Desensitization

So, yesterday, for Eric's killing class, he had us watch the first twenty-or-so minutes of Saving Private Ryan.
I don't know what to say about it, other than I shouldn't have watched it.
As he turned off the lights, and started up his laptop to play the clip for us, he kept making comments about how it was all right to leave. If anyone was uncomfortable, they could just stand up, and walk out.
I'm not sure why, but that simple fact seemed nearly impossible. I thought I would have been able to handle it-- no one else had a problem with it. They sat, transfixed, watching the screen intently, while I fidgeted, looking around the room, confused as to how everyone was fine with watching people die.
It was a movie, and I understood that.
But it didn't make sense how they could all sit around, analyzing the movie, while people's limbs were being blown off, dying in pools of their own blood on the beach, screaming for their family.
And suddenly, it hit me. No one had a problem with it because they had seen this, and worse. It didn't matter to them, because they didn't know the people, the people were actors, and you knew, on the surface, that that person was going to be okay, that it was only stage-makeup, and they would appear in many more movies afterward.
But it hit somewhere closer to home for me. I sat, beginning to hyperventilate, as I thought of my brother who's in the National Guard, my friend's father who was serving, friends of mine who had joined the army.
And I lost it. I stopped breathing; my head began to spin, and all I could think of was I needed a drink. So as fast as I could, I stood up, and walked out of the room. Suddenly the people sitting around able to handle the movie didn't matter-- because it did at first. I was afraid that somehow I'd be less to them. But I didn't care.
As I was getting water, I could steal hear the movie. I could hear the gunshots, the actors screaming, but instead of seeing actors, I saw the people that I love and care about, dying on that beach.
Eric ended up finding me in the commons, near-tears, while I was still trying to get my breathing under control. He had me sit in Laurie's office, where I just curled up, turned on my Ipod, and tried to stop thinking. It worked for a little while, while I cranked up Regina Spektor. And then they had me come back to class, and as soon as I walked in, they were discussing the movie.
And no one else was having a problem. No one else was breaking down, feeling nauseated. They were all just fine. Which to some degree, made things worse. And all I could think of was a few weeks earlier, when we had been talking about Viet Nam, and how someone made a comment that the people that died didn't matter. They were dead, they lost the cause, they just were dead.
So throughout the day, I was struggling to keep cool, smiling, nodding.
But every time it grew quiet enough for me to think, let my mind wander, I could feel myself begin to break down, so I kept my Ipod on, keeping a constant noise going.
But it grew worse throughout the day, more people from the Killing class talking about the movie. I heard people talking about what a great movie it was, how stupid civilians are for joining the army, how their deaths don't mean anything.
I stayed quiet, knowing that if I opened my mouth to defend the soldiers that I'd just start crying again.
So then I went home. I pretended that nothing was wrong, but went to bed at six thirty, which sort of gave it away to my mom that something was wrong.
I blamed the inversion, saying that it had made me sick, and that I had a heinous sinus headache from it. Which was partially true, but it wasn't any worse than it had been any other time.
And then, while I was trying to sleep, I kept hearing the automatic guns firing, people screaming, seeing my brother, my uncle, my friends father, my friends themselves.
And I went in to the bathroom and threw up. I was so upset, and so stressed out, that I had made myself sick. And all because of a movie?
I thought that we were supposed to be the desensitized generation? Why had that one movie clip made me so violently ill, that I refused to move until three in the afternoon today?
I'm not really sure.
But, I guess if any of you are wondering why I wasn't at school, there's your answer.

<3

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble . . .

Valentines day is the one day a year that I ever truly consider staying away from the public. Not the usual, "Eh, I don't feel like venturing forth, and dealing with the regular idiocy of the population."
Honest, straight-forward, I just want to stay in bed and not move. Last Valentines day only cemented that want further into my mind. And the main cause? Of course a boy. I had a feeling that something might happen-- something had to happen, right? Something couldn't just not happen on this momentus day. Because, I was possitive it would be the first time in sixteen years that the stupid Halmark-Card, Chalk-y heart-shaped-candies-giving, reminder-to-everyone-they're-alone day wouldn't completely suck.
It turns out I was wrong.
This boy, Bj, I had known since seventh grade. I was best friends with his older sister, and I was certain he liked him. He had even said so, a few times. So, the day before Valentines day, my mum and I went out, and bought chocolate. But not normal chocolate-- cooking chocolate. And then we went home, and I spent the next seven and a half hours making homemade chocolates, with raspberry, chocolate, marshmallow fondants, carmel fillings, decorating them, tying ribbons on the bags.
And then it was Valentines day.
I was so excited I couldn't even stand it. I was going to find him, and give him the chocolates that I had worked so hard to make; my arms were still sore from stiring everything so often to keep it light and fluffy while it settled.
I watched as girls recieved bouquets, cookies, kisses (both chocolate and real), cutesey-looking stuffed animals with hearts. It killed me to see all these girls with all of these items. Most of them were complaining about it.
And I didn't see Bj at all.
First period came and passed.
Second . . .
Third . . .
And then it was lunch.
I found him in the lunchroom, talking to his friends. I tried to talk to him, but . . . it didn't go over too well. So, I gave him the chocolates, and watched as he turned his back to me, and continued talking to his friends.
So I left.
And when I got home, I cried. For quite a long while.
I had been so certain that something was supposed to happen, that I didn't even stop to think about what I'd feel if nothing did.
But nothing did.
And the day ended, and the next began, and it was over.

