Family Ties

For once, I really need someone to talk to. And yet again, I have no one. I try not to unload all my problems onto other people, since they all obviously have their problems as well, but...sometimes it's hard alone. It's easy to be wrong when you're alone...I'm convinced that it's knowing and talking to others that makes us understand what "right" is.

How funny, that it's easier to be sorrowful and melancholy than angry - at least, it is for me. I can be intensely angry for a short time, but all too often, my mind starts showing me all the reasons I shouldn't and can't be angry. I get a taste of what it is to be in the other's shoes, and that dissolves all the anger...and in its place is guilt, plain and simple. After the guilt wears away, all that's left is sadness...the kind that washes in and out like waves, taking away the old melancholy and bringing in something new with every slam of water on shore. I'm a sandbar subjected to this, and it's not too long before I've changed shape, or even disappeared.

Perhaps I should stop trying to be all poetic and simply talk. It's...difficult, though. I don't want to accidentally show people I know what I'm feeling, but there are a few I trust enough to let them see...but very few. My heart is a Swiss safe, and I'm rather reluctant to give out the key. Here's the gist of it, I suppose. I love my family. Perhaps a bit too much, but...family is family after all. Roughly half of my siblings are not walking with the Lord, and it often makes relationships tense. I myself am often the subject of teasing...but I'm not so worried about myself. I really fear for my siblings...I love them, but I absolutely don't know what to do, except pray.

I'm afraid I can't really expand on that. I mean, I could, but I don't really know what to say. I don't really understand the situation myself, but I do know I don't want to see someone I love go through and to Hell.

I'm too emotional, I know...I really am lost on this one. Ah well. Yes, prayer. It'd be nice to know I wasn't alone, though...

~Fumblebee

At What Price?

A poem I wrote for Memorial Day. Inspired partially by Langston Hughes' "Refugee in America" poem. Untitled as of yet. Dedicated to all soldiers and all those who love them and America.

There are words like "freedom"
I do not understand,
Nor will I ever know
Until for them I fight.

There are men called "soldiers"
Who daily risk their lives
To protect this "freedom"
That you and I enjoy.

There are souls called "saints",
Solders loved and passed,
Watching freedom fade
And men losing love
For...
This country, bought with blood and tears;
This precious land of "freedom";
They forget about our men
Fighting in a foreign land.

I still know not what "freedom" is,
But soldiers and saints are teaching
What it is to love my country
And sacrifice my all for it -

America the Beautiful;
Land of the Free, Home of the Brave;
Land that I love, my birthplace, and,
The land for which many saints died.

To all out there, no matter what you're doing, don't forget - freedom comes at a price.

~Fumblebee

Melancholy Memories and Fading Footprints

It's funny, how one of the most beautiful days can seem grey and cold when you're alone...and even if that loneliness isn't absolute. Sometimes you can imagine you're the only one in the entire world, because your entire world is merely the area around you that you can see and hear and feel...

Looking back through papers, stirring up old memories with the dust...remembering what your world once was and who was included in it. Dear friends, beloved family now long gone...relationships that gradually faded away...knowing that you allowed it to happen. It's not a guilty feeling, not completely, but there's definitely a feeling of loss. It's hard to remember what could have been and wondering where you'd be today if it had continued. Ah, sorrowful regrets.

How funny, to look back and recall all that you fumbled through, and laugh at your own mistakes. How amazing, to look at who you once were, and see how far you've come, how much you've changed - and whether it's for the better or not.

It's hard, knowing you've never visit those times again. They're over for good, and nothing will change that. I guess all we can do is keep moving forward and making new memories...because there's really nothing else to do. To stay at one point of time forever is to be obsessed, and wrongfully so. I don't want to be stuck in one place. I know there are people waiting for me. I'll never know who they are if I don't keep plowing on through the mud of life. Maybe they'll need me as much as I'll need them.

It's nice to be needed...and even better to be wanted and loved.

So I'll remember, perhaps in a melancholy way, but with a bit of hope for the future, as well. I will always be fond of remembrance, and I'll always love those people, even if they are gone...but even as memories fade, love will find a way to grow...and I'll keep walking until my footprints cross with his.

Then we can continue into the horizon, the waves washing clean the tracks behind us...walking side by side until the world I know now can no longer see us and is left with a memory...

...Just a memory of love.

