“Have you never had a boyfriend?”
I shake my head.
“What?… How?!”
I smile. Shrug.
“That’s… baffling.”
(And the word “baffling” was said with so much emotion I don’t think I’ll ever hear it again without thinking of that moment.)
~~~
Ella
Song Quote:
You warm me to my core and you left me wanting more. -An Act of Kindness, Bastille
The cover of the scrapbook. Poet, Bastille
Scrapbooking is not something new or something unheard of, but it is something that I think is underappreciated. It gives validation to my belief that there is meaning behind everything! That every candy wrapper can have sentimental value and every picture has a story that deserves to be written next to it. As you may have noticed, I like recording things and having written reminders of my thoughts and feelings (more on this topic in my upcoming posts – see Posting Schedule), and therefore my having started another scrapbook is not exactly surprising. I’m still going to tell you all about it though.
1. At work the other day I needed a nametag for an event, and someone showed me how to use the label maker. Yes, they have a label maker. Yes, they are the coolest people ever. I printed my name inside a candy wrapper frame a couple of times, and one of them is now on the back of my scrapbook. I’m not even going to try to cover up the fact that the label maker totally made my day and that maybe the single best thing in my room right now is my sticker label.
2. I stayed over at a friend’s house in a another city, and we bought frozen yogurt (because, um, what I do with my friends is eat frozen yogurt… I promise we do do other things too. Like laugh at “do do”). I saved the stamp card I got and made sure not to lose it, and it’s now in my scrapbook.
3. Every now and then, late in the evening, when I’m in a certain mood, I let myself float through YouTube for longer than recommended by, well, anyone. On one such night I lost myself in a flurry of commencement speeches, and I landed on one given by John Green. It is by far the best speech I have ever heard. I transcribed large sections of it, and it is now written in my scrapbook.
Part I
Part II
Part III
These three examples demonstrate what my scrapbook means to me. The things in there might not be the most beautiful or the most impressive, but to me they mean something. Every time I see my name on the back of it I will remember my (slightly) out of proportion excitement, and how sweet everyone at work was that day. Every time I see the frozen yogurt card I’ll remember hanging out with my friend and her boyfriend in a park playing Heads Up in the dark. Every time I read the highlights of the speech I will remember to let myself be inspired (though I have something against that word) and remember all of the people I have read it aloud to.
And of course, let us not forget, that my scrapbook is also full of collages and song quotes. Because, well… it’s me. Way back when, during what feels like forever ago, I wrote a whole post* about how I want to fall in love and it all had to do with listening to Ed Sheeran’s love songs. Without further ado, the love page of my scrapbook:
Thinking Out Loud + Afire Love
*clears throat* Okay, back to business. I’m simply writing this to encourage you to maybe give scrapbooking a try and to share with you what I have been busy doing lately. Mission accomplished, right? Okay, fine, I’ll answer that myself: right!
Yours truly,
And babbling because that’s the mood I’m in right now,
Ella
Song Quote:
Where you invest your love, you invest your life. –Awake My Soul, Mumford & Sons
P.s. Tweet me with your examples of #RainbowArea!
*The post is called When You Wake Me Up
I didn’t even realize this is my 50th post! That’s insane! Please leave me a comment with the words (fifty, fiftieth, five, zero) or the number 50 in it. Let’s see what you can come up with :) get creative!
Where I call home.
The time has come for me to tell you all the truth. You deserve to know who I really am. My name is Isabella Petracca.
I haven’t been fully honest. I’ve kept something huge from you: I had a brother. It’s awful; I automatically say “had” when it’s really “have”. He’s not dead or anything. It’s just that my family doesn’t talk about him anymore. Not since…
Not since he was convicted for meddling in drugs. This was a couple years ago now, when he was in his early twenties and living away from home. I’ve always looked up to him, he was my role model ever since I was a baby. He was my big brother, and I thought he walked on the stars and the moon was his personal spotlight. When he was picked up by the police my family cut off all contact with him, and I was too scared to try and contact him on my own and go against my family. Now we just ignore his existence. I’ve been ashamed of what he did, and I’ve spent all this time feeling guilty, as though I played a part in his downfall. I know it’s preposterous, but that’s how I felt.
