions. But I love action, that is completely separate from my wanting a reaction, more so. Ha. Aren't I clever? See showing someone you love them is much harder than saying it. So easy to say those words. Much much harder to show it. And of course, it gets even harder to show it over time. After 2 years. 6. 8. 10. 20. 50. What happens at 50 years?! But should we really have to work that hard to show love? Yes? No? And what if I feel no love? What if I love nothing or no one? Sometimes I fear that that is the case. That I don't feel anything! But of course, that is completely untrue and it is just my angry bi-polar side taking over my personality at this very late hour in the evening and yes it is time to go to bed but I just wanted to edit in those last few words because I really felt the compulsion to do so at this late hour in the evening did I say that already? I think I did ok.

love: thunderstorms. rain. dark skies. windy nights. chillin. victorian furniture. new clothes. feeling out of control. ting of new guitar strings. running alone. writing down random shit. numb. masochism. human mind. spiritual warfare. winning. tiny waists. eyes. mysterious people. imagination. dreaming. nightmares. lucid dreams. far away places. ireland. celtic history. christianity. buddhism. zen. religious institutions and how they began. diet coke. melancholy, angry, emotional music. chili peppers. rage. afi. alanis. sarah. kurt. classic rock. minor piano sonatas. moonlight sonata. contrast. black and white. extremes. change. changing color. acting. affection. love. sensitivity. closeness. dreaming. again. dreaming. traveling to the end of the earth. obituaries. the stories we leave behind. cycle of birth, life, death, rebirth. pondering time. letting myself go. shiraz. syrah. escargot. calamari. strawberries. dark chocolate. beautiful memories. sicily. genealogy. passion. service. altruism. consummate love. purpose. seasons. learning. always learning.

12 - time to run

hot water. lay for hours. submerged. warm my body. please. am i the only one who is this fucking cold? suppose so. head, shoulders, knees, and...can't feel my fucking toes. huh. hot water. drink more hot water. warm up. run. cool down. hot water. lay in hot water. god grant me catabolism. come on. don't be scared. i'm not. break me down. i enjoy this.

Defective merchandise.
Please return me to the proper shelf.

Space. Space. Space. Space. Space. Space. Space.

Seriously.

All I want sometimes is fucking space.
I simply like being alone.
I'm trying very hard to disappear.
It's not working so well.
More self control + space + alone = perfection.

Search for light

"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach."

I wonder if that quote is really true. For those who have been forced to take darkness upon their shoulders, is it really a measure to which you can aspire to reach? What about when you do not choose a certain path but are instead forced to abide to the rules that a person or establishment has created?

As a little girl I often wondered about how much power I actually had. I lived in fear of dark places for years. Not just, "i'm scared of monsters in the closet mommy" darkness. No. At seven years old, I remember the feelings I got when I walked into the old Michigan basement in the farmhouse that my parents owned outside of Detroit (when the burbs were actually farmland). It wasn't a feeling of being scared. The blood red walls, the multiple rooms with assorted objects. Victorian armoirs, love letters dated back around the time of WWI, old mirrors, and those fucking greenish colored amplified portraits where the eyes just follow you from every corner of the room. The rooms were pretty cool to me. I loved to explore. The house was very old and looking back on what I saw, I'm guessing it was built years before the turn of the century. Lots of history.

Endless fields of sandy colored wheat, run down thatched barns with rusty tractors. Not every little girl's dream land. But it was mine. I loved being alone. Alone and exploring. There was something about not depending upon anyone else - the freedom of being away from my parents. That yearning to be completely alone, is in the end, what ended up causing me to build walls...walls that I'm having a very hard time breaking through. When you're alone, you are vulnerable and unprotected. There's not much that can hold you back when you're alone. You can do what you want. Go where you want. Listen to what you want. Do whatever the hell you want. But, when you're alone, you don't have anyone to watch over you. There is no one who can watch your back. Protect you. Hold you. Empathize or try to help feel with you. Fuck that.

I was alone. On the bus to school every day I remember this one boy. This one little asshole that would rub his dirty shoes on my white pants leaving behind two huge black splotches on my leg. On a daily basis, he would take things that belonged to me. My bag. My little retarded stuffed animal which at the time was my best friend. He'd take my things and hold on to them all day and throw them at me or in my face on the way home.

But then things happened that I don't remember so well. My mom remembers because I spoke up at the time. My mom called the police and not even a week later, the parents were in jail for multiple counts of child sexual abuse. The counts for heroin were lesser charges. Kids all ended up in foster care and I never saw that little asshole again.

Fact of the matter is, is that shit like that happens all of the time. And when you're a kid, there is no right and wrong. Really, is there ever a right or wrong? Even when you grow up, learn about what hurts people, what makes you happy, etc. Everything in life is fucking relative isn't it?

I hope that "the depth of darkness to which you descend...is a measure of the height to which you can reach." But I highly doubt it. No one can correct that kind of pain. There is no opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to wounding another human being. There is no making that person stronger. What happened to me as a kid gave me what I see as a very weak will. I guess others might see it as me being empathetic. As I get older, I grow more and more angry about it. Every day I'm angered by how people treat others. If we all only did what made us fucking happy, how many more fucking kids would end up abused, molested, or raped?

Searching my soul does not make me happy. It makes me feel enraged. However, if I don't attempt to find a way through the walls I've built, I'll always remain a facade. A figment of the imagination. I'm not real. I'm completely fake. I can't even face my own demons.

Today I enjoyed the feeling of rage when I took a look back at the demons that still haunt me. It's quite amazing; to put on a pretty dress, some make-up, make sure my legs are smooth, eyebrows perfect, eyeshadow, keep up on the bod, and torture myself for an image that I am so incredibly far from it's almost disgusting.