WordPress

I have a confession to make. I am slowly becoming addicted to this website. I have to admit, it is probably the best addiction to ever have, and it’s starting to annoy my friends. If I could tell you how often I check for notification during my day and how many times a week I check my stats (I know, I know, numbers don’t matter. But it is fun to know how many people are reading my ridiculous posts) then you’d probably be extremely surprised.

It’s not even my addiction to writing or inspiration. I like reading blogs by people who are more lost in life than I am, or people who seem like they have it just all figured out. Blogs of people who are making it through their lives despite the circumstances, it can get really interesting.

I like the idea that what people write and put out there on this very website can touch others, can penetrate their very souls.

I love the way this site works. I think it’s so handy. When I’m writing anything really (a song or a novel) there is always a way to find inspiration. You can search specific topics if you’re looking for inspiration for say a romance novel. There are so many thoughts and statements on this site, it’s nice to know how other people’s minds work, it’s nice to know how other people get through their lives. It’s just nice.

At least I’m not addicted to facebook, right?

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The Change

For a moment, we were all there. Listening to and laughing at the same jokes. The whole universe taking a second to feel something good, breathing at the same moment, smiling at the same moment. The stars themselves seemed to approve of the time together, for they shined twice as bright that night. A moment of happiness, for everyone. An evanescent second where nothing was wrong. Everyone was on the same side. Everyone was right and wrong, but no one was conceited and no one was ashamed. Nobody was scared because there was no reason to be. For a fraction of a second, our worlds were perfect.

As quickly as it had come, it left. Surely enough, we began looking in the same direction, and seeing different things. Standing in the same light while running different speeds. Always with mixed feelings. Nothing was plain, nothing was black nor white. Suddenly nothing was good enough, simple enough, inspirational enough, painful enough, important enough, and it was for this reason that no one cared enough. Not one person realized the difference, the change. All anyone noticed was how much they missed that one breath, that one laugh where everyone was together, without resistance and without question.

From that moment on, it was only walking. Always walking. Never stopping. Forward motion, don’t stop. It didn’t matter where, directions were thrown to the wind. As long as you were walking, you were okay. Some tripped and fell, some were faster than the others. When it rained, you toughed it out. When it got windy, snowy, stormy, you kept going. The footfalls marking one era after another, and they never slowed.

Some wished they slowed, sometimes wishing they would just stop altogether. Sometimes it seemed like things would only get worse if you continued walking, but you had no choice. Everyone was a slave to the world, and no one could escape. A number of generations have passed since that single laugh, smile, and breath. The children of the children of the children of the people who were there to watch it happen spend their days walking, and waiting for it all to happen again, but as the distance from the day it had happened and the modern day grows, it seems less and less likely. As long as they keep walking and keep waiting, hope will never be lost.

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I know this isn’t what you have all come to expect from me, but I do happen to have a deeper side, so I hope you like it. If not, then don’t worry, I’ll be back to normal next week . . . probably. I don’t know if I should just consider this writing or poetry, it just started coming to me in history class, and I thought I would write it down and share it with you.

Not Going Back

I was never an extraordinary person. I don’t really mind. That’s what I was expecting throughout my life. That chubby kid who sat in the back in elementary school. That girl who got really tall a little to early. That ordinary girl with the ordinary straight, brown hair and the awkwardly pale skin.

I wasn’t expecting much when I went to school everyday. I wasn’t expecting people to come up to me, wanting to be my friends. I was completely content with the group of friends I had, my five close friends and a number of people who would occasionally chat with me when there was no better option.

I never wore make-up. At least, not regularly. It was a type of rebellion for me. Not teenage rebellion, raging out against overbearing parents who expected too much or not enough. I was too perfect of a daughter for that, with grades that were too perfect and interests that were far too mature for my age. It was a rebellion against a sibling. A sister to be exact.

I was constantly asked by my friends “Why do you hate her so much?” after saying something akin to “Can I come over today? My sister is watching us and I don’t want to be around her.” I could never bring myself to fully explain.

She was a bully, to put it bluntly. There were no physical punches, but my self-esteem definitely suffered from a few low blows. Too many comments about her disapproval of the clothes I wore or the way I laughed, not that she heard that very often. Sounds of joy rarely escaped me around her.