There’s a reason I’m telling you about this now. Because I don’t feel like that anymore. I was visiting family in the States (I live in Greece, in my dad’s hometown, and my mom is American) and I went with my grandparents to distribute food for the needy. My main worry was that I would get tired in the middle, and have a horrible headache and suffer because of the noise of the city. But then, I was handing sandwiches to homeless people, and they were joking and laughing and making everyone around us crack up. I realized something: if these homeless people are not ashamed of their lives and they are not embarrassed to tell people the truth about what they have gone through, there is absolutely no reason I should be ashamed of something my brother has done.
I can tell the world about my brother now, and walk with my head held high and the truth ringing in all of our ears. I have a brother. Maybe he doesn’t walk on the stars or have a close-knit relationship with the moon, but that doesn’t mean he’s not my family. The time has come for a change.
Thank you for listening to the naked truth of my life.
Yours truly,
Ella (short for Isabella)
Song quote:
All of your flaws and all my flaws, they may have been exhumed, you’ll see that we need them to be who we are, without them we’d be doomed. –Flaws, Bastille
P.s. Now click on this:
(Yay for 40th post!)
IMPORTANT MESSAGE:
20.4.14: Hi everyone, I just wanted to make sure that it’s perfectly clear that this post was an April Fools Day joke! I am not Greek, I do not live in Greece, my name is not Isabella Petracca, I have never had a brother, I didn’t go with my grandparents to feed homeless people (though that’s a nice thing to do)… It’s all made up! I came up with it with a bunch of friends as a joke, but I figured that as it’s been so long since April Fools that it wouldn’t occur to anyone that it’s a prank. It is!
Well, have a nice day!
My week, summed up very well.
Hey, wait up! Time, where are you? This isn’t fun, I don’t like hide-and-seek. Or tag. Or whatever this is in game form. There’s so much going on, I just have to keep up and keep my head from rolling onto the floor and out the door (and under a bush, until I turn into mush).
I’ll start from the beginning, shall I?
My cousins are visiting. It’s great to see them, it truly is, it’s just time consuming. Over the weekend we went to our second cousins where I played pool for the first time (!) and other fun games fit for our old age. I loved it, though my head hurt me a ton, and I didn’t have time to study for my tests. And…. I was gonna say something…. I swear I knew what I wanted to say…. Shoot. It’s gone. I’m trying to think back to what happened at the beginning of the week. It’s been erased from my memory, apparently.
Oh! Now I remember. We started the day (at school) with triple biology (always a blast), and then we found out about a nasty rumor. For those of you that have been following diligently, you know that I have already started my driving process (see Colloquial Miss if you want to catch up on that lovely experience). Well, after getting your green slip/form (where they check your eyesight and take the picture for your license), you need to get it signed by your doctor before you can go take your theory test. The theory test is basically made up of thirty multiple choice questions that test your knowledge of the road signs, laws, right of way, and all of those de facto important things. Up until now, you would study for it independently then arrive at the government ministry and take your test. You’re allowed to get up to four questions wrong (meaning if four are wrong, you’ve passed).
Okay, there’s your background information. What we found out was that as of the first of January, they’re changing the whole system. Or in other words, we all need to take our theory tests by January first. A bunch of us, including myself (us being my friends and schoolmates), were already in the process of studying for the theory test. Using either books or online websites, you spend some time learning what each thing means and what the rules are, then you test yourself over and over. Time consuming (keep track of how many times I need to use that phrase to describe my week and I’ll give you a sticker), but not too hard. Out of four chapters, I had finished the first.
We all kind of stressed out, until my good friend J had the idea to call the higher ups and ask them if the rumor is true before we all vomit up anxiety on our textbooks. I apologize for crudeness. She did, and they told her that they don’t know anything, and when prompted for information on who does, they replied that they do. But they “won’t know anything until two days before the system changes”. Essentially, they can’t confirm the rumors but the system will be changing. That was bad thing number one.
All day long, even before the rumor surfaced, I had a head splitting headache. Is that a thing? Can I say that? Too late. It was horrible. Sometimes it’s manageable, but that day I just put my head down in class and tried to block the world out. It hurt so much, I don’t know how to describe it (oh wait, I kind of did. Check out Shining, Elegant, Weightless White). Usually, no matter how bad I feel, I can put up a pretty good front, to the point where people don’t know I’m sick until I tell them. But this time my teachers were asking if I was okay, and I wanted to cry. We also found out that our teachers had organized to take us to go see snow the following day as a fun stress-reliever (it doesn’t snow in our area), and I knew that I couldn’t go because busses make me really sick.
