It's Everything Until It's Not.

Where to begin? How do you tell a group of invisible strangers that your life has been complete chaos for the past month that school has been out even though you spend 80% of your time in your PJ's which only goes to prove how unstable you are when 80% of your personal turmoil is self-inflicted? Or do you even tell the strangers because you can say almost anything to strangers because there's a high probability that you and they will never meet, saving you from the soul-crushing embarrassment of perhaps over-sharing, but people you know in real life on the other hand, hold all the power in the world just for being apart of your world and maybe you shouldn't share how depressed you are or how worked up you are over the Boy Thing's freckled hands or how sometimes you get really upset that your hair won't do that thing that Zooey Deschanel's does? Who are we kidding? Of course I'm going to tell the invisible strangers. Who else would I tell? The people who I know in real life and who care for me and who have on several occasions made it known to me that they would be there for me if I ever needed them in times of trouble and self-doubt? Oh wait, I think I'm confusing reality with my books again. I might have just accidentally described Augustus Waters. This rambling diatribe has only confirmed how much crazy accumulates in my brain when I go too long without blogging. Seriously, if I don't get this shit out somehow, I just might end up committed one day. Maybe I should make friends with the men carrying the butterfly nets and large needles now while I still have the chance at amiability.

I guess I just want to say that sometimes you overvalue your intellect and rationality. Sometimes you pride yourself on your ability to think clearly and one day God basically shits on that idea by throwing raging hormones and overbearing depressive thoughts at you while your back was turned. One day you're diligently studying for finals and preparing for Summer Stock auditions, perfectly happy and proud of being single and focusing on yourself and your writing, and next thing you know Boy Thing is invading your pre-sleep thoughts which had previously been reserved for books and Woody Allen. One day school is out and summer has come and how could you possibly feel anything less than beaming when the world looks like it's been reborn, and the next thing you know the colors are dulled and your body feels too heavy to lift out of bed in the morning and whenever you talk to people you have to consciously remind yourself to smile.

I forget that now matter how hard I may try, I will not always be in control of my life. Or at least all of it. What do I control? Certainly not how I feel. But I control what I do. And while I may not know how I'm going to feel tomorrow, I know that I control the choices I will make. I know I will wake up. I will eat my breakfast. And I will open a book. All, thankfully, by my own accord.

Also, maybe one day I will teach myself how to express my rambling thoughts without so many run-on sentences. It's a style choice, alright?

Things are happening.

I've given a lot of insincere apologies for not posting on this blog before but this is not one of them. I'm sorry I can't share the poorly formed and potentially thrilling thoughts that have been festering in my mind this past month. It's still a huge shock to me that people care about the things I have to say. And with each comment on a blog post or like of a youtube video, that shock becomes greater and more prevalent. Just know that I have been writing a lot for myself. It's therapeutic and good for me and gets me excited like watching a super awesome action movie trailer with lots of high-budget explosions. I haven't gone anywhere and there will be more stories to tell you all soon. Until then, DFTBA.

BEDA #8 (7? I dun know) - The Bold, Totes Pathetic Tale of Emily

[Post I wrote yesterday on the 7th which I'm only posting now not because I feel completely comfortable with it but if I didn't there'd be no post today. Whoop.]

Bad, panic-y, anxiety-filled day. I had a mild anxiety attack today at rehearsal. I know a lot of people suffer from bad panic attacks and I'm very fortunate that mine are more minuscule and can be controlled with fresh air and breathing, but they're still hella scary.

I'm in a production of The Secret Garden and today we worked on the largest dance number in the show (there aren't many). It's not that the dance moves are hard. And it's not that I can't do them. It's just when everyone is around me and we're all doing different things and the music is swelling, I freak out. The song has a very tribal feel to it; half the cast is chanting in Hindu and we're all doing this vaguely African dance. And there's a moment where everyone just screams at the top of their lungs. It overwhelms me. It frightens me. I close up and I can't move but I have to get away.

The worst part is always when I'm standing in a corner, breathing heavily, and someone comes up and asks me what's wrong.

"I have a headache," I say.

"Oh, I'm sorry." And they stand there a while because they don't know what to say. Then they leave, and I started breathing again.

It's stupid, right? That I'm terrified of a song? But it happens every time. I know that if I explained to the director what was happening and asked to be pulled from the number, she'd let me. I don't want to force myself to do something that's unhealthy, but I also don't want to give up too easily. I just have to be braver (ugh I sound so ridiculous) and try harder.

THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT KTHANXBYE.

BEDA #7 - Do we have any ships in sector 47?

I just wrote a very long post about anxiety but felt too nervous to share it and wrote this piece of crap instead. Here's a picture of a lighting fixture (or alarm thingy?) that looks like Admiral Ackbar.

BEDA #6 - All the Cool Kids Write Not Goodly.

Popping in for a quick post today. Honestly, I had a pretty nice day. I woke up, worked out, actually did some of the homework I was assigned over break, and sung along to The Book of Mormon soundtrack with my brother. There was, however, one moment of disturbance.

I feel like you may have already suspected this judging from BEDA posts 2-4, but my NaNo novel is in bad shape. Really bad shape. Like if novels had human forms, mine would be obese and have diabetes. And I thought I was okay with this. I realized that everything I wrote wasn't going to be perfect or even very good, but that wasn't the point. The point was simple: write and do nothing else. So that's what I did. And as I was finishing a 30-minute word sprint, I wrote... a bad sentence. Not just a not good sentence, I mean a truly terrible sentence. As I was writing it, I thought to myself, "Dear goodness, Emily. That is garbage. And not even amusing garbage, that's like bad fan fiction garbage. Don't write it, don't write it." But alas, I did. And of course... that is the sentence my brother read when I left my word document open.

I don't know if you've ever left a diary open or anything along those lines, but there's a moment of utter mortification and if you could control things with your mind, you would destroy all human existence in a burst of nuclear destruction and hellfire. But I am not Carrie, and all I could do was tell him how upset I was, and ask him to close the document. Of course, being my brother, he cared little about the novel and my feelings, so I know it shouldn't be a big deal to me and I should just shrug it off, but I can't.

And now I'm trying to work on my book but I'm too afraid to let myself be awful. JUST BE AWFUL, EMILY. AWFUL IS THE BEEEEEST. kseeyoutomorrowbye.

BEDA #5 - Nothing To Do But Smile

Hi again. I feel like a regretful 5-year-old who's come crawling back to his mother after a large tantrum seeking forgiveness. What I'm trying to say is, sorry I got all Secret Life of the Despondent Teenager on you there. I try to act like a rational person, I really do. It's like my mind is a pair of fraternal twins on a cartoon show--one is completely cool and collected while the other is a crazed psychopath. I'm hoping this is what all teenagers go through and I'm not actually severely damaged or anything.

So, I'm in a better mood today. And for absolutely no reason at all. Nothing about today was different from any other day. In fact, I spent most of the day in the same state of perpetual gloom that I've become accustomed to lo these many weeks. I woke up and I was grumpy.  I didn't write my novel and I was grumpy. I filmed a video and I pretended not to be grumpy. I worked out and showered and went to rehearsal. Then I came home. I sat down at the computer and logged onto blogger and, I don't know, I just felt better. Like, what was the point of being so down? Maybe if I cheered up a bit--changed perspectives or looked at things through a different light--everything would lighten up.

And now I'm writing and the world seems so not horrible I want to sing. Is that weird? Am I crazy? Who am I kidding, the answer is yes. But I can't help being crazy. And even if my crazy sometimes makes me feel blighted and broken, well, I guess I don't mind as long as I get to feel like this afterwards.

BEDA #4 - Why aren't I Ernest Hemingway?

You always hear about these writers who have just terrible lives. Pretty much every successful author from the 20th century was an alcoholic whose parents didn't hug him enough. But they were amazing writers. Even though their lives were complete crap, they wrote brilliantly. So by some kind of mysterious law, my writing should be so mind-bogglingly prodigious that you should be crying right now. But you're not. Because this is crap. 

I'm watching some cheesy romance movie right now with Anne Hathaway who's sporting this terrible English accent like she's in a community theater production of Mary Poppins. It's called One Day and the plot here is she's friend-zoning this overly-confident yet sensitive flirt and they keep using odd British slang. I can't even count the number of times they've said "have a wee" instead of piss. It's getting unbearable. But I'm going to keep watching it because I like the way they look at each other when the other's not looking and the way his voice trembles when he's phoning her and he just wants to tell her how much he misses her but can't because he knows they'd be hell together. 

I should be working on my NaNo novel. I'm only at 2,600 words when today's goal is like, what, 6,000? Shit I don't even know anymore. Oh and look at this, Anne's character has got bangs now. It's that just dashing? I'll work on the book after the movie.