Falling in Love With Beautiful Little Nothings

I never wanted to be one of those kids who took things for granted. My mom, dad, Nanny and pop pop have always reminded me to be grateful for the small things in life. I’ve grown to appreciate that those beautiful little nothings mean everything in the long run. Those are the things you’ll remember ten years from now. Those little nothings are the basis of all your future stories. Open your eyes wider to those nothings and learn to love them now, rather than ten years from now.

I say that I’m grateful all of the time, but when asked on the spot to pinpoint those very things, I’m dumbfounded. The truth is, there are far too many things that I am grateful for to simply put in a single list. I am grateful everyday that I wake up, thankful for another day. It wasn’t always this way. Anyone who knows me probably knows by now that I suffer from depression. It comes and goes as it pleases and more often than not overstays its welcome each and every time. When these demons are with me, I fold. You remember when as a kid you used to see how many times you can fold a piece of paper, before it wouldn’t go anymore? That’s kind of like life with depression is like. Each day, another thing becomes a little less enjoyable to you. All of the things that used to excite you become “eh,” until you fold into nothing. You can’t bend anymore. Numb.

Each time I come out of a bout of depression, I have a new found appreciation for life, and I fall in love with it all over again. I appreciate each day I have where my brain is clear of these demons and I take advantage of feeling alive and well. I used to love to tell my nanny that I was bored. Each time she would tell me, “you’re too young to be bored.” I never understood what she meant. I didn’t know boredom had an age limit. What I think she meant was that there is so much in this life that I haven’t seen or experienced yet, how can I possibly be bored? As usual, she was right. I am never bored. I am always exploring. That’s what we all came to do.

The more I thought about it, the more I was at a loss. There’s so many, but when someone is looking for an immediate response, all I could seem to mutter was, “uhhh... Family.” The more I thought on it, the more I realized I am grateful for so many small things that make up the bigger picture of my life:

-Although my circle is small, it is tight. I have a strong bond with every one of my friends and family members. Although we are often far apart, we find ways to manage to talk every day.

-My mom doesn’t get mad when I call her eight times in a day, to tell her every thought that popped into my head for the day. Distance makes the heart grow patient, I guess?

-I can always count on my dad to answer the phone mid-day, when I just need someone to listen to me rant about my day.

-My sister is patient with me when I ask her a thousand silly questions about the way life works. It’s a mutual understanding that older sisters are supposed to show the younger ones the ropes.

-Having friends who feel comfortable enough to walk in my room without knocking.

-Having friends who refer to your mother as “mom.”

-Having friends who come to your house and walk to the refrigerator, before saying anything else.

-Being a “human sponge,” I soak up every lesson that people have experienced around me, learning from their mistakes, and growing by observation.

-Every bad person who has waltzed through my life. I hold no grudges, however I am thankful for all that you taught me about patience, forgiveness, and life. Only few, but you have all helped me grow tremendously.

-The feeling you get on rainy days, where you feel like it’s perfectly acceptable to stay in your pajamas all day and have a movie marathon with your dog.

-No matter how long I am away at school, my dog is always excited to see me when I come back home.

-Being a writer and being able to sympathize and connect with all different kinds of people on a deeper level.

-As a writer, feeling every emotion ten times stronger than anyone else. -All of the opportunities I have gotten through my school. Including: interning with CollegeFashionista, USA TODAY College, and Tampa Tribune, meeting my friends, and getting to travel to Memphis for a leadership program.

-The ability to see/ hear. As a writer, this is so essential for me, and something I think many people take for granted.

-Good health so I can bike, hike, run and box as I please.

-All of my english teachers who have helped me better my craft throughout the year.

-Support. When someone tells me that they read something I’ve written whether it be a blog, poem, or an article- it means the world to me, because I bleed into everything I write.

-Being free. I have a wandering soul. I am lucky to have the freedom to study whatever I want, wherever I want. After school, I have the freedom to pursue any career I want and settle down in any state that I’d like, with whomever I choose. This is perhaps what I’m most grateful for.

Love more, not less. Love fully, not conditionally.

I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. Although I may appear to have a tough exterior, I am a total sucker for love. I think it’s a beautiful thing that the world seems to be lacking right now, and I am fascinated by the concept. What do I mean by “concept?” Love is one of those terms that there is no set definition, you can define it however you please. What is considered love to you, may not feel like love at all to the person next to you. Each person has their own set definition, each relationship has its own definition, and each person has their own philosophy when it comes to love.

Anyone who knows me knows that I swim in the beautiful words of Tyler Knott Greggson. Never before have I read anything quite like his poems. He has an incredible knack for making big things out of little nothings, and finding hope in what may seem to some like the darkest places. While he does receive criticism for always writing on love, he stands true to his belief: this world needs more love. Love more, not less. Love fully, not conditionally. I am always interested to see how love changes over generations, over years, and witnessing its different forms within different people.