I got home, and studied through the pain because I had no other choice, going back and forth between theory and a year-and-a-half’s worth of biology material. Later in the day I went to physical therapy, where my physical therapist/study buddy and I went over some of my biology terms, and then we talked about his cute kids for the remainder of the time. Then I got home, and guess what I did? I studied! Shocker!
Wow I just realized I can’t tell you about everything that has happened because it would take me until next week to write all of that, and I don’t have that kind of time. Okay, fast-forward:
1) My sister collapsed and I had to take care of her until my parents could get home and figure out whether she needed to be taken to the emergency room or not (she was in the end, and then sent home). That’s what I did on the day my friends went to play in the snow.
2) The biology test went all right for me though it was pretty hard, but it went badly for most of my friends, which was very upsetting.
3) I had to go to the doctor to get my form signed, and that took a long time that should have been spent studying for theory. The whole process was time consuming.
4) I was told I need to go on another upsetting diet (my friend D said I should call it a “regime”), this time dairy-free, gluten-free and no processed foods. If anyone feels it’s important, I can explain why at some point. Mainly, it sucks and I hate being sick. It’s so time consuming having to prepare food every time I want to eat something.
5) My parents bought me a new phone, and I chipped in for about a third of the cost, but it doesn’t work. I went to six stores to try to set it up, then my dad went to five stores to try to set up (time consuming), and he finally found someone who knows how to do it for the added cost of over 100 dollars… Meanwhile, all of the back and forth has messed up my old phone (a cute little red Sony Ericson), so it’s not really working. Hopefully next week my phone will be set, and then I’ll be able to post from my phone! Ah! Though I probably won’t, let’s be realistic here. No mobile version is better than the real thing.
6) That very bad headache? Still here. It won’t go away, I think it’s going to drive me insane if it doesn’t let up soon.
7) Hey my lucky number! Ooh, which reminds me, I have to tell you about the theory test itself! Man this post is really long.
Anyway, today J and I got a ride with her dad and went to take our test. First off, the office was in a deserted building, on the second floor, on a landing outside the building, past a bunch of workshops where men with masks on and working heavy machinery turned to stare at us as we walked past. Briskly. Then we got to office, opened the door and a guard jumped up and told us to put our things on the desk while he ran his metal detector over us and stuffed our things into lockers. A pleasant welcome if I’ve ever seen one. Then we were told to sit, and after being sent back to put more of our things into our lockers (including my scarf, because it’s all the rage to hide answers in them nowadays), they finally called my name. J wished me luck, and I went up to the desk. They had me sign some forms, then told me to look at the camera. I suddenly got worried, because I did not want my license picture to be taken then, seeing as I already worked so hard to get a nice one of my green slip. I asked the lady what the picture was for, and said that I had already taken mine, and she went, “You’re pretty, what do you care?” *clears throat* I insisted, and then she told me it was for “identification purposes”. Fine. I smiled. By the way, I saw the picture later and it was not pretty.
Then she sent me into the room, where I was lead to cubicle number 7 (hence the memory trigger) and shown how to work the test. It’s on the computer; I was basically told how to use a mouse to press the “next” and “finish” buttons. J was seated next to me at cubicle 8. I took my time, answered everything very carefully, then went back and counted up how many I thought might be wrong. I got to three, so I decided to go for it and pressed the finish button. I came out, waited with J on the waiting chairs (that’s their official name) and then the same lady who thinks I’m pretty came up with both of our forms and went, “One of you passed, one of you failed”. Such a kind, tactful lady. Now, J and I had discussed what might happen if we went together, and we both came to the conclusion that one of was going to pass and the other one wasn’t, because it’s just been that kind of week. It was so bad that our friend D sent us both a text saying (after I updated them about the new regime), that she doesn’t know what to say but she thinks “we should commune and create a cry session for one of the worst weeks in 2013”. J said, “Spot on”, and I declared that “I concur. It’s a date.” J said she would laugh if she fails, I warned her and her dad that I would cry.
So when she said that to J and I, we looked at each other and turned to our forms, and she started laughing before I had time to process the little word on my form that let me know that I passed. The second we made eye contact we started laughing hysterically because we were right, and then my favorite lady asked us to leave because we were being disruptive. We grabbed out things and headed for the door, where the guard stopped us and gave us his advice on when to come again and what website to use to study. He was actually sweet in the end, surprisingly. We quickly walked into the building from the landing and left.
