Welcome to My Life

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?Like somehow you just don't belongAnd no one understands you
Do you ever want to run away?Do you lock yourself in your room?With the radio on turned up so loudThat no one hears you screaming
No you don't know what it's likeWhen nothing feels alrightYou don't know what it's likeTo be like me
To be hurt, to feel lostTo be left out in the darkTo be kicked when you're downTo feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking downAnd no one's there to save youNo you don't know what it's likeWelcome to my life
Do you wanna be somebody else?Are you sick of feeling so left out?Are you desperate to find something moreBefore your life is over?
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?Are you sick of everyone around?With their big fake smiles and stupid liesWhile deep inside you're bleeding
No you don't know what it's likeWhen nothing feels alrightYou don't know what it's likeTo be like me
To be hurt, to feel lostTo be left out in the darkTo be kicked when you're downTo feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking downAnd no one's there to save youNo you don't know what it's likeWelcome to my life
No one ever lied straight to your faceAnd no one ever stabbed you in the backYou might think I'm happyBut I'm not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wantedYou never had to work it was always thereYou don't know what it's likeWhat it's like
To be hurt, to feel lostTo be left out in the darkTo be kicked when you're downTo feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking downAnd no one's there to save youWell, you don't know what it's like(What it's like)
To be hurt, to feel lostTo be left out in the darkTo be kicked when you're downTo feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking downAnd no one's there to save youNo you don't know what it's likeWelcome to my life
Welcome to my lifeWelcome to my life

16

Sixteen (Rachel Wells)

Sixteen

and nostril deep in concern

I can half hear, all gargled 

See merely surface of the ocean of worry

I half drown myself in

but I feel it fully; I don’t half feel it

I feel the fiery nerves, the spark of worries

but cannot pinpoint their location in my shoulders, my back, my tired mind

I am afraid to move, to swim, to try to touch them

for fears of makeshift sharks

the slow formation of giant squids

ready to bite, or pull, ready to fully drown me

waiting for that initial bite 

that punctures and drains blood from my leg 

that spirals me down to the depths of no return

waiting to watch the sky disappear above me

and my lungs to collapse in

apprehension. apprehension.

what will become of me?

"Peter Pan"

*a latent story of Peter Pan by Rachel Wells (<-- hey, das me!) 

The draft was making me uncomfortable, so I got up from my bed to shut the window. I looked out at London from our flat on Knightsbridge Avenue and thought, ‘why is it so cold here?’. I watched the yellow light twinkle from avenues over, and then I shut the curtain and began to change into my nightgown.
There was a knock at the window.
“Peter?” I asked, “what are you doing here so late?”
“I was in the neighborhood, so yeah” he muttered back. I liked the way he said ‘Yehh-ah’. It was so different than the boring British “yeh”. I liked a lot about him. I liked the way his hunter green long sleeve waffle shirt clung to his thin, yet muscular body and the way he giggled at things like, ‘the bin’, or ‘jumper’, or ‘water closet’. My parents would have despised him, but they were out for the night.
He walked over to my bed and sat down. “I baked you something” he said as he reached into his pocket. A smile crept over my face, it was going to happen. It was going to happen. I giggled nervously and added an “oh really? what?” as innocently as I could. He pulled the small bag out of his inner coat pocket. The little bag looked like it was full of sugar crystals, but I knew it wasn’t and I was excited. I would fly away from this house and feel so free.

“So how do you know it’s good?” I asked, starting to return to reality.

“Wendy, they don’t call me ‘Peter Pan’ for nothing”

I didn’t understand so he explained it to me. Afterwards, I still didn’t really understand, but I nodded and said I got it anyway. It had something to do with the kitchens where crack was made or whatever and how he used tiny instruments to make each gram with “love”. Oh well, how would I even know the difference?

He asked if we should wake Mike and John. I said yes.

There’s a four year age difference between each of us. I was almost 23, John 19 and Michael 15. Mike, although the youngest, was the worst of all of us.

