When I get to be a Writer.

 "When I get to be a writer, I'll never read anything that is published less I'll still think it's unfinished. When I get to be a writer I'll keep the stories imperfect and frazzled, like the people who read them--a collection of memories within a biological body and a soul attached. I'll let the stories take their place and fill the cracks breathing and expanding, waiting to be filled with more.When I get to be a writer, I'll plant a garden in people's minds. I'll bury the seeds and sprinkle them with water and I'll let their imagine make them grow, stretching out to the sky with a freshly woken yawn.When I get to be a writer I'll look fondly at the ones I know, the ones who guided me and who have been telling me when I say when I get to be a writer no, you don't get it, you already are. "

I am taking this class entitled 'The Writing Process' and we had to write a flash fiction based around the idea of Langston's Hughe's poem "Daybreak in Alabama", which follows the pattern of 'when I get to be a composer.' We were through the poem, given the prompt with the word 'writer' replacing 'composer' and given five minutes to write. The above is what I came up with, a scattering of thoughts out on the page (though of course I removed quite a few portions.) It's weird to look at it, though, because I don't think I can really list off what being a writer would be to me, how I would really act or think. It's even stranger still when you figure out how one would define a writer, because it all comes down to one question, "Do you consider yourself a writer even if you're not published?" My answer is this, sometimes yes and sometimes no. There are times when writing feels so physical to me, not just the act of it, but all of it, it's like it's this badge that I can grab and put on myself. I am a writer and I know, I know I can write and I know I do, and it doesn't matter if it's published or touching to someone else, because it matters to me. And to me, as a writer, it's the only thing that matters. Then there is the other part of me, the one who doesn't want to call herself a writer, because it just doesn't seem valid to me. I could write the most beautiful phrases and metaphors that leave people stunned, but unless someone validates it, unless someone with the power says this is so moving I need to make it official for other people to read, it feels useless. And there's also the fact that it sounds a little pretentious to me, calling myself a writer, already? I am twenty-one years old and have so much left to go and so much left to learn and yet I have enough nerve to go ahead and call myself a writer? The thing is, I think I'm always going to think like this. I know so much that I am a writer. But how many thousands
(maybe millions) of people have called themselves writers and never really been a writer? I think it's all logistics, really. I think maybe part of it is up to the person and part of it is up to everyone else. We talked about this is my class, and we talked about more, and it just seems like it is going to be really good. It seems like it is going to be worth it.

And in general it's class starting that is bringing me up. Because summers are always hard and broken and summers always fuck things up. School, above all, is my healer, and I'm surely going to cherish it.

Fin. 

I don't.

I don't particulary want to exist right now. And I think about my suicide (future or now or non existance), about how I'll probably fuck it up how I've done before. I just don't think it woul work, because it's my life and that's how things fuck up and everything would be wrong and everyone would hate me and no one would understand. Because no one ever will. And they'll resent me; attention whore, selfish, cowardly.

All I am is a bossy voice and a rough attitude. All I am are pieces for you to take, here have some, here take that. And never give me a piece of my own, because, stop it keshia you're being crazy, stop it keshia, stop apologzing, stop it keshia, stop being selfish.

And oh I'm loved, I'm so well loved. Only it's not about being loved, though, it's about me, because I'm the selfish one, aren't I?

I don't want to live right now because what's the use of living if everything is going to be so hard. You wouldn't anything else that was hurting you so hard, would you?

The answer is, you wouldn't.

Fin.
-Keshia.

Mine but not Mine.

I've always thought, since I was young, that no one loved books as much as me. No one had the passion for reading that I had. When I was a kid my mom used the library as sort of a free babysitter, she dropped me off and the morning and I ran around, reading books of all kind until she would pick me up in the afternoon.

Before Hurricane Ivan destroyed the library in our town, it was a thing of wonder. It was built in an old log cabin with dark walls and dark corners, there was a back room with beams everywhere and soft plush chairs settled in every corner for reading. In the front lobby there was the spinning round desk for computer with about twenty of them on there. And all the shelves, they were taller than me. When you needed it a librarian would give you a little stool to stand up on, because nothing is better than reaching up and grasping a book you wanted for the first time. It was beautiful. And one thing I noticed, no one was ever in there with me. There was the librarian, sitting at her desk and filing stuff away, sticking her head in the room where I sat to check on me every now and then. There was the occassional person, maybe turning something in, or checking one or two things out, or researching on the computer a little bit (this was still during an age where internet in every home just wasn't that common). But no one, I noticed, dwelled in there like me. No one found the right corners to hide in, no one found the oldest books in the library. No one ran their fingers over the books feeling the age, the texture, the pages, and told them they loved them before they had to leave. And so that's when I decided, no one loves books as much as I do.

Today I am so particular about libraries. Some I love and some I hate and not one could ever feel like the library of my child hood. To me a good library is like a long, warm hug. It's the type of hug after you've come home from a tiring trip, and everythign and terrible and sore and most of you just wants to curl up in a ball to cry. And someone is there to hug you, someone is there to take you in their soft arms and hold you ad stoke you hair and all the bad is gone and resting is in order. That's what a good library is like, and you can keep that hug going for as long as you want.