I’m glad we’re such good friends that the situation wasn’t awkward. I was sad for her, she was happy for me, and mainly we were both exhausted, tired and angry about what a bad week it’s been. Luckily everyone is going there to take the test in the next few days, so she has plenty of opportunities to go again with someone, and then I’m sure she’ll pass because she did eleven practice tests the night before and passed all of them, so it was really just a fluke that she didn’t pass the real one. And I know she’s reading this, and laughing. Go get some food and stop doing more practice tests.
I was so tired last night that when I wrote my checklist for this morning, this is what came out:
– Green slip
– Wallot
– Phone + id
– Wallet
Yeah, it was that bad. I showed it to my dad this morning and he laughed at me. Understandably, I suppose. Ooh, and I scheduled my first driving lesson for next week!
Wow, I’m at two thousand words. Maybe it’s time to stop talking. Maybe I should edit some of this stuff out. But we all know I won’t.
Yours truly,
Ella
Song Quote:
We have paved these streets with moments of defeat. –These Streets, Bastille
P.s. Who got the meatball reference?
This is what my friend and I will be doing when we get together in our eighties. Just saying.
“Drumroll please!” I exclaim, as my hand nears the pile of little yellow cards. The drumming begins, and I lift one card high into the air. The drumming stops abruptly as I bring the card to eye level. “Advance to Go, collect 200.” She sighs, I laugh, pieces move and the game continues.
Yes, I was playing Monopoly. The friend I was playing with has been my friend since before I was born. Let me explain.
Once upon a time, when my mother was around 11 years old, she met a girl named Monica, and the two became friends. Naturally, Monica’s parents and my mother’s parents became friendly too. When they were both in their twenties and individually moved away from home, they ended up in the same city and moved in together. My mother married my father, and soon after Monica got married too. Both couples moved to Boston, and started bringing children to the world.
McLaughin (my friend- it’s a nickname that stuck) and I are both the youngest children. When McLaughing was one month old, and my mother was eight months pregnant, Monica and my mom met for coffee. They put McLaughin’s teeny weeny infant hand on my mom’s belly, where I was happily residing, and thus, we shared our first high five (of many) before I was born.
Seven and a bit years later, both families ended up across the world, a forty five minute drive from one another. McLaughin and I have always gotten along very well whenever our families met up (it’s harder to do than you would think, with 11 different schedules between us). Then, we got to an age where we didn’t mind being away from home for a bit, so I would find my way to their house for a weekend here and there, and vice versa. Then we got cellphones, and I talked to McLaughin at least once a week, walking to and from dance class.
Eventually, McLaughin and I were the ones pulling for the families to get together (though of course our moms were very happy about it too, it’s just we’re the ones that push for it). Whenever we see each other we have the greatest time. It’s laughter and fun, compassion and friendship, ridiculousness and comfort. And some more laughter.
This weekend, they come over for 28 hours (I only counted now, mind you). It was so much fun having them over, I absolutely loved it. It was horrible and annoying that I felt sick and exhausted the whole time, but McLaughin’s general kindness made it all a little easier to deal with. My grandfather is with us too, and of course he’s known Monica since she was a little girl, and he sees McLaughin whenever she comes to visit me. My grandfather is a sweetie-pie, and he was asking my mom what he could do to make Monica happy, so my mom told him to tell a lot of jokes- he complied.
Towards the end their stay, McLaughin and I started playing Monopoly. We created our own set of traditions for the game, which include buying everything we land on, hugging when one of us gets snake eyes, drumming the table when Chance or Community Chest are called for, and this thing called “race”. The rest of the house was quiet because everyone was in the living room reading, and we were next door in the kitchen hogging the table, so whenever something exciting happened they were all a part of it (willingly or not) because they over-heard it all. I don’t know about everyone else, but McLaughin and I enjoyed that. McLaughin has the ability to simply fill me with joy, give me energy and put me in a good mood.
They stayed late to have some dinner with us and I pulled out my camera and took a bunch of pictures. I suddenly remembered I was supposed to go to a surprise good bye party for a friend, so McLaughin, my sister and I rushed up to my room and rummaged through my closet, choosing an outfit and sending me to the bathroom to change. The rest of the family was shouting at us cause we were holding everyone up, but it wouldn’t be a traditional get-together if that didn’t happen at some point to someone in the family, so it was A-Okay.
I hugged everyone goodbye, and we all rushed out the door. I was late for the party, but it was the absolute best reason for being late- I was busy having a good time with some good friends. A friendship like ours will never fade, it will never stop being this beautiful, McLaughin will always be one of my dearest friends.
