Emotion

I feel as though I have run out of things to write on even though only one quarter of my life has been written. Perhaps not to its fullest extent is it written, but there is so much more to write of, which would be the latter part of my life so far lived. However, I am not so sure it is yet time to get to the "juicy stuff." Hell. . . the juicy stuff might not even be written for years, simply because of factors that affect people other than myself.

In fifth grade Steven left for Georgia. I didn't really care as much as most people would about their best friend leaving. I remember saying goodbye to him and his family; they were practically my own family. On the same day, one of my dog's pups died. I would swear I loved the thing before it was even born. She was the runt of the litter, I believe. I wrapped her up and put her in a shoe box that is now buried a couple feet adjacent to the oak tree in front of my house. I'm not sure why, but I named her Special. It was an odd name, but I was quite immature and the only thing that came to mind was how special she was to me, and I had no clue why. I cried that afternoon. My mom thought I was crying because of Steven's leave, but that wasn't the reason. I was crying because of the puppy; even still, she thought that was how I was hiding the truth. I didn't miss him, really. If I did, it was hardly at all.

My uncle Bobby died while I was in fifth grade as well. I don't recall as to whether he died before Steven and his family left or after. His life may as well be a story of its own, but I must tell what I know. I only saw him three times to my memory: once at a funeral for my great grandmother and twice when I was in New York visiting. I couldn't exactly see him whenever I was in New York, not because he lived away from where I visited or because he traveled a lot, but because he was in jail. He was drinking one day. He was drunk. He decided to do what many people decided upon and get away lucky with. He didn't come away lucky. With doubles of everything he saw, he couldn't help hitting the car. Two very unfortunate children died that day. They were both under a year old. . . He was supposed to get out jail during my fifth or sixth grade year; he would have been 49. But he didn't. He died from liver failure.
I hardly remember going to the funeral, but I do remember my emotions at the time. They were confusing emotions at that. I didn't know my uncle very well. According to most in my family, he's the guy whose looks I was born with. Anyway, I was confused as hell. I didn't miss him exactly, because I never knew him. I was quite apathetic about the whole thing because I didn't understand. It hit me sometime after everything that I was sad because I wish I had gotten to know him. I wish I had gotten to know him as well as my late grandmother who died before I was born. I was confused because I missed these people I didn't know. I loved these people I didn't know.

Sixth grade went by having been the year I first ever failed a test. It was a science test dealing with botany. To this day I hate botany. It was also the year I met some new friends like Scott Michael and Zach. Well, Zach wasn't a friend at the time... He was quite the jerk, actually. Anyway, sixth grade was the year I began writing. I wrote a story about machine-like aliens attacking earth. (Transformers had absolutely no influence. To tell the truth, Bionicles were my influence.) I also wrote a "poem." It was a rap song I made up. My mom went to get my books I left one day and found it in my desk. Apparently it was bad to write about such things...

Brandon Malphrus, Scott Michael, and I all became good friends sixth grade year. Scott and I shared an interest in Star Wars; I would allow him to borrow my Star Wars books and we would both write fan fiction. Brandon and I just clicked; I don't know why.

Seventh grade was nothing special. This was the year that drama first found its home at Step of Faith. Kids getting in trouble for making out. Boys and girls weren't allowed to be too close to each other. The senior grade, which was the seventh, would get into trouble for things lower grades did because "fifth and sixth graders wouldn't do that." I also got my first pair of glasses that year.

I left Step of Faith to go to Patrick Henry for eighth grade. This was the grade drama presented itself directly in my life for the first time. I started to get into major trouble. I picked on the seventh grade and picked fights with my grade and the ninth. I really started paying attention to girls that year. Everyone was too old for me and I refused to date a girl that was beneath my grade. I had thought of dating, but I never really considered it. I was too shy to consider it. I wanted to play soccer, but I couldn't get a team together. There was no other sport I cared to play. Altogether, my classes weren't half that bad.

I had my first betrayal at Patrick Henry. The beginning of my trust issues all starts here. I made a cool friend, Chris Wilson. About halfway through the school year he realized the rest of our class didn't really like me, so he decided to not be my friend and make fun of me with everyone else. It sucked. After that I didn't have anyone at all. There was this one kid we all called Frank, but we weren't that great of friends.

My witnessing also began at Patrick Henry. I found out my science teacher wasn't in tune with God. I started talking to him everyday after school. We would talk about our beliefs and such. I can only hope I made some kind of impact on his life, but I may never know. I still have a map of Mars I borrowed from his class...

