75% of what I write is me projecting an emotion I'm feeling onto a character. This piece is from the other 25% - a direct look into how I feel, albeit still in the 3rd person. These pieces are rare, because they're much more difficult for me to write. Opening up is not something I do easily.
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All her life she had been a nurturer. The one people leaned on. The one they came for advice, to bitch, vent, or cry. The role had been thrust upon her when she was far too young to know how to help herself, much less anyone else, and she knew no other way to live.
Now, don’t misunderstand. She loved helping others. Nothing made her happier. But they would rant and feel better. She would internalize their pain and let it mull until it made her crazy. Not so much with friends – those problems she could let go. But the family problems were eating her alive inside. She could feel them, chipping away at her soul, causing her to suffer just as those she loved did.
She didn’t know how to make it stop. She loved that they came to her, but their issues were far beyond the scope of her 22 years. What did she know of neglect or divorce? How was she supposed to advise someone on how to manage their marriage when she herself had been single for years?
How in the hell did they expect her to deal with her own problems when she was busy helping them? She supposed she was too good of a support system. They leaned on her because she had always been the strong one. They forgot that her brave face was just that. Deep inside, hidden from even herself most days, was a scared, insecure little girl. A girl that sometimes just wanted someone to console her. Hadn’t she earned that yet?
1:37am 8.18.10
22.8.10
Not. Mine.
These are just a few of the million words I wish I had the nerve to say. Go go gadget passive-aggressiveness!
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You have not been mine in a long time. I have no claim on you. I have no say in what you do or where you go. Though, really, I never did. I’m no longer even privy to such information. I hate you for leaving me behind. I admire you for starting over on your own. Most days, you don’t even cross my mind. On the days that you do, I often become a train wreck, emotional baggage strewn over the tracks. Memories I had thought lost bubble to the surface of my consciousness. So why, if you no longer belong to me, do I still refer to you as mine? Is it a deep-seeded, if not primarily subconscious, way of telling myself I want you back? No. I refuse to travel down that road again. You are not mine. Perhaps you never were.
Somedays I wish I could erase you from my mind all together. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer through such bittersweet reminders of who we used to be. You helped make me who I am today, and I, you. I’m sure you never told her that. Told her how you were before. You took credit for the person you are, never once mentioning the one who helped you learn when to push people away and when to let them in. It surprises me how much that bothers me. You taught me too, and I have never once tried to deny that. Perhaps that is the great difference between the two of us. The reason we didn’t work. Why does she get to enjoy someone I struggled with for years?
1.18.10 3:05am
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You have not been mine in a long time. I have no claim on you. I have no say in what you do or where you go. Though, really, I never did. I’m no longer even privy to such information. I hate you for leaving me behind. I admire you for starting over on your own. Most days, you don’t even cross my mind. On the days that you do, I often become a train wreck, emotional baggage strewn over the tracks. Memories I had thought lost bubble to the surface of my consciousness. So why, if you no longer belong to me, do I still refer to you as mine? Is it a deep-seeded, if not primarily subconscious, way of telling myself I want you back? No. I refuse to travel down that road again. You are not mine. Perhaps you never were.
Somedays I wish I could erase you from my mind all together. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer through such bittersweet reminders of who we used to be. You helped make me who I am today, and I, you. I’m sure you never told her that. Told her how you were before. You took credit for the person you are, never once mentioning the one who helped you learn when to push people away and when to let them in. It surprises me how much that bothers me. You taught me too, and I have never once tried to deny that. Perhaps that is the great difference between the two of us. The reason we didn’t work. Why does she get to enjoy someone I struggled with for years?
1.18.10 3:05am
She Hoped It Was
It's amazing what one can be inspired to write while sitting in a never-ending lecture.
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The lecturer droned on, as he had for nearly two hours, but she couldn’t focus anymore. She had reached the point where all she heard was a buzzing sound, no syllables or words were discernable, and she certainly couldn’t translate what she heard into coherent concepts. Apparently she was not the first to zone out. Looking around, about one third of the class had their heads on their desks. Several were surfing the internet, and those whose pens were moving seemed to be doodling more than taking notes.
At times like these, she wondered why lecturers kept talking. Surely they knew no one was paying attention. Did they talk to hear their voices? Just in the hopes that something would spark the audience’s interest again? If one third of the class is asleep, just call it a day.
She was fully aware that if she analyzed the lecture material half as much as she analyzed the lecturer, she might actually get something out of class. As she rested her head on her forearms, she realized she simply didn’t care.
The combination of too much studying and sleep deprivation brought out the best of her apathy. She was running on caffeine and saltines, and it was barely enough to keep her awake. Not near enough to keep her focused or alert. Someday, she hoped, she’d get to sleep more than five hours consecutively. At this point, more sleep was not an option. Study, class, study, class, short nap. Rinse and repeat. Sleep and eating tended to be the first things to go when tests got near. And there was always a test or three looming.
She begrudgingly raised her head from her desk, flipped through the seven slides she had missed, and forced herself to focus again. Thirty-six more minutes of this lecture. Four more years of this school. At this point she kept going only under the hopes that it would be worth it in the end. She hoped it was.
10.13.09 4:22pm
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The lecturer droned on, as he had for nearly two hours, but she couldn’t focus anymore. She had reached the point where all she heard was a buzzing sound, no syllables or words were discernable, and she certainly couldn’t translate what she heard into coherent concepts. Apparently she was not the first to zone out. Looking around, about one third of the class had their heads on their desks. Several were surfing the internet, and those whose pens were moving seemed to be doodling more than taking notes.
At times like these, she wondered why lecturers kept talking. Surely they knew no one was paying attention. Did they talk to hear their voices? Just in the hopes that something would spark the audience’s interest again? If one third of the class is asleep, just call it a day.
She was fully aware that if she analyzed the lecture material half as much as she analyzed the lecturer, she might actually get something out of class. As she rested her head on her forearms, she realized she simply didn’t care.
The combination of too much studying and sleep deprivation brought out the best of her apathy. She was running on caffeine and saltines, and it was barely enough to keep her awake. Not near enough to keep her focused or alert. Someday, she hoped, she’d get to sleep more than five hours consecutively. At this point, more sleep was not an option. Study, class, study, class, short nap. Rinse and repeat. Sleep and eating tended to be the first things to go when tests got near. And there was always a test or three looming.
She begrudgingly raised her head from her desk, flipped through the seven slides she had missed, and forced herself to focus again. Thirty-six more minutes of this lecture. Four more years of this school. At this point she kept going only under the hopes that it would be worth it in the end. She hoped it was.
10.13.09 4:22pm
Benvenuti!
Hello, my name is Amber, and I'm a 4th year medical student. I enjoy quiet nights at home watching movies and large glasses of sparkling grape juice. I will be your tour guide through the inner workings of my own head. From time to time I will give you a peek directly into my thoughts, but for the most part, you'll have the unique experience of seeing how I felt at a certain moment through the eyes of characters I have created. If at any time during our tour, you have questions or comments, please raise your hand. Any questions before we begin our trek? Ok, good. Keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times...it's bound to be a bumpy ride.
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