~An Overcast-y Sort of Fumblebee

Peer Pressure

I've considered putting up some of my actual writing up, and couldn't decide...but I've decided now to share at least some of it. Here's something I wrote roughly 6-7 months ago, while sitting in the UCSC. It's a little odd, I suppose, but it was very enjoyable to write.

Peer Pressure

Glancing around, the tension of the moment heating your face up, you hope no one will witness this. Or, if they do, maybe they'll pretend it didn't happen, that they didn't hear it. That is the worst part, you think, knowing that someone might choose to hear, and not being able to comprehend what they might do. Truly, this is a terrifying task you have set up for yourself.

Okay. You flex your fingers while telling yourself, "Who cares?" Alright, fine, you do...but they couldn't know that, could they? You can feel the smooth ring, with the jagged edges you know are tucked underneath. Only an idiot could cut themselves on something like this. An idiot, or someone who doesn't care like you care. A cut could only make things worse than they will be already.

Steeling yourself once more, you gently pry the ring up a fraction, then scoot your thumb underneath it, carefully. You're not an idiot, but you don't want to take chances, either. Then, slowly, ever so sluggishly, you put pressure on the aluminum ring, bearing up with your thumb while holding the ring in place with your index finger.

A creaking, groaning noise escapes the ring, and you pause for a moment, wondering if people were already listening. The worst is still yet to come. The disturbing thing is knowing that if you did it quickly, no one would truly notice, or if they did, they would know that you are strong, and unafraid of what they could do to you, and therefore they would keep their silence. You could beat them that way, you suppose, but...somehow, you can't. You're not that strong, not that confident. Oh, curse your shyness, your fear of man, that this should be such a terrifying quest!

Still you press on, now pulling the ring rather than raising it. The beast will be here any moment, ready to tear you apart. A final rasp echoes from the metal, and then, finally, terribly, a gunshot fills the air.

Almost as in the garden, when even the angels fell silent to watch what man and woman would choose, there is a stillness in the air. No one moves, no one dares breathe. Not even you. God Above, save you from the silence, from the beast who is waiting just behind you.

After an infinity of angels holding their breath, you dare to flick your eyes to the side. No one has looked up from their appointed tasks, no one has chosen to hear you. To the right is a firmly painted wall, with shades of the Holy Spirit added by meandering pencils. Ah, the calm of stone is a blessing, and you dare to touch it, if only with one finger.

The beast still lurks, but you've moved on to brighter corners. The ring is terrifying no more, and the threat of a paused, listening ear has been vanquished. The crisis is over, the new day begun.

And best yet, you can drink a toast to the empty room, and God who waits within, toasting you in return.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated. =)

~Fumblebee

Blame

Why is it that when someone hurts us, we think, "They'll be sorry if I die today," or similar things? Why are we always at fault? And why is self-injury always our response? Certainly, the people who hurt us would sorrow if some injury would come to us, but why should we need to hurt ourselves in the first place? Hurt is so easily received, especially when it was the thing least intended. Again, the problem of having a tender heart - it's far too easily hurt, too emotional, too prone to react in the extreme.

I just wonder why we blame ourselves immediately, especially when there is nothing to be blamed for. I suppose it's that it's easier to blame oneself than accept that the other person is in the wrong. After all, who wants to always go around pointing out other's faults? Not I, at least. No, it's much safer to be alone in one's misery, and to be content with keeping the blame to oneself. That way, you don't have to risk being injured more deeply through arguing over blame.

I am not a very loud person, or at least not inside. Certainly, I have an energetic, never-shuts-up front, but that is merely a deterrent so no one will look any deeper. When you appear shallow, that is what people accept as "you". Inside, however, I hate to cause problems, and so try my best to be peaceful. If that includes taking the blame for things completely beyond my control, so be it. So long as everyone else is happy.

I am not unhappy about this - resigned, certainly, but not unhappy. It's not always bad, taking the blame...if only a tad lonely. I'll gladly apologize and repent if it'll save someone else. After all, not everyone is as well acquainted with loneliness and sorrow as myself.

~Fumblebee

Careworn

How can you relate to someone who is going through a depth of pain you will never understand? And when they don't want you to relate in the first place? How can you just stand there and watch that person slowly suffocate in their prison of glass? Why, oh why, must they stare at you with such eyes, asking you to take their pain away, when there is absolutely nothing you can do? Certainly, you can be there for them, and hold them, but other than that, there is nothing.

