Monday was kinda shitty. I don’t know why; I just felt bad mentally and I didn’t get a good workout in so I felt lethargic and sad. Tuesday was much better, because I went on a long walk/run and did yoga, jump roped, and threw a tennis ball against a wall (alternating hands for extra brain exertion!). It made me feel way, way better. I felt confident, happy, strong, and very proud of myself because I didn’t just mope around in my emotional funk.
Today I walked home (as I have been doing for the past two weeks, to give my momma a break from being behind the wheel); it’s only a flat mile from my house. I picked dandelions from the grass. I blew the little puff balls off the weeds that adorned the sidewalks. And it was so awesome, because I didn’t care if anyone saw me picking those flowers, enjoying the sun-light trees, and mostly enjoying the beautiful silence in my mind. (It’s not exactly normal to see people thoroughly enjoying themselves where I live. I’m considered a hippie in my town.)
I wasn’t having any conversations with myself. My mind was silent, calm, and serene. It wasn’t rapidly thinking about every single thing that I saw or heard or touched; it was quiet in the most amazing way that you rarely get to experience when you have anxiety disorder. The only thing I did hear was a Mac DeMarco song called “Blue Boy” (for anyone curious to hear it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TNhaFRmezY). It’s very pretty.
I felt super good. I was relaxed, calm; but most importantly, as I mentioned, quiet. Which is something I can’t say I’ve experienced in a long, long time. I relished in it wonderfully.
When I got home, there was no one there, so I decided to take pictures of my flowers on my front porch. They came out really good. I’ll show one to you later.
I then sat on the front steps of my house and stared at the beautiful trees and grass and sunshine and birds and flowers and dirt and worms and bugs that decorate my little corner of the world. I played “Blue Boy” on my phone, enhancing the moment. I was happy. Smiling.
Then I started to get sad. A beautiful, heavy kind of sad. The song was so provoking. It’s got such a bitter-sweetness to it that made me start thinking about my life, and how I don’t want to grow up, and yet how much I actually can’t wait to grow up. Then I got really scared because I totally am not ready to become an adult. (Luckily, I’ve got a good couple of years up my sleeve before that legally happens.)
When I was little, I used to pick dandelions and give them to my mother, saying, “Mommy, I have a present for you,” and she would smile and say thank you and I truly believed that I had given her the greatest present in the world. I started looking at my dandelions which I had picked for her and then, without trying to stop myself, let some tears fall down my cheeks. I started thinking about how much I love my mom and that made me cry even harder.
Knowing that my mom and sister would be home soon, I ran upstairs to change my clothes and stop the tears. As my mother came in the door a few moments later, I handed her the flowers and said hello to both of them. I then went back upstairs and shut the door, announcing that I had to study, and needed a moment of peace. Little did they know (or maybe they actually did) that I was bawling my eyes out to “Salad Days.”
I started thinking about everything, all at once: how much I love my whole family, how blessed I am in my life, how little I want to grow up and leave the house and say goodbye to my family. Even though I know this future goodbye won’t be forever, I still worry about it. I don’t want to leave my family. I don’t want to grow up. I never wanted to turn older than 14. But I couldn’t really control that, and so, come August ’14, I became an angst-y little 15-year-old. I still sometimes can’t come to terms with that.
But then, on the other hand, amidst all my worries and fears about not wanting to leave the nest and the amazing comfort that I am fortunate enough to call home, I was thinking about how much I can’t wait to meet a boy and get the hell out of here. I want to find a smart, sensitive, sound, kind, creative, crazy man. With this boy I want to run across the desert and read books, go to art museums, see terrible movies, watch the sunset, visit National Parks, walk along the beach, eat fast food, go to plays, write stories with, and love. I want to hold him close and tell him I love him and hear the same thing back from him and feel warm and special. I want to live in a shitty apartment with him and break rules and go out to concerts with him. I want to break his heart… I want to feel raw emotions with another human being.
But then again, I’m 15 and anxious as fuck. I’m so busy focusing on school and my family and my friends and extra curriculars. And frankly, I don’t even want a special someone right now.
…But, then again, I really do…?
Wtf, brain?
So yeah. Because of all this, I totally cried it out. I bawled and rubbed my makeup off with my tears and hugged my stuffed animals and looked at pictures of my mom and dad when they were young. God, they were so in love. They still are. It’s so goddamn beautiful.
Long story short, I feel a lot better. I’m sitting at my clean desk with the window open, my fan on, my bed made, and my emotional stress nearly gone. I’m feeling so good. All thanks to some major tears. Blessed be the release of emotions. Blessed be the beauty of life.
CRY. CRY IF YOU NEED TO. PLEASE DO IT. LET YOUR HAIR DOWN, OR PUT IT UP; TURN ON SOME SAD/COMFORTING/EMOTIONALLY PROVOKING MUSIC AND JUST LET IT ALL OUT. YOU DESERVE IT. YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY AND LIVE. :)A
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