My writing skills continued to develop. I started writing a story, a book, titled: The Dark War. It's my favorite story of all time, and I have yet to complete it. I stopped because I felt my writing skills weren't up to the task. I decided I needed more experience before I could actually write it.

Ninth grade...

Genesis

No one can really be sure why it happened, but it did. It wasn't easy for my mother to have children; I don't know much detail, but she wasn't very able to have kids. Not because she didn't like kids or anything of that sort. She wasn't physically able. Yet I am here. I wasn't adopted, for sure. I've seen the documents of my birth and even the video of me being born, oddly enough. And if all of that isn't enough, my appearance should tell all. They say I look like my mother mostly, and that I have my father's eyes. I myself do see my father's eyes, as well as his father's eyes. I'm not sure about the looking like my mother, though I do look like my mother's late brother. Of course, I'm speaking of my looks now as I enter late adolescence and early adulthood. Nevertheless, I am my mother's child.

I was born in New York (upstate, not the city). It is either unfortunate that I was born in New York or that I moved to a state of the South filled with people whose prejudice is flowing. Somewhere around the time I turned two, my parents decided to move to South Carolina. We lived on Hilton Head Island in an apartment adjacent to the beautiful Atlantic. More specifically, we lived at Beach and Tennis Resort where my father was part of security. It was in that apartment that I said my first swear word, learned how to spell my name, and dress up for Halloween as a character that affects my life to this day: Bamm Bamm. I don't remember much, but I do remember my first friend. Her name was Natalie. Her father was my mother's boss at a drug store that now no longer exists. I haven't seen her in years, and when I say years, I mean about 14 years.

Before I turned three, we moved to Ridgeland, South Carolina. My parents still worked on Hilton Head, but we had a house and property of our own. There's actually more to the story about the house and land we acquired, but it hadn't affected my life at that time. I didn't have any friends until sometime after I turned three. A family had moved across the street (if you could call it a street). My mother decided she and I would meet them. That was when I met my first best friend, Steven. For years to come, Steven and I would play at each other's house just about every day. We started kindergarten when I was four and when he was five, which is why I have been the youngest in my class every year of school of my life so far. We went to Agope Christian where I made a couple friends, one of which was my first crush. Before we graduated K5, my parents as well as Steven's took us out of Agope to be home schooled. Personally, I think it was because our parents were racist and didn't like that there was a black girl in my class; my mother swears she's not racist, but I don't believe her.

I was home schooled until third grade, switching back and forth between Steven's house and my own. My mother and Steven's came to us one day and asked us if we wanted to go to a real school. We were worried that we would have to take naps, but little did we know that it would have been great if we did actually have nap time. The school was Step of Faith Christian Academy, a school that had recently opened. When I began going to this new school, I also began going to the church that it was a part of, Great Swamp Baptist. I didn't like Great Swamp at first. I hated going to church in general, but my mother made me go to RA's on Wednesday nights. I was miserable there because all of the other kids picked on me. Some made fun of me because I was a Yankee and others did just because it was fun for them. They would always mess with me and physically abuse me, but it was the mental abuse that was a real issue. My mother didn't seem to care for my cries to not go to church. Even though I told her what they did, she didn't care, really.

My relationship with God began at an early age. I had grown up knowing He was in my life, thanks to my mother. That is at least one good thing my mother did for me; I'm not saying my mother never had good intentions, but the benefactors that came from her good intentions were rare and will be mentioned later in my story. I think God was like family to me when I was younger. I hadn't come close to understanding the Trinity, but I knew Jesus and God were the same person; I thought of Him more as a king than a savior. I saw Him as this ruler of the land, but I had no personal relationship with Him. God was like the President of the United States to me: important to my living, but no real relation to me. I hated going to church because I didn't think it was important. I didn't think I needed it, though I did.

I did great in school when I was younger. I made the headmaster's list each quarter in third and fourth grade. I didn't know how to keep my mouth shut though. I was a talkative little kid, like most, but I couldn't help myself. I'm sure it was for attention, which was something I did get enough of, but perhaps not quite enough for my tastes at that time. My mouth always got the best of me and I never thought before I spoke. My mother used to always get mad at me and so did my friends and teachers. Therefore I gave up on my attention. I figured that if I changed my habit of talking for attention I would receive even more attention and maybe they all wouldn't be mad at me. So I shut up. I don't recall what age I was when I started not-talking, but because I kept my mouth shut and didn't speak up I became a recluse and lost all social skills (or perhaps never developed any after having none in the first place).

