The Bottle

Why is it that the biggest things in life are the easiest to give up on?
Anything and everything that brings me down simultaneously wipes out everything in my life that makes it worth living. It's just too easy to allow them to take me far away from anything that matters, because everything that matters also comes with the hardest work. I can't stand so much about what it is that I love, and I know that when I let it all go, I hurt myself. Why was the universe made this way? Why couldn't everything great be easy and everything bad be hard?
When I'm at a point in my life where I'm not being brought down, I still refuse to let the good in. I'm so far in that I can't let myself out, not alone anyway. It's still too easy to push you away. I do feel sorry for myself. My intentions aren't to hurt you, or me. My intentions are to have you with me always, to keep you close, but I feel like I'm watching myself from the outside looking in. My mind and my body aren't one unit. They're lost, and one doesn't want to find the other.

The Beginning

This is my very first blog post. Kind of. No, it's not really. I used to have a Livejournal account, but I hated everything I posted on it. It was back in highschool. I posted things like stupid song lyrics to break-up songs when I realized the guys I liked didn't like me back. It was lame and creepy. What I meant was that this is my very first blog post written for a blog that I plan on maintaining for a very long time. Who knows how long this will be, perhaps I may only maintain it for a few years, but in terms of me maintaining a blog, that is a very long time.
The difference between my Livejournal and this blog is that I don't plan on writing anything that reflects my life in it's true proportions. This is not a journal. I'm writing this for creativity purposes. I may write some things that I find interesting in my life, but don't count on it happening all the time. My screenwriting prof suggested that I keep writing, everyday, as much as I can, record a free-flowing stream of thought. This will help me become a better writer (duh), as well, of course, reading a shit-ton of everything.
 Besides trying to become a better writer, I feel like I have too many thoughts and ideas for my brain to handle, and I believe this will help me out there as well. Maybe I will become a better listener too. My close friends could probably validate the fact that I tend to zone-out a lot during conversations. I'm always saying "yeah... yeah... what?" I realized this in the 7th grade, when Mr. Lainson told me I must have a hearing problem. I didn't think that I daydreamed too much. He actually had me convinced that I was hard of hearing for the longest time.

 I am, in fact, an extremely internal person. I used to be very shy when I was younger, and I still am, to an extent, but I've gotten better socializing. I just carry a lot inside of me that I'm not too sure is really normal. Sometimes I feel like the person in my mind is totally different from the person everybody knows me to be. For some who know me who may read this blog, they might be surprised at the things I write, but I assure you, reader, that you need not to be alarmed. I've had situations, people, personalities, settings, entities, and ideas crowded in my mind forever. They come from songs, my own experiences, as well as the experiences of others. They are pictures in my mind that I need to release into the universe. These entries are not to be taken literally, nor should they be assumed to be my true thoughts or ideas. In fact, most of them will come from the minds of characters I've created. I could write in the stream of thought of a rural 13 year old deaf girl, learning about puberty from her teaching assistant who is the only person at her school who knows sign language, who also happens to be a 35 year old man. Or I could be writing as a 50 year old man who has been lost alone on a mountain from a mid-life-crisis-induced expedition for 2 months, and the only motivation for him to stay alive and be rescued are the tender thoughts he has of his dentist's assistant who hasn't seen him for an appointment in 3 years. I could also actually be writing my own thoughts, but you will never know. I like this a lot better. I could write as 15 year old self, cheesily gushing over a boy, and it will be justified. Yes, this is gonna be fun.