I tiptoed into each of their rooms only to find both of them up, watching a horror film in John’s room and I told them to come into mine. John whined about getting up, but they both followed me.
We sat in a circle on the floor. I remember thinking ‘how strange it is that one of the richest families would have kids that acted the poorest’. Peter explained how to inhale the powder and I went first, trying not to mess up. He told us that he would act as the sitter - he would monitor, sober, and make sure none of us went crazy. He smiled at me when he said “crazy”. I couldn’t help but giggle at the floor. God I loved that smile and I loved the way it felt to laugh when he was watching.
I began to feel my body gaining extreme energy in everything it did. My brain worked faster, my heart worked faster, my breathing was quickening - “Calm down, Wendy, it hasn’t really even set in yet” he said. And I did.
I had the sudden urge to kiss him, but instead I laid back on the floor and watched the ceiling flash white and grey. I asked why that was happening and Mike snickered. I tried to swat at him but my arms were acting funny. I missed his body by about a meter.
Then the hallucination kicked in. So this was the “love” people raved about. The world started to mesh together, colors became one and moved into one another, everything was beautiful. Words failed to come out of my mouth fully formed, but I didn’t care. My body began to feel extremely light - I told Peter I was flying.
“It’s the pixie dust” he said and told me I was a fairy. He asked if we wanted to go somewhere, and I said “if you can figure out how to get me up”, which sounded more like “if yooo ken fig-yuh how to get meh uhp”. He laughed again and told me to close my eyes.
“Just think wonderful thoughts”, he said.
Like “christmas”, John said, snickering, “and rainbows”.
“The more happy thoughts you think, the higher you can fl---”
I cut Peter off, “I CAN FLY! PETER LOOK I CAN FLY!”
“She can fly!” Mike and John cheered together.
“Okay,” Peter said, “Now follow me”. And I did.

We went out my bedroom window and soared towards the stars. Suddenly we dove into a world that Peter called “Neverland”. We flew over the bluest of lagoons and saw real mermaids. Their looks showed me that they hated me, but couldn’t take their eyes off of Peter. They cooed and clawed at him and I felt jealous. I began to flash in and out of the lagoon. In the next moment I was sitting next to an Indian chief. Then I was sitting with boys who begged me to stay and be their mother. And then I was falling.
falling down,
down,
down,
through the floor and through the foundation of the building. It looked like cement but it felt like powder. It felt like tiny particles were clinging to my skin, clogging the pores and trapping me inside of my own body. My body was mine, but it felt like I was outside and inside of it at the same time.I wasn’t sure what I was looking at anymore - shadows bent into themselves and the walls began to drip as I fell further through the floor. I slammed my eyes shut.

I was tied to the mast of a ship. The captain had his hand pointed at the storm clouds overhead. He was shouting “No, No, No”. I was screaming with anger. Not again. Not another adult to point in my face and tell me no.

Not another situation where I would be punished. There was our maid, Nana - and every time there was a mess it was assumed to me mine. She was a sweet woman but  somehow it was always my fault. Mother would be upset with me for upsetting Nana and I’d be punished. There was Father - no matter how well my grades were, the transcript was never good enough. “Where were the other two points” he’d ask about a test - and I’d be grounded while my brothers were let loose into the streets of London. No. I will not be punished for things I didn’t do anymore. I will not be punished for being a victim or for doing my best. I will not succumb any longer.

In that moment I became fully alive. There was fire in my veins instead of blood. I shrieked with the power of a thousand screech owls. I broke through the rope and pounced at the captain knocking him to the deck. I felt my teeth crash into each other and I growled like a lion. The giant waves threw the ship but I grabbed the captain’s coat and pulled myself towards his neck. There was a crack above us and it began to rain harder and harder. I pinned one of his arms down with my knee, and held the other down with my foot just above his sharp, metal appendage.  I began beating the sides of his head. I was never a violent person, but I now understood why someone would be. With each hit, anxiety was released and the muscles in my neck relaxed. I thrusted my fist into the captains face screaming, “NO NO NO”.

My hand was stopped by Peter’s.
“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy It’s okay, stop beating the couch”
I grabbed him and the world kept melting.

Homecoming

Every time I go online, I feel like part of me is missing because I have stopped blogging. Every time I get upset, I find myself wondering why I stopped in the first place. The short answer is that life got in the way, because it did, but the more complicated answer is that as life got in the way, I began to have more and more to question and deal with, with very few outlets. This was extremely confusing for me because my blog is public but it is also a space where I write, learn and explore my life -- which is private. I got caught in an awkward position and became somewhat embarrassed when I made this my public diary instead of continuing to make this a space where I applied what I was learning from my experiences. I'm sorry. Mostly to those who followed in a semi-religious way, but also to myself.

I feel like I want to reopen this blog, but delete some of the old posts - but I also feel like every post is a critical part of who I have become, and so I'm struggling with how to manage my past and my present.

If I go through and delete posts that you have enjoyed, please feel free to contact me for a copy!

Thank you so much for accepting me back to the blogging world.