A good book is like a human. New books are wonderful, nothing beats that magic. But there is so much more special to a book that has lived, to a book that has become human. I like dog eared pages and stains, maybe some highlights and maybe some notes. I like books that you could tell have lived, you could tell have traveled, the edges are worn and the pages are so soft, just like a hand to touch. The beauty to an old book is that you get to feel it, to get feelt he weight of it and all the life it had before you, all the people whose hands it went through. And maybe its a library book, you'll return it, and someone else will sense the life you put in it. Maybe it's yours, you bought it, new or old. Its either your job to give it life or explore the life it once had, and both are just as rewarding. There is so much more to books than just the words written in them. Books are ageless and hold lifetimes against us.

The thing is, I say things like the above, I think them so casually without anything grand or trifling. It just happens. I love libraries and books so much, that how else could I expres other than just by saying why I love them all the time. And here's the thing, I know there are people out there who love books just as much as me or books more than me, but I know I'll never stop believing I love books and reading more than anyone else.

Because I feel it. Really feel it more than anything and anyone else in the world.

I'd never live my life without them.

Fin.
-Keshia

Panic Mode.

I am receding right now. Waning instead of waxing, or maybe the other way around.

I have this problem where if difficult things crop up I tend to panic. My panic can be anything toward screaming/crying/generally feeling the need to be outside or sometimes a combination of all three. Mostly the latest, because nothing can offset my panic more than just places. I feel so trapped, like one of those moths endlessy throwing itself in frenzied leaps at the light. I always need to get out, because if I don't, I'll become a moth. I always, in general, need to panic. To be honest a lot of my panic ensues because of money issues, then the next being friends/family situations, and the next probably being school. There's usually not much more I panic over, and just fyi, the family situations usually always come paired along with the money issues. Regardless of the situation, what combination of issues, what type of day it is, I always panic. I can count all the people who have caught me in these situations of panic on my hands, because I often panic and I mostly do it alone. I feel bad for these people, I feel bad for when I put them into situations, when they have to deal with a sobbing, often yelling, and itching to get outide Keshia. And it's strange how everyone reacts to my panic. I think, when you witness someone panic, you see a little bit more about them because of course they are vunarable. But I think what really shows who a person is how they react to panicking people, and while not a frequent public panicker, I have had some situations.

There are the talkers, who try to calm you down by working their way through the situaitons, offering you solutions of back alleys, they draw you out of the panic by giving you choices and trying to crank at the logical part of the brain rather than the emotional ones. There are the listeners, the one who are quiet, nod maybe, and just let all of your panic stream out and drown them. I've had these both.

I've had someone chase me outside and down the street when I was panicking and needed to be alone. I've had a perfect stranger rescue me from a mental breakdown outside the history building last year. I've had someone start panicking themselves when I panicked. I've had someone hit me when I panicked, shouted at me to calm down, because they can't handle it. I've had people tell me I'm immature, I'm too emotional, I'm terrible when I'm panicking....and somehow they're surprised when it only ensues more panic.

As hard as it is to believe as hard as it to see, I actually like my panic mode. Of course I don't like it as I'm doing it, but in the long run it really helps. Because the feeling I get afterwards, it helps that I was able to panic. And what I've learned is not matter who the people or how they choose to handle it, they never really effect it. It will happen regardless of them, it will happen no matter what they say to me, because otherwise I would just be a suicidal moth.

In short, what I'm trying to say is that I have feelings, and I feel like majority of my feelings are valid, including the panic. And unless I let it out, I'll never be able to recede.

Fin.

Crutches.

Taken from Lena Chronicles #31
May 26, 2014
(8:19pm)

A 22 year old boy named Elliot Rogers killed seven people and injured many more because he was "constantly rejected and still a virgin". It is terrible and stupid. Here's the thing, I am a feminist. But not a feminist in the old sense, in the way where women are better than men. I am a feminist in what feminism is becoming. It's in the way that everyone is equal despite gender, race, or sexuality. It's horrible that things like the shootings in California still happen in the world. A lot of it is just ignorance, its people blinded in some way of seeing how the world actually works, to seeing the mistreatment of certain groups. I used to be like that. I am so different than what I used to be. I used to use religion as a crutch for bigotry. I used to be a horrible person; I used to care more about a the words written in a thousands of years old unscourced book more than the lives of real people. Give me the chance and I would have called a girl a slut, I would have judged her for dressing provactively. I used to abuse my own gender so much, placing expectations on others and on myself that were crippling. And I'm so glad I changed and I can now say things like "I'm pro-choice, I believe love is for everyone, I think the death penality is hypocritical, and I'm a feminist" without being weighed down by the guilt and wretchedness that some religion puts upon my beliefs. And I know I have so much more to learn and I can only hope I become better throughout it.

Fin.

Fifty Things.