She was an older sister. She didn’t notice what effect she was having. She was expecting a lot. Not the sister who wore hand-me-down sweatshirts and t-shirts. Not the little sister that didn’t look like a barbie doll all the time. The little sister who had the perfect skin and the perfect body, the perfect hair and the perfect face; she wanted her little sister to have all of the things that she, herself, could not have. That was what she was expecting. There was no way that only I could be good enough. Nose in a book, simplistic, low maintenance;  never good enough.

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So she poked and she prodded, trying to encourage further beauty when, actually, just forcing me deeper into my shell, into my perfect little corner of the world where nothing hurt because nothing was there. There was no encouragement, there was only her forcing me further down into this exceedingly dark place until I found myself in my own, personal hell.

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Then, I kept hidden. Who could blame me? Every time I stepped out of my room I was criticized, sneered at, given some form of a disapproving look, and I couldn’t handle it. This wouldn’t do for my sister. No, no. Her little sister had to be sociable, she had to be surrounded by her coolest peers and she had to have the boys all over her, even if it meant not maintaining one shred of dignity or self-respect.

So why is she so unbearable? Why do I swear on my own life that as soon as it’s completely up to me, I’ll never let myself see her again? Isn’t it obvious that it’s a little hard for me to talk about. It’s even hard to write about it.

The past is full of extremely shameful things, but the past is over now, that’s why it’s called the past.

That was last year, when I wore one hoodie and a different t-shirt every day as a way to silently say “go ahead, you can say what you want. I won’t give you the satisfaction of changing me in any way.” Every day, I looked in the mirror and pointed out every flaw in my head. ‘You’re eye is a little lazy (it hardly is), you have a blemish on your forehead, you need to fix your hair, you need to lose weight.’ It was as if she had infested my brain and laid tiny little eggs so that the seeds of her would torment my subconscious when she wasn’t around to do it.

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I held off on the makeover until she left for college. She wouldn’t be able to credit herself in any way, not if I had anything to say about it.

She was gone, and I still had my brothers, and my friends, and things were finally looking up because there was one person eliminated from my life, if even for a little while. It was then that I began realizing that I was treating myself terribly. Being in such a dark place, it’s really hard to see any hint of light. It’s hard to go to school and let everyone see what is going on inside, so I put on a mask. The girl who was always smiling, everyone knew that. I never had much to be happy about, not the most popular or the prettiest, but I found a reason and pretended that nothing got to me.

This all stopped when she was gone. Shaking myself, I straightened myself out, I started treating myself better. I began losing weight and I started actually smiling again, and not because anyone was watching, but because I was genuinely happy. I began wearing small amounts of makeup, I got more clothes, took the pair of scissors out of my room, began eating well and more regularly, and I swore to myself that I was never going back. I guess the rest is an open ending.

From The Other Category to you, take care of yourself because life sucks. . . a lot, but I know you’re strong enough, and it’ll be over before you know it. Keep looking up. 🙂

In Fear of Yourself

It isn’t an original topic here at this blog, but this is something that must be revisited. Don’t worry, the same information that has already been spewed at you won’t just be regurgitated, and I will do my best to make this post worth your while.

Everyone is scared, and everyone is scared that others will judge them or not like them. There is a girl at my school that left the school because nobody liked her, but she was expecting everyone to like her whilst she didn’t even attempt to tolerate anybody. She was terrified because she wasn’t being accepted by everybody.

Isn’t this everyone’s fear? Isn’t this why we talk to people we’ve just met for the first time in a totally different manner than we talk to our best friends or people we’ve known all our lives? So that we have time to gauge what is acceptable to say in their eyes so that they won’t judge you and so that you won’t be rejected.

I understand, I am the same way. However, I am not afraid of telling the truth when it comes to things on a personal level. If people ask, I answer, end of story. I have nothing to be ashamed of and I’m not going to let anyone believe that I do. I’m not going to live my life in fear of myself.

Needless to say, it upsets me when people do live life in fear of themselves. For example, a guy who is a closeted gay, locked away in fear that society will turn on him because he starts wearing clothes that match. No one should be ashamed of who they are, you’re supposed to make yourself someone that you are proud of, it’s not supposed to matter what everyone else thinks.

No, I’m not always happy with my appearance and no, I’m not particularly fond of the way I laugh or smile or sound when I talk, but I am damn proud of the person I’ve become and I’m not going to let my self-consciousness stop that. You don’t have to love yourself, you just have to be happy with yourself.