This blog has grown with me through much turbulence and has waited for me like a loyal friend - and I feel confident now that I can resume my role in the life that I left off here.

Thank you so much, I have missed this in so many ways.

Music Monday

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.

Nelson Mandela

10) Pompeii - Bastille 

9) Because We Can (The Beginning: Epilogue) - Bon Jovi 

8) Hopeless Wanderer - Mumford & Sons

7) Children's Song (itunes version only) - Moscow Art Trio

6) Timeflies Tuesday: Die Young - Timeflies

5) Running for Cover - Ivan & Alyosha

4) Wasting Time - Jack Johnson

3) 'Til Kingdom Come - Coldplay

2) It's Good to Be In Love - Frou Frou

1) Sweet Desposition - The Temper Trap

I know the world isn't going to end on December 21st, 2012 because my blog allows me to post after that.

LOL WeDnEsDaY

Oh dictionary dot com, you got me again with your crazy articles about grammar! 

"Why do we capitalize the first-person pronoun, I? The short answer is because we do. But that’s not a very satisfactory answer. Even though it feels natural to English speakers, capitalizing I is unusual. In fact, English is the only language that does. Germanic and Romantic languages typically have some conventions for capitalizing proper nouns, like Deutschland (in German) or Place de la Concorde (in French), but English is the only one that selfishly insists on capitalizing the personal pronoun. We do not, you will recall, even capitalize we. "

Read more at http://hotword.dictionary.com/whycapitali/#YXD5D9lQPr4lixMu.99

Tuesday's Secret

SECRET #12: 


When I spend more time being happy, I can allot more time to thinking thoughtfully about things that interest me rather than being wholly consumed by fears or concerns. I am finding myself again to be interesting, thoughtful and intelligent. It feels like finding an old book you once loved, blowing the heavy dust off of it, then inspecting its interior to find that everything truly is the same. 


I missed blogging. I missed analyzing feelings and writing and exploding and escaping here. I'm so happy to have my little RTT world back. 


I don't believe in religion, but this is a sacred space. 

Through Fire and Flames

The alarm did not go off. It was supposed to go off in the event of a fire. You expect these things to work. You don't wake up everyday wondering if your fire alarm is in perfect condition. I didn't ever think about it because I didn't believe it would ever happen to me. I never thought that I would be the one with a burning house. Maybe next door. Maybe down the street. Not here. No, not here.

It was hot. I shimmied out of my blanket. The smoke was so thick in my dark bedroom that I thought my eyes were still closed. I felt around for the light switch. It illuminated the thick, dark-grey cloud that nearly covered my room from ceiling to floor. I could feel my pupils widen with fear. What the ef do I do? My instinct was to drop to the floor like fire marshals had taught me to do in preschool. Who knew those demonstrations and field trips were actually helpful? I wasn't covered in fire and decided that I didn't need to 'stop, drop and roll'.

S***, what do I do next? I grabbed a tee-shirt from my floor and held it upwards, reaching for my doorknob. It was hot. I remember being told to never open a hot door in the event of a fire. However, this door was my only way out. The window was not an option. I was in an apartment building and was twenty-five stories high. I decided to crawl over to my wall, open the window and let out the smog.

I began to choke. On my way back down to the floor, I grabbed my phone that I had left on my desk and dialed 911. I couldn't hear them. I don't know why I couldn't hear them, so I just started screaming.

"Help" pause. "Help me. Please, help me" longer pause. "THERE IS A FIRE. I NEED YOU TO HELP ME".

I ended the call.

I began to feel tears swell in corners of my eyes. The stinging must have also been from the smoke. I wasn't sad. I was annoyed. I was angry. I felt helpless. I felt so alone.

Wait... no I wasn't?

I frantically called back.

"HELP. YOU NEED TO GET ME OUT OF HERE. I DON'T KNOW IF MY MOM GOT OUT. I DON'T KNOW IF MY SIBLINGS GOT OUT. I DON'T KNOW IF HE GOT OUT. I DON'T KNOW IF HE GOT OUT. WE NEED TO KNOW. WE NEED TO FIND OUT."

I hung up and threw the phone at the wall. I HATED my phone. The one time I really needed it I couldn't use it. My phone can tell me where anything in the world is located, it can do my math homework for me, it can even send messages without typing - but it can't CALL for HELP? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My mother was outside with my sister and brother. I could feel it. I just knew. But, he was inside the house.  I didn't know exactly who "he" was, but I knew I would be nothing if he was not okay. I had to find him and get us out of the house.

