"Dying to Live"

I decided to intersperse some of my poetry into my blogs.

Back story behind "Dying to Live":

"You bleed just to know you're alive..." - Goo Goo Dolls

This poem sort of revolves around that snippet of "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. It also stems from my own struggles with depression. Finally, it's an attempt to be the crying voice of every person who has committed - or attempted - suicide. Why would anyone go to such drastic measures? Specifically, why would one cut their wrists?
Depression often numbs you from the world; it blunts your emotions. There are no moments of extreme happiness, and often times, there aren't even moments of extreme sadness. Depression soaks up all your feelings, leaving you all dried up. You feel like you are just an empty waste of space, perpetually caught in a state of apathetic "blah." Basically, you feel like you are barely living.
What is one of the most obvious ways to know you are alive? Pain. If you feel pain, you know you are alive (unless you are paralyzed, but just go with me on this one). Maybe people cut themselves in an attempt to feel alive once again. Being in pain revs up the adrenaline, prompts the flight-or-flight response, thus intensifying everything - your senses, your pounding heart, your quickened breath. That'll certainly pull you out of your "blah." Additionally, physical pain has a way of trumping emotional pain. Obssessing over how much your life sucks, how heartboken you are, or how worthless you feel can be agonizing and, well, simply unbearable. Sometimes you'd rather someone punch you in the stomach, or slam your head against a wall - something, anything, to replace the emotional pain. Physical pain is a great way to force your mind to focus on more immediate problems (you're bleeding to death), and put those terrible emotions on the cognitive back burner.
With risk of getting too deep, I will leave it at that. Enjoy the poem. Comments are welcome.

"Dying to Live"

What if the very blood in our veins
Possess the
secret
to life, the essence of our
existence, the
end
to all strife?

Would we then not see suicide
As an attempt to die
But rather a
liberating,
courageous, though
desperate
cry

To release the
rushing
waves of
blue, for a chance to
feel the life we
never
knew

And as the pools of blue
spill
into red
We take
one final
glorious breath;
the most
alive
we’ve ever felt, but the
price of it – a paradox –
death.

They're Multiplying!!!

Seriously...people my age need to stop getting married. Maybe I'm crazy, but there seems to be an obscenely large number of recent college graduates who have either gotten married or engaged in the last several months. Every time I read a new couple's engagement in the local newspaper, or see another "theknot.com" link...I throw up just a little bit in my mouth.

While I'm sure many of them are happily in love, I can't help but wonder if some of them are marrying for the wrong reasons. Transitioning out of college can be scary (note: see last blog), and perhaps a marriage is a nice pillar of structure to lean against during these uncertain times.

Perhaps some women marry for the financial support. Perhaps some marry in attempt to feel more mature, or because it feels like "the right thing to do" after college. ("Look Ma, No Hands!" has turned into "Look Ma, I'm Married Like a Real Adult Now!"

However, young marriages suffer. A significant portion of the divorce statistic belongs to those who marry between the ages of 18-23. Do I take comfort in knowing that many of these young marriages that make me nauseous won't last? Maybe. Does that make me a bad person? Not really.

Why do I suddenly feel like a minority to be single? Is there something wrong with me, do I need to attend SA (Singles Anonymous) meetings? ("Hi, my name is Rachel and I'm...*gulp* single.")

No, there is nothing wrong with me. In fact, being single should be celebrated. To quote Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City (aka My Holy Bible):

"Think about it. If you are single, after graduation there isn't one occasion where people celebrate you ... Hallmark doesn't make a 'congratulations, you didn't marry the wrong guy'card. And where's the flatware for going on vacation alone?"

I have to say I absolutely agree with her. There should be a celebration in being single. It means you aren't marrying for money, or out of fear to be alone, or settling because you don't think you can get - or deserve - anyone better. Being single means you are comfortable in being alone, in being YOU.

People are often boggled by my single status. While part of it results from several dating fiascos - and my uncanny ability to find and be attracted to the wrong guys - a large part of it results from my refusal to settle. I don't need a guy to validate my self-worth. If I really wanted a boyfriend, I could have one. (Not to sound cocky, I'm just saying...)