To put it simply, don’t let any little insignificant detail about you get you down. Don’t be ashamed, because I think, just because I know that right now you’ve read through this blog and are currently reading it because at some point in time you clicked “TheOtherCategory,” that you’re a pretty awesome person.

Sometimes, we all get down on ourselves, and believe me, I know what that’s like, but you can’t let that control your life. I know what it’s like to want to hide in your room all the time so that you don’t have to face people. I’ve hit rock bottom, and I’m the only person who knows it. I’m better now, and I think everyone should know what it’s like to be someone that they’re happy to be.

New Years Failure

Can we just take a moment to appreciate that I didn’t write about New Years resolutions until February? (Alright, you got me you little show off, I’m writing this in January. But I already have posts scheduled to go up until February, so I’m not posting it until now).

Working out is one of those New Years resolutions that just about every lazy American has, and I am one of ‘those.’ For your information, however, I did stick with it for a good couple of weeks, and then school work started getting heftier and my brother started bringing his girlfriend over more often (he has a social life, I shall forever be alone), and play practices have been really long. If it helps any, I haven’t been eating a whole lot, so at least there isn’t this huge intake of unnecessary calories that I’m not burning off.

I know what you’re thinking. “Hey, Katie, what does your brother’s girlfriend have anything to do with your workout habits?” Well, our workout equipment (I use the elliptical, woohoo) is in the basement, which is also where my brother’s bedroom is, and it’s pretty much the only place in the house you can do something fun and still have privacy, so that is generally where they go when she’s over. I AM NOT working out while my brother and his girlfriend make out on the couch in the basement. Gross.

You might also be saying, “Hey, Katie. You’re always complaining about schoolwork. Why are you in all those fancy classes if you don’t like the work?” Some people say there is no such thing as a stupid question. Those people are what I like to call. . . wrong. Nobody likes the work, we do it because we are capable of it. We do it because our parents and teachers know that we are some of the few students that will finish our homework before coming on the internet and messing around, which means we can handle the work load.

As for play practice, I want to be healthy, but I’m not going to put my life on hold just for a few hours after school every day to be available for exercise. That would be what most people call ‘not worth it.’

You might also be asking “Why exactly do you think we care about any of this?” A couple of reasons. One, I was hoping you would cut me some slack next time I miss a post because blogging is one of the things holding me back from physical fitness (haha, I will never achieve physical fitness) and you should feel guilty about that. Another reason is that this is the place where I come to tell everyone of things that I tell no one else because no one who reads this knows me in real life, and I go through a hell of a lot to keep it that way. The last reason is that THIS IS MY BLOG AND I WILL DO WHATEVER I WANT WITH IT.

The biggest reason, however, is that I am a girl who has very low self-esteem and I was hoping that by putting up this statement on the internet for everyone to see, I will actually follow through with it. So here goes: I am going to work out at least every other day from now on.

*Que dramatic music*

Just a Theory

Yes, a theory. Because I’m a nerd and I like science, therefore I use the term theory in everyday life. But in order to tell you the theory, I must first tell you how I came up with it.

I have been getting down on myself lately, for typical nerd reason. You see, if I’m not writing creatively, then I kind of feel like I’m not serving my purpose in life. . . but the reason I haven’t been writing so much lately is that now, I have a life.

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It never really registered with me that, in terms of my writing skills, that isn’t really a bad thing. Having plans and living life gives you inspiration, it gives you instances to write about, it helps you create stories to write. I read in a blog once, someone was telling a first-time blogger not to be upset if they can’t stick to a schedule because life gets in the way sometimes. I don’t think it’s really getting in the way though, I think it’s showing us, and helping us to be better at what we do.

I used to be a horrible writer, I mean seriously extremely boring and lamely sticking to the rules. If I saw a green line on Microsoft Word under dialogue I had to make it disappear, even if what that character wound up saying doesn’t sound like something you would hear from an actual person ever. Now I know better, I’m more experienced  and I have made all of these observations from reading others that I can use to improve myself. For the most part, the more time I put between now and the next time I write, the more professional that writing will be.  Not to mention that in the future when I’m writing, I will be older and wiser.

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I’m not posting this so much for others as I am myself. I know that somewhere down the road, once I am back in the swing of things and am writing more on a schedule, this will happen all over again and I’ll get frustrated with myself. This post is for me and anyone out there similar to me who has this problem, just for us to know that it’s okay to live your life even if it gets in the way of writing. That Word document or notebook will be there when you’re done, and you can take it from where you left off with all of these new ideas you’ve gained from actually being out there in the world.