My real story, the one that matters, actually starts here. It all begins with a dream...
I stand completely still in a trance at the sight around me. Everything is so dark, yet the day is bright and the sky as blue as it has ever been. I am in pain. I am suffering. But why? Everything is so perfect. I realize that I am standing in my back yard. I am behind my house and I see my swing set and club house behind it. The swing set is old and the color of the wood it was built from has faded since its creation. The club house that sits between two small trees beyond the swing set is dirty; dead leaves fill the inside and outside it begins to droop. My father built the club house with me. It was where I went to pretend and to dream. And so here I am, dreaming. I feel horrible. I feel like I am dead or dying. I ask God what is going on, and for once in my life, He answers me. He comes down from His heavenly post and speaks to me face to face. I can hear His beautiful voice. He tells me that I am in hell. He tells me that my sin has brought me here. He tells me I am dead. I want to cry. With Him so close to me I want to jump into His arms and beg His forgiveness. As if He could read my thoughts, He concludes His talk with me by telling me I have a second chance. He tells me that this doesn't have to be my end. With that He leaves and everything around me changes. The sky is as bright and as blue as it has ever been. My swing set is still sitting behind my house rotting, and the club house beyond that. I am standing in my back yard, and I am in heaven.
When I awoke, I prayed to God. I begged for His forgiveness. He accepted my apology and forgave me. He accepted me, like no one had before.

Introduction to: The Story of My Life

I've always wanted to write the story of my life. I've heard that writing things out, especially personal happenings, helps reveal things about one's self. Recently, I read something that moved me to write this. I'm writing this for myself and for you, my audience. If there's one conclusion you can make as you read the following posts, it may just be that I am an attention-seeker. I want you to read these. I want your attention. I want some way to be noticed, but I will not lie. I will not change the story. Of course things won't be exact, but I will try me best to make them so. And so in order to ensure that I have a large audience, I will be posting "The Story of My Life" on Blogger, MySpace, and Facebook. Maybe it'll be an interesting read. Maybe it will help you somehow. Maybe you won't care. Perhaps there really is no point in writing this. I feel badly enough that 50 percent of the reason I'm writing is for the attention. It's sad really.

Note: Names will be changed to protect the reputation and identity of those involved.

[Edit: Names will not be changed.]

To Truly Love

Love is a simple concept, yet we make it out to be so complicated. We sit here and try to figure love out instead of actually loving. In the English language, though, we have distorted the word greatly when it was already difficult to understand. When we speak of love, it could mean brotherly love, friendly love, or romantic love. Other civilizations were a bit more knowledgeable when it came to creating their language. They made sure the idea of love wasn't summed up in one word. It really is quite vague when I say something like brotherly love. What do you mean brotherly love? I mean love like that towards a brother. And how is love toward a brother? I honestly cannot go on; to explain it is beyond me. Most of us get the gist of what someone means when they say brotherly love. That is because most have siblings. I do not, however I believe I know what it means because I feel this love toward my best friends and some family members. I have a friendly love toward everyone, but don't ask any questions about that--that's a whole different blog. And I can say that I have romantically loved.
Romantic love is the one people find hardest to understand. Not it's meaning, rather whether or not they truly romantically love someone. Another way to say romantic love would be "in love". So then I should say: People have trouble understanding whether or not they are truly in love. My point in this is not to tell you how to fall in love but to know when you are in love. The only way I know how to explain being in love is by telling of all of the things it is not. 99 percent of the time, anyone under 16 has never fallen in love and doesn't quite understand love yet. No one will ever fully understand love, but some understanding is required to actually know whether you are in love or not. I am one of that one percent by a hair. I say 16 because I see it in most adults and people my age as well; this, i feel, is the time when we really begin to grasp love. My percentage could be wrong, but I don't feel like very many people at all do fall in love before 16. Young people get crushes, which are related to love in absolutely no way. Young people also become infatuated, which can become love if given time. To fall in love is probably something rare for us young people... but it is possible for us. Especially once we have been opened up to it. I don't know what else there is to say really, but when you fall in love, you completely click with the other person in every possible way or in no way at all. You love, simply, and truly, because you do.

To Simply Love: Irony of Sorts

Love is such an amazing idea. It's so amazing, I don't even want to consider it an idea. Some scientists have decided that a certain chemical process in the brain is "love." I don't know that they are right, but I do believe in love. We usually use the term beautiful to define anything appealing to the eyes; but Love is beautiful. They say that God is Love. I believe this to be true. It is the only concept that really make sense. For one: You simply cannot believe in God and not believe in love. Two: If you don't believe in God, love is only proof that He exists. It's a complex idea, but if you think about it, it really does make sense.