I didn't have time to keep messing around. The fire was swelling and the temperature was rising like a pre-heated oven. I tied a thin long-sleeved shirt around my face to act like a filter. I didn't want to breathe in any smoke. I mean, people die from that.

I saw flames. Red. Orange. Yellow. Blue. Moving upwards and downwards like giant flickering candles. They were loud. I could hear a fire engine somewhere in the distance. For a moment, I felt bad about throwing the phone. I didn't feel bad for too long, though. I could hear the floorboards breaking from the intense heat. The breaking of the boards sounded like waves on the beach crashing. It was hard to not feel claustrophobic.

For a moment, I saw myself outside. I saw myself next to a medic, and a rescue team and my family.

I did not see him. I began to panic.

Nobody knew where he was. Nobody heard me when I asked. Nobody heard me when I screamed. Nobody turned to look at me when I shouted his name.

My mother grabbed my ears in her hands and told me it would be okay. No matter what happens, It will be okay.

That was b******t.

If he was not here, it would not be okay.

In the next moment, I was transported back into the house. I was in my doorway, the flames still dancing around me. Through the spaces, I saw a green couch. I looked harder and saw an arm. He was on the couch.

I ran. I ran so hard. I felt the skin burn on my calves. I felt my socks catch fire. I felt my body stiffen. I felt the adrenaline pounding in my ears. I was closer to the couch and It was worth it. I hurt, but it was worth it.

Between the couch and I there was one large flame. It was shaped like a princess-style wedding dress with a long train behind it. I concluded that I could not run through this without burning my legs off.

I began to panic. I could not get to the couch. I could not get to him. I was going to die. He was going to die. I felt numb. I felt cold. I felt...

I was then taken to a field of grass. The grass was tall and soft. It was all around me. The grass was safe. I looked up at the pale blue sky. I smiled. I could smell the trees. I could feel the freshness around me. It was so clean here. I looked around and saw no one. I looked the other way and jumped. He was there. He was smiling at me. He moved my hair out of my face and took my hand. He said, "hold on to me". I was confused.

"what?", I fumbled the word slowly out of my mouth like it was a piece of old chewing gum that was stuck to my teeth.

The voice became louder and louder. It became more urgent, more intense and more threatening. I became afraid. His voice was no longer his own. I shut my eyes. Then he took my other hand and I fell.

I fell through the grass. I was falling downwards. I felt my head whip around.

Someone had grabbed my arm. He was in a firefighter suit. My feet had gone through the wood floor in the living room. The dress of flames had been partially extinguished. I could see the doorway out. I could see the yellow hallways that led to the elevators and the stairs. I saw safety.

I allowed myself to be carried by the firefighter. He carried me towards the door. I was still somewhat conscious as we approached it. My eyes rolled around and I saw the hand under the pillow. I saw his hand. I began to scream. I began to kick and hit. I began to resist the firefighter. He would not let me go. I felt like I was running on air. I began to tread the smoke like water and hung on to each piece of furniture I could. I was not leaving without him. He was stronger than I ever will be. He took me to the stairwell and began to carry me down the stairs. I kicked him hard in the gut. He let go.

I ran. I have never ran so fast before in my life. I went to the couch and removed the pillows - chucking them into the flames. They were swallowed, and like a monster, the flames grew bigger and fatter. I saw his unconscious face. Partial relief. I grabbed his body and attempted to move him. I was so weak. I couldn't move him. I began to scream. Frusteration. Nobody could hear me. The flames answered with more crackling. They were teasing me. I grabbed him again and tried so hard to move his body. I wanted him to be safe already. I wanted us to be okay. I grabbed his arms, I could not drag him. I tried his legs, he would not be moved.

So I held on. I cuddled myself between the sofa cushions that were fastened to the back of the couch and his body. I wrapped his arms around me. I wove his fingers through mine like he had done so many times before. I forced his legs between my own to secure them. I pulled his feet into me. I tilted his face towards my shoulder and put his back towards the flames. I hugged him so tightly. I would never let go.

I did everything I could do. I began to sing. It would be okay. Anytime he was upset, he asked me to sing. So dammit, I sang. I sang until I cried. I cried until I gave up. I gave up and I shut my eyes.

We woke up. It was white. I knew he was there. But I didn't feel him next to me.

I didn't know if we were in a hospital, or in the field of grass, or somewhere else. I didn't know if we were still on the couch with death sliding over us, numbing the burning.

But he was here. He was with me. It was okay. It was okay now. 

I shut my eyes tightly.

And then I woke up.