Watch and See . . .

You don't know what you're doing.
Not only to yourself,
But to the people around you.
I understand you're growing,
And you feel the need to try these things.
But I can see you slipping,
Even when no one else does.

You're mask is breaking down,
The edges of your perfectly-formed plan crumbling.
I know they say it's what you want,
But you also know that's a lie.
Just like all the other lies you're saying.
I know you're not fine,
I know you're hurting,
I know you hate it when I tell you to stop.

But can't you just do that?
Just stop;
Take a step back,
And look at yourself,
And how far you're falling.
I can't protect you forever.
People tell me to let you make your mistakes.
But some things you don't need to pay for,
To regret for,
Apologize for.

You can't see it.
The fracture in your mask.
But I can.
And every time I see you crying inside,
Smiling outside,
Lying to those closest to you,
Just so those who you strive to be will accept you,
It breaks a part in me as well.

I can handle the breaks.
I can stand falling apart myself.
But what I can't stand,
What shatters my insides more than life,
Is watching you fall,
Out of grasp,
Unable to help,
Trying to protect you,
Trying to save you,
But failing.

Fin--

Christmas

when i went to christmas i had a silver cap. now i dont.

B to the S Christmas experience

Once upon a Christmas eve, there was a quiet ticking.
And it ticked, and ticked, and ticked.
Sometimes, I thought for sure that the ticking would drive me mad.
But it didn't.
The ticking continued, and went on and on.
But this isn't a rhyming story-- because I can't bring myself to the extremely of festive cheer in the ways of rhyming.
The ticking came from a clock on the wall, where a cat-clock with a Cheshire grin grinned at the kitchen.
And an orange sat quietly on the counter, waiting for morning. Waiting till the children got sick from their candy, and the mother demanded that they consume the orange. Because that's the only purpose for an orange.
"How peculiar," thought the orange. "To only want to be eaten, that being our only purpose to existing."
And then morning came, and the orange was eaten.
And the cat continued to grin, and continued to tick.

Fin.

((Dear goodness, what on earth was that? It's amazing what simply typing does. Anything can come from it.
Even a story about ticking, and oranges.
Feel free to ignore this.))

Ew

My friend and I were playing and having a good time one day, when all of a sudden the friend did something completely unexpected and, I thought, unwanted. As far as I could tell, though, at the time, it was just been because the friend was misunderstanding what it was that I did want. At some point I must have given off the impression that things were the way the friend thought they were, when, in fact, they weren't.
The interesting thing, though, that I was trying to get to, was that after I realized that this was probably what was happening, I started to think that maybe I did want what they thought I wanted, which, despite having told the friend I didn't want this, I think caused me to begin acting even more like I wanted this thing, because I was beginning to think that maybe I did, when in fact I really didn't.
So my point is that sometimes what people think about you can dramatically effect how you think about yourself, and then you start to act the way they think you are, which confirms their belief, and it just keeps going. But now that I think of it, that's not as interesting as I thought it was.


Sorry, guys.

Inside, Outside, side step, back step!

Once upon a time, forever and a day ago, I was thirteen. Enter, the first day of Public School. It was a mad-house, much like the crazy circus-fair grounds that you see in movies. Everything is twisted and contoured, and everything that comes out of your mouth is somehow wrong. There was orchestra, where the teacher Mrs. Wilson assumed that I hated violinists and any classical pieces beause I mentioned Norah Jones; there was my science class, where my peers thought I was a crazed loon because I disagreed with the evolution theory; and . . . such and such.
It happened all throughout public school, because people seemed to expect the very worst in everything that happened. Simple questions were posed to be insults. Simple comments turned to blatant accusations. And . . . yes.

<3

Beauty

She's the perfect person,
Never worries about a date.
I'm the shadow of her
Perfection I'm lacking.
People tell her she's amazing
Look past the stabbing bones.

They look at me, than past
Personality. The only thing
They inform me I have.
Her eyes are gaunt,
Her wrists so brittle.
They tell her she's beautiful.
My eyes are bright,
You would be bale to snap
My bones.
They tell me I have a
personality.

Isn't it great?
She's shriveling before their
Eyes. Disappearing,
Pound by pound. She's sick.
They told her she's perfect.
I'm still here, my personality
Remaining. She's beautiful,
They tell me.
Why aren't I?

<3

A random thought-

Since when should a chemistry class be more difficult than two AP classes combined? I mean, really. My stress level was so high, I thought the bile was eating a hole in my stomach last night. Stupid galbladder.

And, another thing

Reading the Scarlet letter wasn't that enjoyable because of Nathaniel Hawthornes style. It's so old . . . I just can't really get into to groove of it.

So, Scartlet Letter . . .

I still don't think that I like the book. As I said, I think it's important to understand the meaning behind the book, such as Ferenheit 451. Just telling kids not to make fun of each other doesn't mean that they'll listen. Telling a society not to cast out, and ostracize a member of the comunity does not mean that they'll suddenly go, "Oh, of course, that's wrong!" and stop doing it. As humans, we have to feel a certain amount of empathy before we connect, and realize, "Oh, telling that person they're burning in Hell because they stole my boyfriend isn't right!"
Most people can't connect the dots until they see it happen to an actual person. Sad, isn't it, that our hearts are so cold that we don't realize treating people with equal amounts of respect it something we should do in the first place?

<3