Your Smile On Fire

...from the song Xavia

this is me, saving myself

Yesterday I went to Barnes & Noble. And I bought lots! Thanks to the mega gift card bought with Marriot Reward points, I got four books and the Juno soundtrack. Woot woot!


In other news, I'm still trying to be better. At everything. My spirituality, turning my negative veiws positive, not dwelling on the missing social life, not letting others' negativity have such powerful effects on me.


This is something I've always had problems with, letting the emotions of others rub off on me. It's like I have an invisible link to each person in my family, each person close to me. I've become honed in, especially recently, on the feelings and attitudes of my family. I can tell by the way my Dad shuts the kitchen cabinets what state of mood he's in, by the particular pitch of my mom's voice whether or not she's upset, by the way my sister moves if she's mad or happy. I've become an expert on it, watching for the signals and tuning into the exact moment that the mood of any one of them turns sour.

     And unfortunately for me I am tied to my family, attached to them by an invisible, unbreakable link. It is nearly impossible for their moods, their attitudes, to not rub off on me. When my dad is worried, I get worried. When my mom is upset, I get angry. When Taylor's sad, I feel sad for her. And I'm trying to break that, trying to realize that they all say things they don't mean when they're upset, that everything we do is tainted by emotion, that just because my parents are my parents and I look up to them doesn't necessarily mean I should be a part of their frustrations with life. I have a hard time remembering that I don't have to worry (and probably shouldn't, for my mental/emotional health) about the same things my parents do.

     I notice when the mood changes, when the air becomes toxic, when the stress of life is overtaking my family, and I slip out. I retreat to my room and look for some good music. I listen to Avril Lavigne or Rodney Atkins or the soundtrack to West Side Story, and I write or I read. And I try to block everything out. I know this is feeble, I know it can be looked at as a way of running away from reality and that there's no way I can escape stress. But I also know I'm eighteen. I know I don't want to worry about everything yet and I know I have a predisposition to. Not to worry about the big things, like the economy or the war or shootings on TV, but about the littler things. I worry about my parents and my sister, my cousins, my grandparents. I worry about how long it's going to take me to get through school and the fact that I still don't have a job. I take on the worries of everyone I care about, as if I can do anything about them.

     But I can't.


So I run away. And maybe it's feeble and maybe it's stupid. But then again, maybe it's smart. Maybe it's a way to physically REMOVE myself from the things I worry about, from the extra stresses I don't need to have. When I get worried I get dizzy, it gets hard to breathe, I grind my teeth together and have to remind myself I'm not falling apart, I'm just freaking out. If I can prevent that from happening, if I can block out the stuff I shouldn't be worrying about and save myself... why shouldn't I?


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Oct. 15 [going to work soon] [two school essays due; majorly nervous about both] [remember when i wrote that short story where the girl said "majorly" every other WORD practically? ha]