Yours truly,
Ella
P.s. I added a new page! Check out “In The Beginning”
Song Quote:
I’ll see you in the future when we’re older, and we are full of stories to be told… I’ll see you with your laughter lines. –Laughter Lines, Bastille
From my previous post, this poll is still relevant:
At the end of last year, my classmates and I took certain country-wide tests that are a pretty big deal. I only took two, and therefore this year I have eleven. It’s going to be great fun. But the point is, we get our test results back only at the beginning of the following year.
Milling around the lobby of our school, the entire 11th and 12th grade (it’s not that many, don’t get excited, it comes out to 25 students or so) were chatting excitedly with each other. A senior was standing with all of the grade sheets (discreetly stapled so as only your name is visible), and handing them out. I walked up, took a deep breath as he searched for mine, and prepared myself.
Standing against the wall, my teacher happened to pass by (he taught one of the two subjects I was tested on), and I asked him if he wanted to be present for the historic moment. Yes, that’s how I worded it. He waited while I pried open the sheet of paper, shrieked, and passed it to him. 100! On both! On everything! He passed it to the principal who was passing by, who shrieked too (sort of) and congratulated me. All of that hard work last year, it served its purpose.
I joined the milling teenagers and pretty much everyone was satisfied with their grades (our school’s average on these tests is in the nineties). I was chatting with two girls about how despite being happy with the grade, it feels like there’s something missing…. Then I graced them with this beautiful dream scenario (the presenter is Ryan Seacrest, the result of watching the American Idol finale the other day):
I’m standing in a really fancy dress on a big stage, while a good-looking man in a suit (with pretty hair) walks up holding a gold envelope. The presenter (there will be a presenter) narrates to the audience, “The good-looking man is walking down stage to Ella, and is holding the gold results envelope in his right hand while his hair shines and swishes. He is presenting Ella with it. This is it, ladies and gentlemen, here- we- go. Ella is prying open the envelope, the results are in, she shoots, she…. She’s smiling, she scores!”
And the hall erupts into erroneous applause, everyone is on their feet, cheering and stamping! Confetti is falling from the heavens as my test scores flash on the screens behind me. A red carpet is being unrolled before me, and the good-looking man holds my hand as I navigate my way into the people. I’m laughing and crying, camera flashes are going off like I’m actually photogenic, and everyone is overjoyed on my behalf. The day is forever declared the “Ella did it” day, to be celebrated by no one, ever.
We were all talking about how this slip of paper doesn’t feel substantial enough, and we really just deserve the Nobel Prize. As my friend corrected though, we’ll settle for a simple Oscar or Emmy.
Instead, we just went on with our day. But that could have been nice. As it is, I’m very happy with my test scores and I’m glad all of my friends did well as well. This is exactly what I need to fill me with some sort of non-depressed feelings about starting school again. Now I’m a little bit buoyed. Mini yay!
Yours truly,
Ella
P.s. This post is dedicated to my friends, with whom I spent whole days cramming for these tests. Our study dates have a special place in my heart, forever.
Song Quote:
These are the days that bind you together, forever, and these little things will define you, forever. –Bad Blood, Bastille (alright, so the name of the song sounds negative, but this quote isn’t, so just go with it.)
Like I said… Magic
Magic is everywhere, but like the moon, you can’t pin it down. We’re all exposed to the Magic, but we take it in differently. For me, Magic is watching dancers on stage, moving in time with the music and each other. Magic is watching two people who are in love.
Magic is writing down how I feel. I like capturing moments and feeling, and it’s something I’ve always done. When I danced, I would choreograph a routine that portrayed how I felt right then. Anytime I danced that routine, I went back to that feeling and experienced it all over again. In art, I capture a moment, by the facial expressions, the placement, the color choice.
But when I write, it’s something different. Sure, in dance, if I made a move timid instead of strong, it changed the feeling. And if I made the background gray instead of white in a sketch, it changes the feeling. But those are nothing compared to writing. I can play with words, expressions, emotions, tensions, humor, kindness, nuances, intonation, language… I can create something I’m feeling, or something I want to feel, or a feeling I miss. That is my Magic, putting everything down in words.
Like I told my cousin this past weekend, I share my feelings a lot. With people, of course. But also with other things. I think the example I gave her was TV: if someone is crying in the movie, I’m crying too; if someone is smiling, so am I. That’s just how it goes. I express emotions through everything I do, all day long.