The last time I wrote in this blog, in fact, even touched it, was in October. I think in maybe the four years of history of this thing, seven months is about the longest gap I've ever taken in between writing. My life as of late has been something along the lines of these two photos, but not in  bad sort of way, just in an "oh look at that" sort of way. Alot has changed for me in the past seven months, and I'd like to imagine I'm doing much better than when I last wrote in here. And I learned alot in that time too, so yeah, here's a list of things. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll start writing in here again like I used to.

1. I cannot climb trees like I used to.
2.  Alabama parking lots are the bane of my existance. People in parking lots make me murderous and honestly I should be proud I haven't killed anyone yet.
3. Snow is powdery, and less cold than the coldest days, and brilliant and beautiful, and should happen every year. Also, snowcream is the most wonderful stuff in all of existance.
4. There will always be one song in every musical that I hate.
5. My life is so much better now that I don't work at Panera Bread and I never wanna put myself in an opressive workplace like that again.
6. I will always, inevietably, tell my mother everything.
7. Taking care of the people I care about will always be worth it.
8. Christmas has stopped being magical.
9. Halloween gets more magical.
10. I love sex and I am okay with admitting that because it is wonderful and great and a way to connect to people. And people who deny themselves that really are missing out.
11. And on that note, it's honestly not that hard to convince people to have sex. Either that or I'm more attractive than I imagine myself to be.
12. It is okay to be average, and okay to know that even if I try my hardest I will not always do my best.
13. I will never be able to vlog everyday of the year.
14. I have charm, and no matter how much I like to deny this, I know how to use it.
15. My fandoms will always take care of me.
16. A group of strangers who I met on the internet and have never seen in real life can comfort me better than most people in real life.
17. Nothing is more exciting than a new tattoo.
18. I only have the capacity for so much and so many connections and as much as I would love to befriend all the wonderful people I could possibly befriend, it is impossible.
19. Strangers are nicer than I think.
20. Every year kids will seem shittier and shittier than I thought they were before. Every year just adds more incentive not to have them.
21. In the end, Rickel Pickle will always save me.
22. I want nothing more than to get to know Bryn Chancellor as much as I possibly can.
23. As much as I can explain things to people I cannot understand it for them. And that is not my fault.
24. And in remembering that, I cannot blame another person when I do not understand them.
25. I have to stop forcing myself to feel guilty about the people it is nesscary to be a bitch to.
26. And on that note, being bitchier to those I don't care about and nicer to those I do care about it needed.
27. If I ever had doubts about whether I was a feminist before, I certainly have none now.
28. Having my opinions and telling them to people isn't that bad.
29. It probably would have been better had I been born in the 70's (for reasons, I would like to point out, NOT related to feminism).
30. People are easy until you start to love them.
31. I save people, or so they tell me.
32. I am more self involved than anyone will ever know.
33. I have always been lazy, just now it's more dissapointing.
34. I dissallussion myself a lot because I like my fantasies of things better than I like the reality of them.
35. Nothing feels better than standing on Palmer stage during College Night season. And nothing in the world makes me feel more connected to friends, strangers, and history than knowing that Purple Side won.
36. Don't deny my anger.
37. I am better than some people but I have to judge when and when not to let them know.
38. A game called Ingress is very important in my life.
39. Caitie White is sincerely one of the best human beings I have ever met in my life.
40. I want to write a memoir before I die.
41. I want someone else to write a memoir for me after I die.
42. I can probably analyze everything, find metaphors from nothing.
43. My past self was smarter than I remember her to be in some ways better than I am now.
44. Nothing will ever be harder than writing everything over again.
45. I've gone two months without certain things and I can probably go longer.
46. I will take all the time I've been given and probably more.
47. I can write essays worthy of A's in the shortest amounts of time.
48. It will probably keep getting harder. I will wake up everyday and be heavier with something than I was before.
49. Despite how unreal it all feels before, know that it did happen.
50. I am not the same person I was seven months ago. I was not the same person I was even seven weeks, seven days, or seven seconds ago and no one can expect me to be.

Fin.
-Keshia

Half Past Midnight

From Lena, entry October 7th, 12:41am

I'm about how I get uglier and uglier everyday. About how I take all these damn photos for no real reason. I'm thinking about much prettier I was last year than I am right now. And how the year before that, even better. I'm thinking about how I can see it, how it creeps its way into the pictures. And how I can only see what I am now, which is ugly.

I'm thinking about I've had two relationships in the past two years and how those people are not even relevent to me anymore. How is it that something that seemed knit together before it nothing but frays?

I'm thinking about how I haven't made any lasting friendships in the last two years (in real life). About how I have met no one new and actually been able to catch them. No one wants to be and stay my friend.

I'm thinkign about how people tell me my anxiety and depression doesn't define me but that actually is it. That's why there is so much running away. That's why I'm uglier everyday. That's why no one wants to be with me. That's why no only wants to stay my friend. It's not you, Keshia, and it's not even me. It's your anxiety. It repels me.

I'm thinking about how much I hate myself and how no one can really tell how much I do and how no one would believe me even if I tried to tell them.

Fin.
-Keshia