And when you have everything that they've lost, how can they ever trust you again? Whenever you are with them, you carefully censor everything you say and do, because it's not worth the pain caused. You refuse to hug your dad, just because your friend doesn't have a dad anymore, or theirs have left. You can't understand their heartache, so you try to make it impossible to remind them. And, somewhere in all the confusion and silence, you realize that you've lost sight of their hearts, and they are too far gone to bother baring it to you again. That mutual love is much diminished...and you wonder why you're still there. Every time they need a shoulder to cry on, you're still there, but somehow you can't cry with them anymore.

What's wrong with you? How can you possibly be so heartless?

Well...maybe my heart is tired of caring...you could say it's a tad careworn at the moment. It's run out of tears to cry; it's a limp rag. Give it some time...and hopefully it'll come around.

'Cause with your heart out, you've lost the round.

~Fumblebee

A Brief Mumbling

I really, really enjoy freewriting. There aren't any limits on it, so it can go in any direction...I spent around 15 minutes freewriting last night and came up with 10 viable ideas for short stories, and I think I'll end up following most of them through.

I guess this post will be more for an update than thoughts...I've been considering putting up some poetry of mine, but I haven't decided yet...I have some very favorite poems of my own, and I'd really like to put them up, but I don't want them stolen. Ah well...I may put them up soon anyhow. Not that I'll get feedback...*coughcoughnudgenudgewinkwinkhinthint*

I am very, very tired. Working all day and then biking around really takes it out of a person...but it's a good sort of tired.

Anyhow...being a fumblebee is nice...and though it's usually overcast, today was mostly sunny. It was fun seeing the other bumblebees bumbling around...crashing into things, hitting windows, trying to kill me...it's amazing how much energy one can muster when one is afraid. Fear does miraculous things, does it not?

Well...I bid thee all good night, and shall collapse into bed.

So:

Good night.

~Fumblebee

Fumblebee Living in Overcast

I've decided the world needs more chickadees. They're so cheerful, whether they're in the midst of a bitterly cold winter or not. Chickadees and bumblebees...these brighten my day. At least, they do when there is a layer of glass, no matter how thin, between me and the latter. The former is fine with or without.

I've decided to be a tad more cheerful...not to mention that I'm feeling happier. Feelings are not facts, and I do know that oh so well, but...they do hold some purchase on my everyday life. So, I will remain Overcast, but an cheerful, not-so-dark overcast, with a tad of hope involved, as long as the chickadees and bumblebees stick with me. Therefore, I'll become a Fumblebee Living in Overcast.

Why Overcast, you ask? Well, Overcast can be a variety of moods. And really, to me, an overcast day doesn't have to be sad. In fact, I love overcast days, with their moody skies...Overcast is good, because it makes one appreciate the sun.

And, as beautiful as sunny, clear-sky days are, it's the overcast days that understand how you feel.

~Fumblebee Living in Overcast

Fumblebee

There's a fat little bumblebee hitting the window next to where I'm sitting. Sweet little thing, really...unless you meet the wrong end. Poor thing seems not to understand that however many times he charges at the flowers inside, he's not going to get to them. How like us, in everyday life. Butting up against things that we'll never get through, oblivious to that fact which everyone else seems to see. If that bumblebee seems cute to us, and God sees us as that bumblebee...well, I can understand. Mistake after mistake...perhaps it's more serious than hitting a window continually, but somehow He finds it in Him to forgive us once again.

Meanwhile, we're still kind of bumblebees, fumbling through life. In the semi-fit-to-my-own-situation words I heard in a wedding yesterday, I'm not going to be perfect, and doubtless I'm going to screw up constantly. However, it's the fact that in my heart, I want to do what God wants me to do, and obey Him, honor Him, and love Him with everything I am. There's no way I'll ever get to the level of perfection that Jesus was at, but my heart is to give Him everything, whether bad or good.

So, you see, as a fumblebee myself, It's not the thought that counts - it's the heart behind the thought.

I think that was one of the best wedding's I've ever been to - and I didn't even have to cry or feel lonely, because it was so joyful. All this one did was make me more excited about my future. So, though I'll doubtless keep hitting my head against that window, I'm pressing on.