So I suppose, instead of my Magic being writing, my Magic should really be feelings. I do them really well. I’m like a sorceress, a magician, a wizard, a witch. My Magic is my own. There is no limit to the Magic I can have. My Magic is love, dance, art, writing, expressing, feeling… really, everything is Magic.
Lumos,
Ella
Song Quote:
Now you’ll live through the ages, I can feel your pulse in the pages, I have written you down, Now you will live forever. -Poet, Bastille
You heard me. I’m ready. I have a bunch of vegan and vegetarian friends, there is food hidden all around my room, and my sisters recently counted how many bathtubs and sinks we have and came to the same conclusion I have: we’re ready.
Which is not to say we believe in such things. We’re just ready. Better safe than sorry.
Okay, obviously I’m kidding. Although everything I have said is true. The friends, the food, the bathtubs- all real. I’m writing this because I only just realized that zombie apocalypses have been a sub-theme of my past few days. Probably because I have been thinking about our worst fears.
Are they destined to come true? Because two major ones of mine have.
One thing I have been afraid of ever since my sister got sick has been getting Fibromyalgia. Check that off the list people. I was diagnosed with it this summer.
Another has been cancer. Put half a check on the list. The growth was around before I was diagnosed with Fibro, but the results of the second biopsy came after. Half a check because it seems like now everything is fine, after the surgery to remove it.
My point is, if two core fears of mine have come true in the past nine months, will all of them come true? I watched a documentary portraying a woman who lived her entire life in fear that a man with a knife would break into her house, and then one day it happened. So thinking beyond the fact that I have to stop watching weird documentaries (there are awesome ones about gypsies too), maybe our fears are meant to warn us about what’s going to happen?
If that’s true, I’m in for the long haul.
I try not to live my life in fear of anything. When I break that personal policy, it’s to contemplate how awful it would be to lose another family member. But night after night, this idea about fears keeps haunting me: are they going to come true?
I’ve had enough suffering in my life, and I’m nowhere near even being an adult. I like to think that maybe I’m getting my suffering over with now, so that when I’m older, I can be more free. If not that positive outlook, then maybe there is just so much suffering planned for my life, that I was done the favor of having it spread out over my entire existence so that it never becomes too much?
Deep thoughts such as these are what keeps me up at night. These, and worrying that my non-existent pink piggy bank will be broken into in sleep, worrying that the sun will fall (what would happen…), worrying that I will get a stain on the rug of the family I babysit for (that rug if freakin’ pristine), and worrying that my apple might get depressed. I’m versatile.
I’m going to end this late night rant with one thought- if fears aren’t meant to be foreshadowing our futures, do they do us more bad than good?
Dream happy dreams,
Ella
P.s. Starting to see the source of the ‘tired’ in my name?
Song quote:
But it’s harder than you think telling dreams from one another. – Daniel In The Den, Bastille
Every now and then, despite everything that is going on and all of the hardships, I have these moments where my thinking becomes big. By big, I mean I think beyond whatever is going on in that moment. I think about how incredible society is, even the fact that it exists. I think about what the point of life is, why we’re here. I think about the little things of life that I love more than anything. But most of all, during my big thoughts moments, I think about the positive of my world.
I have an internal list of the nicest things people have said about/to me. My mother told me the other day that “to know you is to love you”. A family friend told my mom that when she thinks of me she “thinks effervescent”. My father tells me that “your kids are going to be so fortunate to have you as a mother”. All of these things, that take people seconds to say, stick with me, forever. For the better and for the worse. But with my mood right now, it’s for the better. I love it when I feel like this.
My friend has this huge jar sitting on her desk. Every day, she writes down something nice that happened to her and puts it in the jar. As opposed to me, where every night, as I try to fall asleep, every bad aspect of my day comes to haunt me.
I feel like every person is born half blind. We have to spend our entire lives training ourselves to use the other half available to us. We need to learn how to see the little things that are so incredible, I can’t even write them down. You’ll have to feel them for yourself. When you do, suddenly everything around you will have this sort of… buffer. This buffer lets me be in a good mood even though I’m having a hard day physically. This buffer is letting me write even though I want to lie in bed. This buffer is… the other half.
Moods go up and down, but buffers don’t. Find yours.
