A Story about a Girl who Lost her Soul

I am thinking of a story.

There used to be a girl who was raised in a religious family. Me. I was taught to purge myself of all individual identity so I could devote myself to god. I was told over and over again that god loved me, and that he would talk to me and give my life purpose if I gave myself to him. So I did. I prayed and worked hard, trying to discover god's purpose for my life. I pushed down my own identity. I crushed my own hopes. And I listened. I listened hard for this god's voice. But I never could hear him.

I got older. And the older I got, the harder I had to work to keep myself clean of independent thought. It was like trying not to grow out of baby clothes – impossible, and stifling. I was more and more constrained, until one day, I snapped. I said to myself, "I give up. I won't do this anymore." It was like cutting the leash on a falcon. Endless potential, possibilities, for good or bad. I set myself on a path of destruction. I thought it was intentional, but the more I thought about life, the more I realized that the only paths in life were paths of destruction.

There's a law. I don't know if it's an official law, but it says that all things deteriorate over time. Destruction is not always a bad thing. Sometimes it is the start of something new.

So. I started on my path. After a while, I realized that I didn't believe in love, I had never really believed in love, and that was okay. There were a lot of things I stopped believing. And one day, I looked back over my shoulder and realized I had lost my soul. Or perhaps I had never really had one. Who can say what a soul is, anyway?

Still. Shouldn't I be feeling more? I should feel something about this, right? A sort of sorrow perhaps, at losing this core piece of myself? Perhaps a horror at my own callousness? But all I feel is liberated.

Of Life and Rebelliousness - and Finding the True Self

I caught a reflection of my self in the window as I walked through the kitchen door, and I thought, "My hair...it's too tame."

And it is indeed. It lay smooth and clean on my head without so much as a stray cowlick to make it look rebellious. I need more rebelliousness. I'm 17. Two months until I am legally an adult. Less than half a year until I go to college. My life is just beginning. I've lived in one little mold for 17 years. I want to break the mold. I'm tired of the monotony. I want to do unpredicatable, nonsensical things. I'll spike out my hair. Tattoo my hands. Get a little tipsy. And one day I'll get in a car and drive away and I won't come back.

Under my parents' watchful gaze, I have grown up protected. I'm surrounded by a layer of lies like a thick gel that covers me. I fall and it will cushion me. I've protected myself from being too independent by dressing normal. From being too opinionated by keeping my mouth shut. I've stayed quietly one the sidelines of life, because I knew if I let myself out, my parents wouldn't like who I am.

See, I'm going on a search. I'm going out to look for little pieces of life that I'll recognize as little missing pieces of myself. Strange things, like underground sci-fi cults, and punky black chokers, and key lime pie gum. Rings that magically fall apart when you take them off. Quirky eye makeup. Trance music. Strawberry daiquiris. Maybe one day I'll come back, but no one will recognize me. Maybe I won't even recognize me.

Lime Daiquiri

Here's something I've been wanting to try...with or without the rum. ;)

For 4 servings:

3 limes, juiced
1/2 cup white sugar
10 fluid ounces white rum
4 maraschino cherries
6 cups ice cubes
 
In a blender combine lime juice, sugar and rum. Blend and add ice one cube at a time until mixture is thick and smooth. Pour into 4 glasses and garnish with maraschino cherries.
 
I'd like to try strawberry daiquiri sometime too.

Driving Rain

I got to drive down highway 20 yesterday. In the rain. It was sort of strange. The speed limit is 65, and all the rain on the road felt like it was dragging at the wheels. I had the perpetual feeling that if I let go of the wheel with one hand for even a few seconds, like to turn on the rear defogger or fix the windshield wipers, the jumper would go careening out of my control and fly over the edge of the road and down the hill.

Like life. Not that my current psychological issues are being superimposed over my daily activities or anything.

Does it ever go away? This feeling like I'm only barely managing to stay afloat and that any second I'm going to be pulled under and disappear?

It's been raining torrents. I made a little paper boat today and put it in our swelled backyard creek. It didn't make it very far. It got stuck in the pine needles. I came back inside and made a whole fleet of little paper boats. I don't know if I should let them go.

Trance, The Auditory Caffeine

The title pretty much tells all, but I'm gonna babble on anyway so you have something to read.

I've never been the type of person to be into music. Everyone else has their ipods and their concerts and whatnot. People ask me what I listen to and never know how to answer. For one thing, what kind of question are they asking? Do they want to know genre? Names of bands? Which ever way I answer, it always seems wrong. But most of the time I just say I don't really listen to music. I get this reaction:

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!"

And then I say I've lived a rather (musically) sheltered life. And then I get this:

"Well then, I guess I'm gonna have to educate you."

I have heard that so many bloody times. Why does everyone think they need to educate me to like music? It's none of their bloody business, dammit! I think everyone just wants to brainwash me to their musical tastes. (And no, I'm not british. I just like saying "bloody".)

Okay, back on topic. Thank god I have a friend of awesomeness who isn't worried about everyone liking her musical tastes (hi Libba!). I asked her for a song reccommendation, and she told me to listen to pandora. I already had a pandora (I can't believe you don't have one, Libba), so I went music genre shopping and picked trance.

God, I love it. I love the catchy beat. The ethereal vocals. The abstract lyrics. The electronic pulse. Like I said, it's auditory caffeine. I have never wanted to know how to dance before, but now I do. Why have I never heard of this stuff before? I listen to it and suddenly I have energy. It's like magic. Caffeine, without the calories. I'm pretty sure just listening to it burns calories. It just gets my pulse going.

All We Know

The earth pulses with life. Everyday people wake up, go to school or work, come home, go to bed, repeat...and yet we go on. Why? Is it because we hope that someday something will change, get better? Some misguided knowledge of adventure?

Everyday our eyes open like they never have before. The pupils dilate at the new light, light which is fresh and has not yet shone. As though each day were new. But can we really live that way? Can we really live as if we were a new person after each dawn?

Somehow our hearts keep beating, our lungs pulse in and out, in and out, sucking in the air to keep us alive. Our thoughts keep flowing, changing. But we ourselves are not the change, are we? Can we be changlings?

People; their eyes meet, flicker away, never to be seen or known again. Hands clasp in friendship, ghosts of ourselves who smile at the other reflections that breathe but do not live. The misty vapors of ourselves when we do not show our hearts.

So much is gained and lost everyday...and still never ceasing. We go on.

Someday I will understand everything.

Libba Bray

My favorite author is Libba Bray. Not just because of her books (which are...well, words cannot describe their awesomeness), but because of her. Her personality. Her writing itself. Her willingness to share her experiences. It started when I read her books in the Gemma Doyle trilogy. As is usual for me when I read something really good, I did a little author research. First I saw her generic, for-the-public biography, 21 Things About Me, which has a twenty-one random facts about her, like she has a glass eye and she hates doughnuts. None of that I-grew-up-here-I-married-this-person-and-now-we-live-here nonsense. Just twenty-one very juicy, hilarious facts. More people should write their bios like that.

More research led me to her blog. Most authors blog about tour dates and release dates and stuff like that. Not Libba Bray. Libba Bray writes about whatever the hell is on her mind. Sometimes she writes about seemingly trivial, everyday kind of stuff, like her favorite movies. Sometimes about important, controversial issues, like tolerance. Sometimes about her past. Whatever she writes about, she is 100% authentic and honest and human, and every time she writes, I think she puts a little of herself in her writing. 

Libba Bray could write about earthworms and make it hilarious, poignant, and inspiring, all at once. She's so good, I can tell you what her personality type is even though I've never met her (enfp).

http://libba-bray.livejournal.com/