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The last piece of information I want to share is that I came to the blogosphere with this stroke of genius (yes, I mean that sarcastically, only because I can never refer to myself in any tone but sarcasm) because I had nowhere else to go. Nobody in my life shares a love of writing the way that I do, and I suppose I could share it with my English teacher, but he’s much less of a writer and much more of a reader. Plus I don’t talk to him much about anything not regarding school so I feel like that would be an awkward conversation. That may have come across way more whiny than I wanted it to, so let me just explain that I’m saying it because I like that I have this outlet for my writing. Even my writing that’ s not all that good. It’s somewhere to go where I know there are fellow writers and people who understand and are interested when you talk about reading or writing or creativity. We have that here, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the best community I know of.

The Life of a Person That Exists

I fear that being lost is becoming this recurring theme in my life. NO! Don’t click away just yet. I know you’re probably thinking ‘we’ve heard this all before, it’s just going to lead to some dark road that ultimately makes me very sad.’

Well, I’m going to tell you something I love telling people when they assume things. YOU ARE WRONG!!!! In all honesty, this post was inspired by another, less uplifting post of mine (it’s kind of nice being inspired by your own work. Gave me all sorts of pride), but it will not end up where that one ended up. Plus this one will be full of me trying to be funny, so look forward to that!

Now that you know what to expect, let’s get to the point. Being lost can suck. Wait! I said it can suck, not it always sucks. See the hint of optimism?

Sometimes, it leads somewhere beautiful. The only thing is, you won’t see the beauty in it if you lose your head and get frustrated that you’re lost. If you’re that type of person, chances are you’re not going to stop to smell the roses, and you’re going to miss the beauty that is life. You have to remember to appreciate the little things, but more importantly, you have to know when to appreciate the little things.

I have all these dreams and hopes for my life, but I have no idea which one to choose. I know you’re probably thinking ‘you never have to choose one dream. They’re dreams, that’s the point.’ Yeah, yeah, yeah, this time you’re right. Don’t get a big head about it.

Here’s the thing. I want to be a writer. And I don’t mean in my down time when I have access to the internet and can spend hours on end surfing wordpress. I mean I want to be able to see my name on an actual novel. You know, those things with pages that everyone traded in for electronic devices a while back? Yeah, those things.

Then I turn around, and I want to sing. I want to make music. I want to be signed to a label, make an album, go on tour, go on a promotion tour, live the life. You can’t have it both ways though, can you? You can’t be a real singer and then be taken seriously as a writer, it just doesn’t happen. People will take one look at your novel and say ‘what do they think they’re doing? They sing, this is a book, not a C.D.’ Do you see my dilemma?

Don’t even try telling me that if you went into a store and saw a work of fiction (notice I didn’t saw an autobiography) written by Katy Perry or . . . freakin . . . John Mayer, that you would actually consider buying it. You, a person who is obviously interested in blogging which means you must have respect for the written (or in most cases nowadays . . . typed) word. I definitely wouldn’t. I would mock it, and that’s just how I think most people would look at it, and I wouldn’t blame you.

So here I am, lost again. (You thought I forgot how I started this post, didn’t you? I’m back to it now, don’t worry.) I have no idea what to do. Most of my friends know where they’re going, what they’re doing. I need to start hanging out with idiots, I really do, because I just feel so. . . what’s the word? Just lost in comparison, they have it all figured out.

Everywhere I turn, I meet someone who just knows. They know what they’re doing, they know where they are, where they’re going, and where they came from. I barely remember what I had for breakfast; let alone decide what college I’ll go to, and how am I supposed to know what college is best when I have no clue what I would major in? You know what’s awesome right now though? High school.

Not that I’m exactly ‘popular,’ whatever that means. I am that kid who doesn’t talk much, hides behind her laptop (usually blogging) or book (nuff’ said), but I do have friends. I’m not some reject, and I don’t get bullied (bullying doesn’t really happen at my school, we’re really strict about that). It’s just. . . fun. I get to hang out with my friends, join things I wouldn’t be able to do without school, and learn things that I never thought could be this interesting. Am I a loser? Yeah, but at least I’m enjoying it.

Maybe that’s the point though. Maybe I need to just slow down, and enjoy life. I’m in the middle of a journey, most would even say I’m just beginning it. Living in the moment seems like such a nice sentiment. . .