Good luck,
Ella
Song quote: (You’ll get two today! The words always meld together for me, and these two compete each other)
“It’s harder than you think, to delay this sadness that creeps up my spine, and haunts me through the night”- These Streets, Paolo Nutini
“How am I gonna be an optimist about this?”- Pompeii, Bastille
Fibromyalgia is an invisible illness, meaning people don’t understand. At least that’s my definition for it. You look great- thanks. You did well on your test- thanks. You’re feeling better, right? – no.
When I close my eyes, sometimes I can pretend that I’m completely okay. It’s nice.
But my eyes are usually open. You see, I understand that people look at me and see a normal girl. They see my test scores (which I work my butt off for) and see a normal girl. They watch me talk to teachers and other students, and see (you guessed it) a normal girl. This wouldn’t be a problem, because most girls want to be/seem normal. But I’m not. I will always have to sit out on many a joyful occasion because my health issues seem to prohibit fun. I will always have to plan out my days in advance, because dare I push myself one tiny step too far, I will have to pay for it with intense pain and exhaustion. I will always have to be the one who can’t participate, the one who can’t help, the one who’s sick.
You see, to me, all of those things have become so obvious. Of course, that’s how it is when you have Fibromyalgia. But it’s an invisible illness, and people don’t see it. And what they don’t see, they don’t understand.
In some ways, it’s nice that people don’t know the moment they meet me that I’m sick. I get to escape, or maybe avoid the subject when I meet someone new. But in many ways, it really sucks. It makes it all the more awkward to have to explain.
For instance….
I’m talking to a bunch of people, and they realize there’s a trampoline nearby. Let’s go jump, they say! Off everyone rushes, towards the fun galore of jumping. I sit down on a chair. Someone asks me why I’m not joining, and I, innocently assuming time and time again that I can just explain, tell them that I have some health issues, Fibromyalgia to be exact, and jumping just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
Then the whole scene ensues, of them pretending to care and understand, asking me to explain what it is, what it means, how I’m managing. I come out of every scene, back to my wardrobe change, feeling like maybe this time someone really did understand. But there’s always that twinge.
That night, I have a nightmare that involves trampolines. A week later, I see that person, the one who cared and understood, and they don’t remember who I am. I tell them, we talked when everyone was on the trampoline. They now recognize me. They ask me, so how’s that thing you have? It was the flu, right? So I just give up, and say that yes, indeed, it was the flu. They tell me they are glad to see I’m feeling better. I thank them. And the twinge turns to full blown feelings of… feelings of…. I’m not sure I can describe them. But they suck.
What don’t you understand, people? Health issues = physical implications = emotional and mental implications = difficulty leading a regular life = it would nice to have someone care.
But you know what? Maybe it’s not even that. There are some people in my life, that I know care about me. Maybe they just don’t know how to show it. And I know I get angry sometimes, when people do the wrong thing. But how can I not? And I’m trying, really trying, to keep those angry spouts in check. But when a specific few things are said to me, I have a really hard time with that. These are those few:
1. If only you pray harder…
My response: Prayers can’t fix everything. I’m working hard to fix this, and I have to put some faith in that as well.
2. Oh my god, you’re so lucky!! You get to stay in bed and don’t have to go to gym!
My response: Wanna trade?
3. But you just look so good!!
My response: Thanks! But, um… I still feel exactly the same.
4. It’s all in your head.
My response: I have something I can put in your head. Like this axe, perhaps.
5. Your illness is just caused by stress.
My response: Stop being an imbecile and do your research! No it’s not!
Okay, so maybe these are a little extreme.
Maybe this entire post is a little extreme. I understand why people don’t understand: it’s an invisible illness. I get it. I know that people are trying to show me they care. I know that people don’t know what to say, and are just trying to make me happy. I know.
I just wish, that sometimes, they’ll also get it right. I dream about it all the time. About someone coming, who just really understands me, and what I’m going through. I know that that someone doesn’t exist. I know that every person in this world feels misunderstood, and that no one will ever know what it’s like to be me, because I’m the only one that is.
But a girl can dream, right?
And that’s what the next post will be about.
Stay tuned.
Be kind to one another, and take more notice of what people around you are going through. Then remember what they tell you. You don’t know what a difference it could make.
Yours truly,
Ella
Feel free to comment below, and ask any questions you have. I may have come off a little strong today, but I assure you, I don’t bite (or swing axes).
Song quote: “If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing’s changed at all?” -Pompeii, Bastille
Sick and Sick of It 