If I never saw the sun again

There are places in this world...where the sky hangs low and the clouds betray me, where the darkness grabs me in its embrace and refuses to let me go. These are the places where I spend my darkest hours, in mind, even if not in body. Sometimes the sun basks me in light and energy, but I am blind to it and walk in my own night. Sometimes I walk in the night, through the fingers of the lonely street lamps trying soothe the pain of the wanderer's walk, with nothing but sunlight inside me.
Sometimes I feel neither of these, and merely sit to think. Today is one of those days. There isn't any light here, no energy, but there also is not any of the darkness. Today, I just...am.

When I was a child around the age of 8, I have a distinct memory of sitting in my father's car, during one of our routine scenic drives, speaking with him on the subject of love.
Now, it was not uncommon for us to talk about love, because I was always curious about what a father's love entailed. Would he die for me? Had he loved me since before I was born? Before he was born? Would he love me if I killed a man? If I died for my sins?

This day, however, was different. I asked him a question that had been boiling inside me for some time, that I had been too afraid to ask.
"Dad," I asked, "would you love me if I was a lesbian?"
The thirty seconds that it took for him to speak were the longest of my life. I remember sitting there, a terrified little girl, grasping the edges of my seat with my sweaty hands, praying to God that I would never have to find out if the answer he gave me would turn out to be true or not. I never wanted to put it to the test.  Never. Never. Never.
A decade later, I sit at my netbook, blogging about this memory, a proud but still closeted bisexual. My father doesn't know about my sexual orientation and I do not plan on telling him until I am fully grown and completely independent. The last time I saw him, at my high school graduation, it was my first time seeing him in almost a year, and I wondered if underneath his proud smile and receding hairline there was that unfailing fatherly love that I had so dearly loved to test as a child. 

My father and I had a rift, nearly five years ago, and I refused to keep seeing him. He wanted to sweep everything under the rug, to just be father and daughter again and not speak of all the clouds hanging over us. However, too many things had happened since those car rides through the countryside, and my heart was too broken to continue.
In recent times, I have made the decision to let my father back into my life and to stay actively in contact with him. I know that our relationship will never be able to be what it used to be, but not because of him. Purely because of me.
No matter what though, no matter where my heart goes or who I love, I will never forget that day, when I asked my dad,"Would you love me if I was a lesbian?"
He waited 30 seconds, so that he could find a safe place to stop in the road. After the car wasn't moving, he turned to look me in the eye, and in a steady, firm voice, he said, "Yes."


I don't understand people who claim that we choose our own sexual orientation. Why would I choose to be ridiculed and shunned for loving differently? It's true, I could deny feelings that I have for women, and only indulge those towards men, but as long as those feelings existed, I would still be bisexual. I feel how I feel; this isn't something that can be helped or changed. And I really don't need any helping or changing, because there is nothing wrong with me.
The way I see it, love is love. Any type of love is better than hatred, bigotry, and ignorance.  Whether it be the unconditional love of a father, or the loving devotion of another woman. If you deny any type of love, then what are you really supporting?

I'm beginning to think this disease is incurable.

Depressed tonight. Shocking, isn't it? It's just friend stuff again. I hate feeling as though I have to fight just to be loved, and I know they would die if I ever told them I felt that way. But it never goes away. I have deep set abandonment issues. And trust issues. And no-one-will-ever-truly-love-me issues. It makes me be unfair to people.
As sad as I am right now, I'm consoling myself with the knowledge that I had a lovely day today and am leaving for Disney the day after tomorrow, so things can't really be as bad as they seem.
But as bright as the future appears, I know that my depression isn't going anywhere. It will lurk, forever at the corners of my eyes, trying to tint everything I see. Guess I need a pair of rose-tinted glasses to banish those clouds away.
Today I went to Goodwill to do some last minute vacation shopping. All I wanted was a pair of sandals. I ended up coming home with lingerie (which I am NOT picturing),

 a faux leather bag (the brand is Relic) with a design engraved onto it,

 a fairy documentary (directed by John Walker),

 and a fairy sticker book.

 My friends thought that the blackberry fairy reminded them of me the most. I guess I can see it, but I don't think that I sleep that much.

Inside the fairy sticker book are four landscapes, one for each of the four seasons. This is the landscape for Spring.
I know you're probably wondering, what happened to upset me so. If it was my right to tell you, I would. But as it's not my story to tell, and I'm not one to gossip, I'm just going to let you ponder. Make up a story in your head. It's probably a lot better than the real one.

Keeping my inner child satiated

Today was difficult. Not emotionally, merely physically. Last night I stayed at a friend's house with a few other girls, and one of them forgot their sleeping pills, and therefore was awake all night. Because she and I are such close friends, I stayed up with her, much to the chagrin of everyone else there. I think that I eventually drifted into slumber around 6 or 7 in the morning. 

I woke up at ten, it could have been worse. After that, however, I had to go out to the Secretary of State and renew my driving permit, even though I despise driving and ultimately want to end up living in a city where I don't have to. The wait was incredibly long, and I didn't have any food in my stomach, due to the fact that I waited so long to wake up. I eventually ate at 2, and I can honestly tell you that that meal of a bagel with butter and dusted with garlic dipped in spaghetti sauce was the best concoction in the entire world to me at that moment. I mean, I like it anyways, because there's garlic and spaghetti sauce, but you know what I mean. 