God made life an adventure for a reason.

~Fumblebee Living in Overcast

Questions

What qualifies one for greatness? What is it that allows us to lead the life we do, no matter what station it is? Through what methods is one chosen to spend a life in poverty, or wealth; sickness, or health? Are our hearts measured, or is it simply an accident of chance?

What decides what or who we become? How can our hearts be read and known? Because hearts change. People fade and forget who they are. When life is so short and so long at the same time, in the chaos of living, surviving for another day, how can one possibly keep a tender, living heart?

Those who believe in this "heart of flesh" are too soft; too loving; too trusting. Their hearts are broken and scarred far too easily. To be soft, to be tender, it to be vulnerable. In this world, to be vulnerable is to be born to die, slaughtered by harsh reality. This is the truth; how sorrowfully ironic that the thing that sets us free is that which smashes us to the ground and batters us beyond repair.

Really, what is there to hope for? Those who are "great"...what was ever great about them, except their station? And for those have struggled and fought their way to top, when you're at the top, where is there left to go? Won't you just end up sinking back down in to the mire of ignored, trashed talents? There is no appreciation for what is actually valuable, as opposed to the cheap chrome-painted trash so easily available.

So. Why was I thrust into this world that doesn't care? Why was I "cursed" with a tender heart, that is so easily cast aside, so easily wounded, so easily scarred? And if all of this is true, why wasn't I given a way to fly away, and leave it all behind?

No wonder there are so many suicide jumpers. At least one can have a brief taste of what should have been before they are lost.

Not that I'm aiming for the jump - no, I'm far too cowardly for that. I cannot even hurt myself; the thought makes me sick, though it's not necessarily a bad thing. Why? Simply thing; I don't want to die. As bad as things may be, I have no desire to give up. Thank God for that. He never promised that it would be easy - and even if it were, easy would be no testament to His name. No, it will never be easy - but I'll never be alone, either.

And for now, with all the hell that must be gone through, I can handle it knowing that.

~Overcast.

Overcast

Jeesh. Enough angst already. Sorry people; I have this amazing superpower to gripe about all sorts of crap. The normal me is back. Sometimes Overcast jumps out at school and other places, usually without me noticing. She stays for a while, too...by the time I notice her, she's run off again, waiting for the next chance to catch me.

I wish what occurs to Over and I wasn't always somewhat depressed or sad in subject. Unfortunately, it's usually all that's going on. Neither of myself can get over the sad state of affairs everything is in, but it helps to write it out.

Real Over - myself, at least - is fairly happy at the moment. Rather melancholy, as always, but not particularly unhappy or upset. Of course, there is the usual loneliness, but I'm accustomed to that. When you're a shut-in that never lets her true self show, it's hard to not feel alone. I'm not even sure I know the person I am. I'm not that understanding of myself. God willing, I'll run into someone, somewhere, who can figure me out, 'cause I'm totally stuck at this point.

Over is rather put out after trying to go fishing and getting bombarded by gnats. She likes her quiet times, sailing or fishing, just doing one of those things you can think and enjoy oneself all the while.

I am I and Over is...well, my rather upset, disturbed, and disappointed name for ranting and being generally depressed and annoying and a bit of a didiot. She's not the best person, and that therefore reflects on me.

But, I'm not writing this for anyone but myself. No one reads my thoughts at any rate, so why should what I say make any difference?

Anyhow...

Today I realized how easily I fall into believing the worst of myself. A reprimand sets me off, shutting me up with anger until I can stop myself and think things through. I'm such a ditz...getting angry so easily and falling out of anger almost as easily. Such an emotional mess...but I suppose that come with being female, somewhat.

But - that reprimand sets off a chain reaction, and way too easily at that. A reprimand leads to being I am too worthless to be allowed to do anything. How easily I fall into the slough of despond, of rejecting that God gave me worth. How fickle I am - and the more I realize it, the worse it gets. I would have low self-esteem if not for the fact that I don't have any self-esteem in the first place.

This isn't a pity party, nor angst, really...it's simply me realizing things out loud online that I can't out loud in real life. The best audience is one you know is there, but paying little or no attention to you; that way you don't have to fear them.

Anyhow...as it is rather late and I enjoy sleeping...good night all.

Good night, and I hope a rest upon you without dreams of chainsaw murderers and...other things.

~Overcast