After writing about the love between my Nanny and Pop Pop for Creative Writing, and a bad experience I had when love went awry for my Feature Writing class, I got to thinking about my own philosophy on love. I thought, if i’m still single, it must not be very good. But, after giving it some thought, I reconsidered. It just means that I’m not willing to settle for a love, just because I may be lonely. I’m abundant with love, it’s all around me.

It was the wise words of Marco from Starting Over Again that solidified my philosophy on love: “I can never unlove you. I’ll just love you in a different way now.” I think this is beautiful and so absolutely true. So many people when a relationship ends, tries to convince themselves that they hate the other person. When in reality, if you’ve felt love for them once, you will always feel love for them, it will just take different form.

For me, I have felt what I consider real love for a man twice in my life. Although they may not be in my life now as much as they used to be and things didn’t work out like we had planned, that doesn’t change how I feel about them. I fell in love, because they were great people, who I enjoyed being around. Just because things did not go to plan, doesn’t mean they’re not still great people. Just because things didn’t work out doesn’t mean I hate them. I will always wish them the best and I will always hope they have happiness in their lives and do great things. My love has just taken a different form.

When I fall in love, I fall in love wholeheartedly and purely. My love is pure, I want nothing in return from you. I don’t ask that you give me gifts, you give me surprises or anything of that manner. I don’t even ask that you love me in the same way that I love you. My love doesn’t come with terms and conditions. You can’t help who you fall in love with.

What is your philosophy?

The Beast

The scenario has grown all too familiar. I start to feel strange, almost out-of-body. I don't want to write, do I even like to write? I question. I don't want to go to class, why did I choose them this semester? I always chose the wrong ones, I blamed myself. I don't want to get out of bed. Why would I? The room is cold, my blankets are warm, and right now I'm wrapped tight like a cocoon, and as far as I'm concerned no negativity will bleed through this blanket. That may be because it's already all inside my head.

"The beast is back," I warn myself. My dukes are up, and once again I'm ready to fight. I've had my fists up on three separate occasions now, this routine has become a part of me.

As much as I try to fight it, and as much as I am confident that at certain times I can "beat the beast," I am also confident this is a darkness I will be plagued with my entire life. They try to tell you that your depression is not you, and you are not your depression, but they're wrong. Depression is me, and I am my depression. I have accepted that. I cannot recall of a time where I was not fighting the beast, so I'm convinced he's always lived inside of me.

My first bout of depression was when I was eight years old. The beast consumed me for two weeks, before I could shake my wrists from his blood clotting grip. Eleven years later, onto my most recent bout, lasted nine months, and was no doubt the scariest time of my entire life. I was convinced that I had become the beast. I wanted my life back. I wanted my mind back. I wanted the sound of my laugh back. I wanted the light back.

This is part of the reason I am so proud to have the waves tattooed on me. It serves as a constant reminder that the waves will come, and they will go, but they will be ever-present. A threat lurking in the shadows, waiting to make a return. Will this be the time they finally take me out? Send me tumbling back to shore, with no chance of coming up for air? Maybe, but I'll be ready to put up the fight of my life upon every single return. And that's why I can't dwell on the beast. I love the fight. It presents a challenge on my strength, and I have the opportunity to prove myself to the bastard every single time.

I've said it before, and I will say it again without shame, I owe my life to my best friends for having incredible levels of patience with me as I found myself again. My mom is an angel. No matter how many times I start to fall, she is always there with open arms, ready and willing to push me back up. She ensures I never sink or hit the ground, and I am (sometimes) thankful for that.

"I guess life is a bit like the roulette wheel- we all take our chances and it seems like most everyone lands on a bad place sooner or later."

So I got dealt a shitty hand. I can't dwell on that, because I can't trade them in, nor would I want to. This is my life, and I can't take it for granted, because I had to fight like hell for it.

For now, welcome back beast, this time you're not allowed to over-stay your welcome.

Dear Mom

It seems a tradition in our family is to have designated "sister days." These given days are exactly what they sound like, you dedicate the whole day to bonding with your sister, and no one else. Due to the fact that we live on opposite sides of the country, my sister and I thought it would be a good way to ensure that we never felt neglected when we get to visit each other. However, our mother and her sister stole our tradition and decided to expand from sister day to "two weeks with my sister." They went to France. My sister stayed working too many hours in California, and I stayed in Florida, attending class 8 hours every other day. They win.

The only other time my mom went on an international vacation, I was ten. I cried every day, because she took my sister, and I was stuck home with my dad. Every body knows that moms just "get" you better.