After lunch, I was sent to the laundromat to put in a load, and once I arrived home from there I was promptly put to work cleaning. And once the cleaning was done, I went and sat through a play, written by local playwright Scott Philips, so I got to end my tiring day with a nice laugh. Thanks Scott. :)

 Out in my yard, I have an array of flowers blooming. As a surprise for Leah, I'm pressing some of them for her. (It's okay, she doesn't read this blog. She doesn't even have internet!)

 Here are her lovely flowers again. I'm going to steal a few other blossoms from a well-endowed tree next door, to add to this collection. I'll keep you updated on my scavenging!

 And here's an "artsy" closeup...aka I have a crappy camera, but I love it anyway.

 I got a large box of old Christmas stuff from my friend, Ashley, last night. This beautiful star garland was in it. It reminds me of how in kindergarten and first grade, they would make halos out of this stuff and sell them to us for fifty cents each. I remember, I was always so jealous of all of the lucky girls who wore them so proudly. My family wasn't in the best of financial straits back then, so every penny counted, and I couldn't be spared the money to buy one. Needless to say, even at age 18, when I found this garland, I was completely overjoyed, as well as inspired.

 I also found four random boxes, and due to my boredom decided to write random things on the tops of them. Pardon my language on this one. I just had to.

 Random hipster thing. I guess. That's why I added the heart. I can't deny that I'm a little bit of a hipster, and though the word carries a lot of negative connotation, I don't think that it's a bad thing.

 This is the point where you get to decide whether this box is being shockingly devious or plainly boring.

 Not the truth, but I couldn't think of anything good for this one.

 Here they are, all jumbled together. Don't they just look like they're organizing a revolution?

 Tada! I made my star halo! It makes my inner child very happy.

Here I am, in my lovely halo. For some reason, I always make that face when I take pictures of myself. I'm not entirely sure why.

Rain.

Today, again, a man let me down. This time, however, I don't believe it was his fault, nor the fault of his gender. While getting together with an old friend, I was faced with the reality that I no longer have any place in his life. I am an anachronism, a part of the past which should remain in the past, along with all of my nonsensical musings and his teasings of asking "How does your garden grow?"
But since returning home, I've been wondering the answer to that question. Not just because I went through a rash of teasings centered around "mistress Mari, quite contrary," but because I haven't felt much like blossoming in the past few weeks. How does my garden grow? Where have all of my flowers gone? Why did the sunshine fade away?
More so, why so many weeds have to grow between people? Why must there constantly be things keeping us apart?

My idols are dead and my enemies are in power. It's a quote from Dangerous Minds, I looked it up. This is the state of mind I constantly feel like I'm in. Especially living in a town like this, where there aren't a lot of flowers in my garden, so very few people nestled in my aching, bloody heart.
As if the sky itself felt pity for me, it immediately began to rain as I arrived home. Nothing more precious, no more of a saving grace could have revived me so. I took pictures out of my windows, just so that I could share the beauty of my sanctuary with you.

 Raindrops dancing with the lilac bush....

 clinging to the windows....

and hiding behind the curtains.
The rain will always save me, and bring me back from whatever peril.Without it, I would not live.
My wanderlust consumes me now. I want to see the rain from every point of view. Is the rain in Istanbul any different than rain in Portugal? Someday I will have seen the rain from every view, in every country in the world. Until then, until then....

Diary thoughts.

Once again, my knight in shining armor was a fraud. The boy who seemed like such a golden-hearted gentleman turned out to be nothing more than a shallow whore. It seems like it has been this way with every man that I have ever had feelings for. They have all had a fatal flaw, that sends my affection spiraling into the depths, burning to oblivion.
One told lies to my best friend, because he was jealous of my connection with her. Another cheated on me with numerous other women, because he didn't feel like waiting to see me. Yet another one dumped me for my virginity, which I offered to lose. Even one more screamed at me, calling me names and tearing me apart, simply because he couldn't stand to see others happy when he was not. One of them liked to hit me. Another simply found someone else and left me to discover for myself.
High school sucks. I cannot wait to make it to college and find new scores of men, freshly matured and ready for something honest, real, and healthy. I just feel like escaping these people would be escaping the hell in which I have lived for so many years.
I can't even wait to think about men, or the problems they bring with them. I need to get a license and a car first. I need to piece my life together before I add extra components to it.

I am a torn and bloody soul. This I have always known. Some people are born with true strength, the power to conquer anything and everything without half a thought. They barely shed a tear, and bear every burden without a smudge of bitterness or anger. I am not one of these people. I have to fight my way through every setback, battling my mingling emotions of mounting terror at the prospect of failure, as well as disappointment in my self. However, for every person, there is an Eden, a heaven on earth that calls their name. Whether it is a house with a white picket fence and two children, or the snow-tipped peaks of the Himalayas, it will call them until they see find it. Every man has a paradise. For every person, there is a Utopia.