Favorite Song :)

So I'm pretty sure I have a new favorite song. It's by Close Your Eyes (which is, by the way, one of my all time favorite bands). I've listened to them for awhile, but I just heard this song for the first time a week ago. It's called Heavy Hearts. My favorite part is when it says this:

It is Your hands that carry me; it is Your voice that spoke of a love I never knew. It is Your grace that fills me; it is Your love that sustains; if there is hope, it is You.

It sounds so amazing....the lyrics and the way it's sung. I feel like all of Close Your Eyes' lyrics are really powerful. I mean...how often do we really think of that - that God really is all we need? I know I don't much and it's probably the hardest thing in the world for me to remember. I'm always wanting something else it seems. Anything else, as though He's not enough. But how could I ever forget all He's done for me even in the short time I have been alive? And yet I do foget. So very often.

Painful to the Human Mind

I was writing a paper today on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and was skimming through the book to refresh my memory, and I saw this:

"Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certanity which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear."

I'm pretty sure this may be one of my favorite quotes now. Because it is so true. I mean, who wants to sit around and do nothing after something has happened that has upset them? And yet, somehow it seems as though that is exactly what always happens after something bad has happened. When I'm upset, I feel as though there is nothing to do and I simply sit around and think. And when you're upset, thinking is exactly what you should not do. Because of course you're going to think about what upset you and nothing is more painful. You have that certainty that Shelley speaks of, knowing that it really did take place. This really is the way things are. There is no hope for the situation, but there's also no fear, because it's over. And it's the worst feeling in the world.

Reality

Sometimes I alter my own reality in my mind, improving it as I want to, and I live there for awhile in this other place that, although I know it is not real, makes my emotions feel as though it is, giving me a reprieve from the real reality. This other reality sometimes feels so much better than the one I really live in that I wish I could stay there forever. For although everything does not always go right there, everything ends up okay, unlike the reality in which I am forced to live. What if each of us made our own realities as an author creates a book, forming many ideas and then including only what they want to and discarding the rest? That is how it is with my reality that is not reality. My other reality keeps me sane sometimes, it would seem: it can keep me from crying when I am sad, for I rewrite in my head what made me sad. However, I don't really think that living in another world in your head periodically is conducive to mental stability after all, so I wouldn't advise doing so.

Published

     "Today, which is Sunday, April 1, 2012, I received an email from MVNU's Penmarks, the literary journal, that read this way: 'We would like to publish your works "Incomplete," "The Confession" and "Understanding" in the 2012 edition of Penmarks. Thank you for your interest in the journal. Penamarks will be available the first week of May.'
     "I'm going to be published. I am a published author. This was my dream. It took so long to sink in that my dream came true - and it will be before my nineteenth birthday.  Something I wrote will be PUBLISHED. Do you have any idea what this means to me? I...I don't even know what to say.  When I first read the email, I screamed...a few times. Then I sat in shock for a while. I got up and danced and jumped up and down from sheer excitement. I cried. I danced some more. I returned to sitting in shock.  My emotions are in a whirl.  Is this the way all writers feel when they find out they're published for the first time? It's so hard to explain precisely how I feel in this moment. This may have been one of the best days of my life. This...this means so much to me. It gives me hope. It makes me think that maybe I'm not crazy for thinking I should spend my life writing. It makes me think that I may actually be good at it and that maybe my other dreams will come true some day - that I will publish my book and I don't know what else. Oh God. Thank you so much. I just keep telling Him that. Oh, you have no idea what this means to me...how happy it has made me feel...how excited I feel inside at times, and how numb I feel right now as I sit in utter shock writing this. I may be making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe what has happened is trivial to all others, meaningless and ordinary. But I don't care. Because to me - to me this is everything. This is what I've always wanted. My heart feels so different. I'm not sure I've ever been so happy in my entire life. My dream...one of my dreams has been realized this day. And oh how I will feel when I see it printed in ink! When I hold those papers in my hand - the magazine which will contain my words; yes, words composed by myself. How can I even begin to imagine how that will feel? One of my dreams came true tonight. It gives me hope that maybe other dreams will coem true as well. It is impossible to describe this feeling - it is one of accomplishment, of happiness, excitement, surprise and wonder. I can't describe it, but I know I want to hold on to it. This night is one I always want ot remember. I don't know how I could possibly forget. This is the night on which I learned that three things I wrote (three!) are to be published - the night I learned I was to be published for the very first time. It's not exactly something that will easily fade from memory. In fact, I'm certain that it never will."

4-2-12 12:40am

Of Love Unfelt

I desperately want to know of this love
And in my life love feel.
If only their affections were real
And there was truth in the love they spoke of!

At times I wonder if they comprehend
The sadness they inflict on my heart
By the way they've turned lying into an art;
My soul pleads for it to come to an end.

If only they had one glance to see
The way their actions deal me a terrible blow
And fill me with such a great sorrow,
Perhaps then they would no longer lie to me.

If I knew not one of them I'd be free, I say - free!
For my joy they ruthlessly steal away
And yet they are still bold enough to say
How they love me and care about me.

Yet I wonder if I could even survive on my own -
For even the false sentiments they have shoved
In my face, at times, make me feel like I am loved.
I contemplate this: Would it be better or worse to be alone?

"Happy"

The things that make me happy each have their own unique way of doing so.  Although I may say that two different things make me happy, they ways they make me feel are in no way alike.  There is the same general feeling of "happiness" as we call it, but the feeling differs so greatly for each that at times I wonder why we describe so many things simply as making us "happy." Why do we define so many feelings with on word and shove so many emotions into one category just because they are positive?  They are each different and if I had a word for the way each positive feeling made me feel, it would make me...happy.

Feel

              Sometimes I wonder if I am normal.  Though I know not what “normal” actually is.  But is my imagination normal and like everyone else’s?  Does everyone imagine as vividly as I or is my imagination somewhat accelerated beyond that which is “normal”?  When someone tells me of their pain, of their sadness, their sorrow, I feel it as my own.  I hurt for them as though it were myself that felt this way.  Other people’s sadness can affect me in a way I cannot describe.  Although I remain happy, there is a part of me that hurts deeply for the people in my life that are hurting.  I cannot explain the way it feels.  But maybe this is the way everyone feels and I need not try to explain.  I want to help people.  I want to be there people.  And so often I feel as though I don’t help at all.  There are times when I feel as though I only make things worse.  And yet even then I cannot seem to stop trying to help.  What makes me feel so strongly about people?  What causes this great emotion to arise within me about things that at times do not concern me at all?  I cannot help but imagine how people feel; for imagine why they feel that way; imagine what I would do if I felt that way.

I cry when I am sad.  That’s not terribly abnormal.  But I cry when other people are sad.  I’m not sure that that is quite as normal as the other.  But it’s the way I am.  I feel emotion strongly – concerning my own life and concerning others’ lives.  I feel my sadness; I feel their sadness.  I feel.  I feel so strongly.  And yet I would not change the way I feel.  Ever.  For although I do not actually know that I help sometimes, I want to be able to be there for people.  And if it is through an overactive imagination that I can do so, then so be it.