You never realize how much you talk to someone, until you don't talk to them. However, this time I didn't cry (maybe once). Just kidding. In an effort to grow up and become independent, I wrote her a blurb of all the funny things I had to tell her while she was gone.

Two weeks apart and my life becomes a sitcom waiting to be picked up by Tina Fey.

Besides the blurbs, I had time to reflect on how important she really is to me, and basically essential for my day-to-day life.

Dear Mom,

I’ve often heard people say, “you don’t know what you got til it’s gone,” but these two weeks you were on vacation, I definitely felt the void. Who authorized you to go to France, and leave me here?

You are the reason I am a writer today. You are the reason I spend hours on end researching, typing and cramping, rewriting and reworking articles. You are the reason I work so hard. You are the reason I am so in love with what I do everyday. Although you are the reason I am a writer, I somehow find myself at a loss for words, when I’m asked to describe what you mean to me.

You are my motivation, role model, mother, and mainly my best friend.

Mom, I’m in awe of you everyday. Your humor and “laugh at life attitude” automatically makes me feel safe when I’m around you. Your cackley laugh is so loud that I can hear it up the stairs, even when my door is shut, and it's contagious. You are the only person who knows how to make me feel better when I am upset. Your determination to get what you want when you want it, inspired Alex and I to do the same in our lives.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the stubborn Italian sass passed down from nanny to you to me.

You have saved my life countless times. When no one else had the patience to understand, you always did. From my eighth grade “boy who cried wolf” mid-life crisis, where I couldn’t decide what to do with my life, and you told me to pick up a pen. From my two week bouts of depression, where I couldn’t find a reason to get out of my bed, you gave me the hope. To my eight month bout of depression, you never gave up on me.

There is not a day that has passed that I am not grateful to have you in my life. Sometimes while walking around campus, I thank God you pushed me so hard during the application process, even though I swore I was too stupid to settle in school. When I see other people’s parents I feel so lucky I have you, and I feel sad for them that they don’t.

Thank you for accepting all of my phone calls, even though sometimes they can be up to eight per day. Thank you for constantly motivating me to run after my dreams, even though I quit the track team (twice). Thank you for still loving me when I ask you, "this or that" and when you say "this," I always pick "that." Thank you for loving me, even though at times I make that an extremely difficult task.

If and when they invent an award for the most patient mother dealing with a stubborn child, you will win for sure.

Thank you for never losing faith in me. I hope I continue to make you proud, and less stressed. But, we'll see how that goes.

Mom, please stop going on vacation without me.

Love,

Brianna

Negatives

Today in creative writing, our prompt was to write about the negatives. Whether it be in a single person, or all of your pet peeves wrapped up into one horrendous person. I've never realized how fun, and how liberating it was to smother someone's flaws in ink, to serve as a constant reminder and warning to yourself for future reference.

Also, the people who ask you never to write about them are often the most fun to write about:

You're welcome.

Sorry, I don't keep promises, my fingers are stitched crossed.


You never call,
like I wish you would
only complain,
and come home late,
like a fool usually would.

You never surprise me,
like I hoped that you would
only make excuses,
and other plans
that never include me.

You never dress up,
only mess up
no shirt or suit,
or even clothes that fit you.


You never drink coffee,
and ask me how my day has been
only a beer,
paired with a belch,
poised as a reply.

You never read the paper,
or a book with more than three chapters
only the backs of the box
that house your video game obsession.

You’ve never met my friends,
I don’t think I’d let you.
You’ve never met my dad,
I don’t think he’d like you.

I never loved you,
like you wish that I would have,
like I told you
I could have.

Involuntary Disconnect

This week, I learned a very important life lesson, against my own will.

I’ve been wanting to conduct a social experiment for awhile now, where I surgically remove my cell phone from my retinas, and occasionally, my asshole, in order to reconnect with my surroundings. To be fully present.

Of course, excuses are abundant, and sometimes motivation is not. However, sometimes fate happens, and gives you the kick in the ass you need to get things done, and push your boundaries.

This weekend, my phone suffered a tragic accident at the Dallas Bull, and had no chance of revival. I’d like to say there was a cool story behind it, like it flew out of my hand while I was riding the mechanical bull, but it didn’t, just dropped. I only have a purple bruise to show for the mechanical bull, but that’s another story that I’ll save for another life.

In the slow motion replay of my phone gracefully proving that gravity exists, I thought I would be distraught not having my phone. I was never disconnected, I always had my shield to protect me from small talk and awkward encounters. Now, i’d have to talk about the weather and make eye contact? What the hell kind of torture was my fate offering?

Instead of being angry about lacking the means for communication, I am more aware. I am in a sense liberated. No one is bothering me to ask where I am, or what I’m doing. No one is harassing me that I missed a deadline, or I forgot to call them back, or meet them for lunch. Instead, I am getting e-mails, and hand written notes left on my desk, or people knocking on my door, and I love it.