God isn't exactly my thesis in this unorganized, random blog. Love is the the point. Most people have been in those relationships where they said that they had fallen in love. Most of those people, after losing or leaving the relationship(s), deny that it was ever love. So how then do we know when we are in love? The way one is to love God is to know Him, for if you know Him it's not possible for you to not love Him. You may wish to fight me on this saying: But it is possible for one to know God and not love Him. The truth is, if you know Him completely then you will love Him. It's actually quite simple. What's not simple is to love other people. One cannot use the same way of love as mentioned above to love another person. In order to love another person, you do have to know them to a certain extent. But it takes more than just knowing them. It takes more because you can never fully know anyone except God. God is written of in the Bible where it tells of all of His greatness and none of the opposite because there really isn't any. No one person is written of to such an extent, and people are actually more complex than God. The reason is because God is loving, caring, and omnipotent, and we humans can be loving sometimes to certain people or things, caring half of the time because of selfish motivations, and definitely not omnipotent. But all of us are different. So we can't really love everyone to a full extent, though I must say that we can love everyone. We can love everyone with the love we would associate with a sibling. It may not be exactly like one's love for a sibling, but similar to. We love our closer friends more than the ones further away. Why? Because we know them more and usually because they have done something to make our lives better. Ever reason to love is a selfish reason, but don't think there's anything wrong with that; though, most of the time there is something wrong with it. Look over your selfish reasoning; only you can judge.

To fall in love... is the most complicated of all, I believe. Everyone says they've done it, but have they? How do you know if you are infatuated or in love. Well, if you are two months into a relationship with a person you've only know for a week before the hookup: you're most likely not in love. Now, there is no set time for when you will start loving someone. It's all up to your heart as well as the other's. It's so hard to even write on, and so many have tried to write it out before, and worse: have tried to explain it. But my point here is to tell you how I feel and what I have experienced to help you find out on your own. So to fall in love... you must fall in love. And no one can tell you that you are in love. No one can tell you that you are not in love. It is all up to you.

To Fall In Love

Falling in love is dangerous business, so they say. Who are they to know what they are even talking about. They say things like: "You're to young to fall in love" and "You don't know what love is". I believe they are blind, thinking they are the only ones who can love. Would you like to know what it takes to love? It takes a simple understanding and to know what you love, whether you love God, a friend, a spouse or significant other, a dog, a hobby, an idea, or even an inanimate object. All you have to do is know. You can't love something without knowing what that subject is. A baby may not know his mother's personality, thoughts, or emotions, but he does know his mother is there to care for him; therefore, he loves her. A preteen girl may be infatuated with a boy and call it love; she is not wrong to call it love. However, she does not understand what she loves. She loves the idea, and not the person. A man meets his future wife when he is almost through his adolescence. He falls in love with her, but they tell him he's too young to love; he's not. Most adolescents have a clouded mind, but they aren't particularly blind. He is in love and he knows it.

To fall in love is such a simple task. It's also a very complicated and complex one. Love is like a seed: you must first plant it in good soil. Then you must nourish it help it to grow. If it fails to keep growing, then you must plant another seed and attempt to keep it growing. Eventually, one seed will continue to grow and will not stop.
For love: You must find someone with whom you are equally yoked. Then you must come to know this person and understand them. If love ceases to grow, then you must find another. Eventually, you will be able to continually grow with someone and your love will never cease.
I all sounds so random. It isn't. It's simply whatever you make it. The thing is: it takes two. So you may have to plant a few seeds, but be careful not to plant more than one at once; you cant care for any more than one. And so, love is complex. You may not understand it at first and you will never fully understand it.

I have fallen in love once. The love ceased to grow. That doesn't meant the love isn't alive any longer, just that it has come to a point where it cannot go on. Without intentionally doing so, I have planted another seed. I didn't understand it at first, but it seems that I have fallen in love. My point now is to just grow. To simply grow...

To lose a love is something different... It is easy to do, though it is very complex. Love lost will be one of the worst things to ever happen to you. To let go is your own decision and to understand is your own goal to reach. If you stay in one place thinking you will never love another, you are wrong. And it may sound like I don't understand what you may be going through, but I do. I have experienced it and I know how to get through. The only problem is that no one can tell you how to get through even if they know. You have to discover it for yourself. So try to find help, and trust in God. If you do, He will lead you in the right direction: to a better place.