However, I am a human being, and I do crave love. I love to love. I'd love to have a boyfriend to tickle fight, cuddle with on a lazy Sunday, have snowball fights with, to freaking make funny faces while they try to kiss me...stupid, dorky crap like that, because that's me, that's who I am. I'm a romantic, cynic, dork...all wrapped up in a delicious blonde-bimbo midget package.

I'm rambling...so I'm gonna stop. Plus I'm hungry as hell, my stomach is getting very angry with me. Toodles for now.

Oh, what to do with my life...

"So, we're going to pay you 11 dollars an hour to work with emotionally and behaviorally disturbed children. We will train you in how to handle their physical and verbal attacks. You will have to work Friday nights, early Saturday mornings, Sunday mornings, and various other shifts throughout the week. You will most liklely be working on all holidays, including Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years."

"Raise your hand if you want this job."

Silence.
(Even the crickets are afraid to make an appearance - or a peep - in this story...)


So, here's the dealio:

I studied psychology because I found it interesting; it intrigued me. I've always been a curious little midget, wondering why certain things happen, why we act a certain way, etc. (I actually used to go up in a tree with a notebook and binoculars to study my neighbors.) So, being the hard-working student that I've always been (I felt too guilty even taking a sick day in elementary school, I didn't want to get behind on homework NERD!), I graduated from college with a 3.9 GPA.

However, the study of psychology is quite different from the practice of psychology, and
I am just now starting to realize that I may have very little desire, or ability, in helping others with their problems. This isn't to be mistaken with lacking a heart - I am 86% certain that I do have one - I just don't know if I'm cut out for this role or profession.

I began college with hopes of majoring in English and Education. The funny thing is, I graduated with neither a major nor minor in either of those departments.

I've always enjoyed writing, and if I'm being honest, I think I am fairly good at it. I started writing poetry when I was eight years old, and wrote a notebook-sized novel when I was twelve. I'm not saying these pieces of writing were impressively well-written; I am merely stating that my penchant for writing began early on in life. I enjoy trying to find the right words to express something. Words, when carefully crafted, chosen, and organized, have an amazing ability to illuminate our souls, to bring to the surface these ideas and emotions floating around in our bodies. It's as if our emotions are fish, swimming aimlessly in the sea, and a good writer is able catch them, reel them in, and show them to us.

Actually, this isn't exlusive to writers. I often find this in music and art as well. Sometimes I listen to a song and think, "Wow, that is exactly how I feel." The melody, the harmonies, the tempo...all comes together and somehow manages to reel in those emotions and expose them to our ears. It's quite amazing. An artist may have a painting, and you think, "Wow, this is how I picture love. This, right here." It could be a painting of an old couple holding hands on a bench, or it could be an abstract combination of swirls, lines, and colors. Whatever it is, it manages to express the seemingly unexpressable.

So, there seems to be two sides of me:

1. The Rachel who thinks she should be a good little psychology student and continue on her merry way towards a graduate degree in psychology or social service, and enter a field she may or may not care to pursue.

2. The Rachel who enjoys writing and wants to pursue that avenue more, but knows that all writers are crazy, poor, lonely, or some madly genius combination of the three.

In a nutshell, being in a quarter-life crisis sucks. I am unemployed and not sure what path to take in life. I desperately want a job that I not only succeed in, but that brings me personal enjoyment and satisfaction - a job that taps into my inner passion and talents.

Yet, I have this terrible, terrible fear that I will thoroughly SUCK at whatever career I choose, and I refuse to be less than mediocre, and I never want to be a poser or a fake. I'm just too f*cking scared to make any decisions right now, because I don't want to go down the wrong path. Yet, I don't even know if there is a right or wrong path. I just have this fear, and it paralyzes me from being able to take any step forward right now.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
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"Writing is easy. You just open up an artery and bleed." -- Red Smith

A Virgin on the Loose...

Popping my blog cherry...don't worry, I am using protection :)