On the way to class, I was able to breathe a little easier. I looked around and was amazed by how robotic our strides appeared. I saw about 50 people, each walking different directions, headed to different classes, but all walking the same pose. Eyes down, walking crooked lines, many into my path (ugh! No really, it’s fine. I love it.) Many apologized, but some gave me death eyes, passing the blame of the traffic bump on me. I accept.

What I noticed: the sky is extremely blue today, which will later blend into a cotton candy sky that tempts me to go buy actual cotton candy. But, I’m on a diet, and you can’t bite the sky. More flowers were planted on campus for this semester. Not all of the palm trees are brown and dying a slow death. The fashion on campus is really diverse, and really inspiring. I never realized how nice everyone dressed. (The conceited part of my brain only really cares about my own closet, but I can appreciate it.) No one actually wants to talk to me to my face without minor stutters, losing their train of thought, or breaking eye contact. That’s fine with me. For once I can proudly say, “It’s not me, it’s you,” and mean it.

I’m more attentive to the smaller things, that often get overlooked when my eyes are inside my screen, rather than in my head. I like not having to answer, “what’s up?” three to five times a day. I live a very simple life, the answer is more often than not, “not much,” or “laying on my couch with Netflix and cookies.” Instead, I am making eye contact and small talk. I am persistent with people making conversation with me, because they can’t text me, and I’m glad for that.

Although my screen is shattered, I have fifteen unread text messages and two missed calls. I can’t see who they’re from, but I have a very strong feeling I’m not missing much. (no offense if you sent me a message, I’m very bummed I can’t see your text.)

It’s been three days, and my new phone isn’t supposed to come for another week.

For right now, I’m enjoying the silence and gaining my eyes and a little bit of my sanity back. I’m re-exploring my surroundings. I was so connected, that this little bit of disconnect feels like a welcome relief. This involuntary lesson was nice, but next time, hopefully it will be as a result of my own devices (no pun intended.)

I encourage you to take a break and look around, or maybe talk to me for the time being. Our campus is really pretty, and I really like having conversations about anything besides the weather or politics.

Depression

Behind each work of art there’s a tortured soul, or a broken heart. Behind every tattoo there’s a story. When I get a work of art permanently printed on my body, I am not ashamed of that story, and I want to share it with the world.

I have always been fascinated with the idea of waves as a metaphor for life. Life is hard, and there’s no doubt about that. I think we will always be in the water. When things are good, we float, and the waves pass through us without much thought or struggle. On the other-hand, when things are bad, life sends us tumbling back to shore. With the waves over our head, we often find it difficult to get our head back above the water to catch our breath. The waves keep coming. They show no mercy.

I’ve been in the water for nearly my whole life. The waves will comes, and they will be rough. I find myself in an awkward tumble back to shore. Only in this scenario, the waves keep coming, and they do not break. I’m somersaulting underwater back to shore, and I cannot catch my breath. I fear I’ll lose my bathing suit, but that’s the least of my concerns. I fear I can only hold my breath for a little bit longer. The fight gets harder, and the breaths more desperate with each passing second.

Then, with no rhyme or reason, the waters calm. I cough up the water that threatened to drown my lungs, still tasting the salt, which will always remind me of the inevitable. They’ll be back.

I’m no Olympic swimmer, but I’ll be damned, if I give into the tides without putting up the fight of my life.

I think the waves on my foot serve as a beautiful reminder of the fight. Even though the cycle will never fully disappear, it reminds me that the waters will calm again. Now, when the waves linger over my head like a bad nightmare, I get ready to swim like hell and ride that wave back to shore, before it takes me in itself. These waves are a part of me. They will never subside, but as time goes on, I’m teaching myself how to float, to drift over these demons.

Often times people don’t know how to help a loved one struggling with their inner demons. If you have never dealt with depression yourself, it makes sense that you don’t understand. One can never truly empathize, until they experience the situation first-hand. The first thing you need to know is that the age-old words of wisdom including “just cheer up,” “get over it,” and “time heals all wounds” don’t apply here.

Depression is not something one can control and depression is not something you can explain. You can have it all, or you can have nothing at all. Depression doesn’t discriminate. Your whole body shuts down, and your mind is working against you. As a result, your whole world collapses, and you can’t even imagine how to pick up the pieces.

Happiness is only a conscious choice when your body physically has the ability to be happy. Sometimes, you’re in a fight against yourself, and sometimes, that’s the worst battle of all.

Sometimes the only thing you can do for someone struggling from depression is to be there for them. Even if they’re not willing or able to talk, stay on the phone, sit in the room, and keep your arm around them. Just having someone there makes the load a whole lot easier. Loving someone may not be enough to pull someone out of their depression, but it’s important that you do it anyway.