Everyone has something that they are afraid of. No one is fearless. Or are they? I have many fears. I have obvious fears, normal fears, such as being afraid of spiders and snakes, or being afraid of the dark. But, I also have strange fears, maybe phobias. I’m afraid of needles. I’m afraid of traveling into space. I’m afraid of telling Jordan how I feel. I’m afraid of the end of the world. I’m afraid of rejection. I’m afraid of heartache. I’m afraid of physical, mental, and emotional pain. I’m afraid to die before I live my life. Sometimes, I’m afraid to fall asleep. If I don’t dream, where will I go? Will I be simply gone? I’m also afraid of the unknown. I’m afraid of the supernatural. I’m afraid of the extraterrestrial. I’m afraid of being judged. I’m afraid of being insulted. Sometimes, I’m afraid of the truth. Am I crazy?
Everyone hates something. If you don’t hate something, you must be pretty damn optimistic. I hate a lot of things, but I’m not a hater. A hater is a judgmental, heartless person, and I don’t think that’s what I am. Am I? I hate working when I feel lazy. I hate feeling like my friends try to control me (Symphony…). I hate not being able to speak my mind. I hate being put down. I hate bullies and haters. I hate being too hot, and I hate being too cold. I hate getting yelled at. I hate going to the dentist. I hate New Jersey. I hate never having money. I hate my hair. I hate my face. I hate my body. I hate that I eat when I’m sad. I hate not having talent. I hate being ordinary. I hate not being good enough for any guy. I hate math. I hate the sound of my mother’s voice when she’s mad. I hate my glasses. I hate sappy songs and happy endings, because I’m led to believe that they’re not real. I hate to hate so much. I hate having reasons to.
I love my family. I love my friends. I love being alive. I love food. I love to read. I love wearing skirts and dresses. I love animals. I love Minecraft. I love playing my guitar. I love band bus rides. I love to laugh and I love to smile. I love making friends on the internet. I love listening to indie music while I draw. I love Wednesdays. I love autumn. I love wearing stripes. I love to write. I love listening to my iPod on the bus or in the car. I love seeing Jordan smile. I love school dances. I love the school I go to. I love living in a small town. I love so much, so many little things that I can’t possibly keep going. I love to love. I love to be in love.
Where do wishes come from? Do they come from envy? Or do they come from our dreams and desires? I wish I were beautiful. I wish I were happy. I wish I had all the money in the world. I wish I were talented at singing, so I can actually get somewhere. I wish that Jordan were my boyfriend. I wish my hair were ten inches longer. I wish life were fair. I wish that I had nothing to wish for, that I had everything I ever wanted or needed. My father once said something about wishes that I’m beginning to think is true.
"Wish in one hand, shit in the other. Put them together and what do you have? Two hands full of shit."
That’s a bit crude, but it’s true. In one hand, you have all or your life’s problems. In the other, you have all of your wishes, your wildest fantasies, your biggest hopes, your selfish dreams. Wishing for those things, believing that those wishes will come true, will only cause more problems. Whoever said that dreams come true was full of shit is basically what that saying means.
But, you know I’ll keep dreaming.
Not only do we wish for things to happen, things to appear, things to disappear, things to work out the way we plan. We wish for change inside of us, change in our feelings and thoughts. There are things in this world that I fear, hate, love, and I wish I had. There also things that I wish I loved. I wish I loved a boy who loved me back. I wish I loved the world I live in. I wish I loved my life. I wish I loved myself.
Today, a friend of mine was talking to me in Geometry. Let’s call her Rosetta. Rosetta and I used to be a lot closer, until we got into this huge fight last year. Now, we still talk, but I don’t let her get too close to me anymore, because she gets jealous easily. She asked me what I was doing as I was writing this post. I was writing it out of boredom on a sheet of graph paper. I told her I was writing a post for my blog. Then, she asked me a peculiar question.
"What is a blog, anyway?"
Well, my blog is a lot of things. It is my thoughts, my dreams, my secrets, my opinions, my diary, my getaway. Good thing it’s anonymous. ;)
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