I have called you preacher, I have called you son. If you have a father, or if you haven’t one. I’ll do anything for you, I’ll do anything for you. I did everything for you, I did everything for you.
If it’s even possible, I’ve fallen in love with Sufjan and his music all over again. While shuffling through his music, some older stuff that I hadn’t listened to in a while came up, and I realized just how beautiful his music is. *swoon*
In other news, I guess I’m back! I don’t know just how many people still remember this blog, so I’ll primarily be posting now (if I remember) to just get things off my chest or try and unscramble the mess that is my mind is right now.
Like how things go unappreciated. The whole tragedy in Japan as well as the turmoil in Libya has kicked off this thought in my brain recently. We (those in developed nations) have it so easy. The majority of, at least America’s, population has a job, a home, three meals a day. Even the worst case of poverty still allows for those people to survive, even on the streets. In Japan, after this ravaging earthquake, people have died, are dying, and those trying to survive have no access to food, water, electricity, or even shelter in some cases. Libyans are dealing with bloody battles every other day, as well as international interference in their country’s goings-ons because of their corrupt government; they don’t know if they’ll be shot dead that day or the next. But us? Us middle-class teenagers of suburban Philadelphia? Our biggest complaint is too much homework, or too little sleep. How is our suffering at all comparable to those around us?
And I’m not saying that there isn’t suffering here. I know there is. I’ve dealt with a friend whose family to going to shambles, another who might be shipped away to boarding school or a mental hospital. Suffering is universal, as is pain. Maybe I’m the only one who’s been spared the pains of the real world, seeing as I’ve had, in comparison, a ridiculously easy life. And yet I find reasons to be depressed. Who do I think I am, to feel sorry for myself? My back aches, I have too much homework, I’m so tired because I only get five hours of sleep each night, my best friend won’t tell me things anymore, I doubt my boyfriend’s love, I procrastinate too much, I’m bored, whine whine whine. To hear about such devastations happening around the world, and to even my friends around me, and then to bemoan my own life? It’s not right.
And yet I can’t stop myself. My view of the world is narrow, and it’s limited. I’ve never been to Libya, or Japan; I’ve never had parents separate; I’ve never committed self-injury; I’ve never been starving, or poor, or oppressed, or beaten, or restricted. The most groundbreaking change in my life? Moving twenty minutes away from my house in Drexel Hill. That’s it. I’ve lead a (comparably) uneventful, safe, delightful little life so far. And yet I still complain.
And maybe it’s human nature to blame, not me. Maybe it’s not my fault that I can’t empathize the suffering of others. It’s human nature to care about oneself first, then others, right? But it’s also in human nature to help others. Which is what I’ve tried to do. When that friend was cutting herself at a party? I was willing to help, with the support of my rock, my best friend. When that friend said her mom hurt her? I was there to consol her. When my friends need to talk, I try to be there for them, I try to be someone they can lean on, can pour their feelings out to so they can feel better. I want to be someone who can try to assuage some of this global suffering, if even on a small level.
And I’m not trying to place myself on some morally pure, charitable, selfless pedestal. I’m not a perfect person, and I never will be. But I try to do my best to help the people I care about.
But where I get stuck is when these feelings start to become my own. Dealing with a depressed schizophrenic wears on you after a while, hearing the same mantra of “I hate myself,” “my life is horrible,” “I don’t know if anyone likes me.” It enters your mind and manifests itself there, poisoning the sound mind you thought you had. You begin to doubt people’s intentions, you doubt whether they like you or not, if they really want you there or not. You begin to notice more flaws in yourself than you did before, and hate yourself for them.
And I’m not blaming my friend. She’s my best friend in the whole world, and I’ll be there for her ‘til the world ends, no matter what happens. I love her like she’s my own sister. I don’t want anything to be her fault; she’s hurt enough. I’m just realizing where these thoughts have come from, and trying to figure out why they won’t go away.
So, to be grateful is my New Year’s Resolution, if a tad late. What I have is a wonderful life, that I’m not truly appreciating. And if I don’t soon, it’ll be ruined by my own bad attitude.
I hope you enjoyed my pensive post, I’ll be back soon for some more.
Lemongirl
