In today's society, most of the people involved have began "blogging" their lives for the entire world to see. But sometimes, we have to ask ourselves, what are blogs? Are they opinion articles categorized by date? Or are they recordings of random thoughts, graphics, quotes, daily events? What makes a blog, a blog? To me, my blog is a place where I can vent, respond to certain ideas, and put my own down where I can see them.
I have several ideas, and they're always swimming around where I can grasp them, but just barely.
Lately, I've been writing a vampire story in my head-but as far as it goes when I'm typing are the first two lines. They're beautiful lines, and in my head I can already see a movie being made-but whether or not I can actually make it to the publishing point, whether or not people would want to read my book-is another question. I'm far too worried that my story would end up resembling Anne Rice mixed with Twilight and Dracula-with an underlying touch of Underworld. That's what I'm afraid of. And yet, I know fear is the only think keeping me from actually beginning it on word. Putting it out there. Because, a writer always doubts whether or not they're good enough.
Growing up a female is pretty tough. But growing up as a male is pretty tough too. Although, women are expected to be the size 2, five foot six, athletic, blue eyed, blond haired woman. The reality is, we're real. We have a little extra weight here, we're size 5,7,9,13, etc. We have hazel, brown, black, green, grey eyes. We're anywhere from four ten to six one. We're red, blond, brunette, black haired and everything else. We don't weigh 110 pounds...it can vary.
The girls that always got the guys in my class were the girls who wore name-brand clothes, make-up, and seemed to be stick thin athletic, stuck up preps. The average girl with the glasses was overlooked.
I was never the object of anyone's desire. Except the boys that belched, had torn clothes, bad b.o...I wasn't ugly. But I felt that I was ugly for that reason. The kids that smelled good, had manners, and good nice, neat, cleaned, ironed clothes went for the preppy girls. Now, I see the difference.
The difference between the preppy girls and the average girls was this: the preppy girls in five or ten years when they reached high school were more likely to "put-out" whereas the average girls would be those that the decent men would want to settle down with. The preppy girls would be used, abused, and thrown away. The average girls would be those that played hard-to-get, a challenge, and swept away by charm. The dirty kids would grow up and want to impress the average girls, so they would dress nicer, clean up-everything, have manners, get roses to those that they wanted to woo. They'd work harder in the world because they had to surpass the expectations that had been set low for them. The good looking guys would think the world would hand them things on a silver platter.
I was an average girl, and never saw myself as beautiful. I thought the lack of attention was because I was "fat" or "unattractive" so I had eating disorders, I had low self-esteem because I didn't think anyone liked me...so I self-injured. Going through therapy and having to take prozac as a freshman in high school was humiliating. But somehow, the teachers showed me that I was intelligent, that I was pretty, and that any guy that didn't talk to me was because he was nervous, and afraid to be rejected. Girls hated me because I had something they didn't-natural beauty.
To this day, I still have problems believing people when they tell me I'm beautiful...but I'm starting to realize that I have something everyone else wants-wisdom from my past. and occasionally, I see that beauty...like in this photo:
So, if you think that you aren't good enough right now, just stop. Think about those that you envy in a few years. I was smiling here, because I realized that I didn't need make-up on graduation night, that I was a beautiful soul, and you're a beautiful soul too...
What is something that you've come to realize over the years?
i thought i'd be fine today. I thought that I could go through the day, pretending nothing was different, it's just another Sunday. But, the fact of the matter is-I can't pretend that. I was only fooling myself by telling the voice in the back of my head that it's just another day. It's not. It's Mother's Day. And me, I feel like the worse mother in the world. I shouldn't have had to choose between the one I'm carrying safely in my womb and my two year old. I shouldn't...but I did. Because I thought that if I didn't, then he wouldn't love me, that he would have come after me and tried to order me to get rid of it-I just want to have both his love, because he's an amazing guy-and our child and my child...a family.
I feel like I'm a horrible mother because I had to choose. I want my son back, and I want this baby too. I'm not okay.
I'm really, really broken today. I love you son, I really really do. And if I could hold you and keep you with me, I would do it in a heartbeat. I know you know I love you, because you tell mamaw and papaw all the time that you love your mommy, and she loves you too.
I'm always going to look after you, no matter where I am...because even though you're only 2, I know I'm not that bad of a mother-
"What's a little chlorophyll between friends?Write about a tree or plant that holds an interesting story for you."
When I first saw this writing prompt, the only thing I could think about was a tree that my friend Chris and I use to climb as kids. It was located right off of the addition road, at the corner of his property. It was a fir tree, so naturally there was a little bit of sap. But from the time we were six or seven, we would climb the tree together and pretend we were spies of some ancient country-or lumberjacks. Corny, right? But we were both only children and we were imaginative. Chris and I had scraped our hands and knees on that tree more than any other activity we partook in.
When I think about Chris, though, all I can think about was that I didn't get to say goodbye to him. They chopped off the lower branches we use to climb up when we were 10-we didn't get to climb that tree much anymore. What I mean when I say I didn't get to say goodbye to him was that just after graduating high school, Chris passed away mysteriously. They finally ruled what it was that took him away-but I didn't get to go to the funeral. My husband, now ex, at the time-didn't see why it was a big deal that I wanted to go to the funeral. I couldn't explain to him that Chris had been my only friend for most of my youth...me having male friends was apparently absurd.
The last time I drove by his house, I had thought about stopping to say hello to his mother-but I didn't know whether or not she would remember me. She would've...I know that now, but at the time, I didn't want to bring up the fact that Chris was gone. I didn't want to have to explain why I wasn't at my childhood best friend's funeral...
But the memories of that tree will live with me until the day I die. I have a scar on my leg that reminds me of it every single day.
I was dubbed autumn faith by my parents. But most people have taken to calling me Fai, Fayth, or Faith. I was born on August 6th, 1988 in the Hoosier State, where the only thing more popular than corn is boredom. Graduated H.S. in 2007! I've gotten this xanga because I want to start to write again, so I'm hoping that this helps me a little bit. My favorite bands are ones that have a somewhat mellow, acoustic, piano sound to them...like The Fray, Augustana, Death Cab for Cutie, The Hush Sound...Sadly, I'm obsessed with quotes;; books, movies, photographs, the beach, deviantart, tattoos, singing, texting, facebook, singing, and thinking. I miss my little boy more than anything. If you want to know anything else, just ask!<33
