lailatovluna

It is in the summer that I think of you.
When the green fields turn gold
the sun is high in the sky
and it is you on my mind.
It used to make me so happy
feeling the sun on my skin,
or the sweet sick hot of July.
But now, in the summer, I think of you.
I never stopped looking for you;
I see you.
You are too tall.
You are too short.
You are never you.
Six years have passed,
I still look for you.
How I long to find you.
I always think of you in the summer.

I drove across the state because not one but two friends wanted to see me.
Neither of them have replied to my texts or calls.
I have started to wonder if it's something about me that's just...
perfectly forgettable.
I've always wanted to disappear into the wallpaper.
Be careful what you wish for.

My friend has asked me to enter an art show with her in January. It's an interesting sort of thing, I could hang all my things up, and nobody would know it was mine. I went with her to her last art show, and it was really interesting. I'm bubbling over with ideas, although I'm not sure how good most of them are. I don't want anybody to know who I am, and I know that for sure. I am not good at large groups of people, my social anxiety is completely overwhelming, I only share my art with my close friends, and of course everyone on dA, but none of them really know me. It's delightfully anonymous.

I have been thinking about how to go about this. Everyone sells their art, and it seems as though this will be expected of me, so I've been contemplating how to do this whilst avoiding the inevitable social interaction to go with it. I've come up with a number of rather odd solutions, and finally begun to think that I've lost it, going to these lengths to avoid having to talk to people.

My friend Cole is always telling me, "You are in control." He is possibly the one friend who understands me the most, maybe because he is exactly like me, without the PTSD and horrific social phobia. It really makes a difference, more than you'd think. I didn't realize how much until I met him. But he makes me want to take myself back. I'm really working on feeling in control. I hope that when I do, I won't be putting so much thought into avoiding people.

I've been feeling exceedingly artistic lately, possibly a side effect of my attempts to be more positive. My art is different when I'm happy. Some of the things I've been working on lately have been the most colorful things I've ever done, which I find to be odd, considering that I've been stressed out, and quite frankly rather depressed. It seems strange to me that now would be the time I start adding color to things.

On that note, I recently read a book called "Diary," by Chuck Palahniuk. Although it was a very disturbing book, the main character at one point expresses how a person's artistic thinking is influenced more powerfully by grief than by any other emotion. It seems that is true, but maybe also quite unpredictably.

I want to write more. I've been lonely and I worry a lot about bothering people, so as much as I'd like to just exist with a friend, and for how long I've so desperately wanted it, I can't seem to bring myself to ask.

Things in my life have been very strange, very surreal. I'll try to keep up here more. I am in control, and I am working to put my life in order.  

My niece cut her hair to match her best friend. That wouldn't regularly be a newsworthy event, but her grandmother flipped her absolute shit over it. I think she looks fabulous, but now because I'm a "bad influence," I am not allowed to see either of my nieces or go home any more. I can't even begin to describe the sense of displacement I've felt over the last few days, wanting to go home but not being able to. The loneliness is killing me.

Right before that, I had bought a motorcycle. I was really excited about it, but I'm selling it again. I've stopped skating. I don't want to eat. I've put serious thought into suicide. I feel like I've finally reached this point where I'm so broken inside that there's no point in trying to put it all back together. My best friend told me he wants to talk, and usually I look forward to talking to him. If nothing else, just listening to him talk fixes so much. But this time... I don't know. I don't even know whether I want to see people at all. But at the same time, I'm so lonely it's eating me alive. I don't want to do anything any more. Wallpaper doesn't feel non-existent enough.

Next month will be five years since Steve died. It feels odd to call him Steve, but more odd to hear myself say (or even type) Mousie. I've thought a lot about going to see his mom. I know I want to go up to Mission but I don't know if it'll happen. I thought maybe I could write him a letter, but it all feels so hollow. I don't expect him to call me any more. I'm not sure when that stopped. It just doesn't seem like so far down any more.

The majority of the most brilliant minds the world has ever seen are willing to acknowledge that not everything in our environment, our human experience, is something that can be explained by modern science. This is a fact that brings us to the dictionary definition of the word “paranormal.” While the majority of society today will tell you that “paranormal” is a word relating only to the otherworldly, of ghosts, demons, and the spiritual, Oxford provides us with a more basic meaning of the word, that while including the otherworldly, “paranormal” is simply a word used to refer to the things we cannot explain with the use of modern science.

In light of this information, I assert that one does not simply “believe in,” or “not believe in” the paranormal. Whether or not a person chooses to believe in the paranormal, it exists. To state that one does not believe in the paranormal would intellectually be of the same caliber as to state that one believed that the Earth was flat. The world is full of things science does not currently explain. Science is not exact by any means, it is ever-evolving. Think about it in these terms: In 1840, Ignaz Semmelweis, observing a high rate of post-surgical patient infections, suggested that surgeons wash their hands to prevent infections from spreading between patients. While basic sterile procedures in a hospital environment may seem obvious to most people today, Semmelweis' suggestion was met with opposition. Doctors actually did not think that washing their hands would prevent infection.

When you view the evolution of science as a whole, and realize that in the grand scheme of humanity, 175 years is not that much time, it really becomes a concerning concept that as a whole, we balance our idea of “fact” so much on science. As an individual who gravitates toward the scientific myself, I must also acknowledge that facts are sometimes terribly flawed, and allow myself to submit to the knowledge and understanding that only my own perspective and experiences can provide me with. Since I can only live one lifetime, I must listen openly to the experiences of others and evaluate not only my own information, but that of those around me as well.

With that being said, I enter the topic of genetic memory. In order to fully explain genetic memory, I will begin with Darwin's theory of evolution: Basically put, Darwin surmised that those animals (and, of course people) more suited to their environment would be those who lived to reproduce. For example, if there are two mice living in your house, one of which is afraid of your cat, and the other is not, the mouse which lives to survive, and thus reproduce, becomes obvious. Genetic memory is the idea that when the surviving mouse has babies, that they too will fear the cat. Genetic memory is why many people fear snakes and spiders. These are things that, while not always posing an immediate danger to us now, could have inflicted a deadly bite on our ancestors.

Our genetic memories are not all identical, but it's where we get a lot of our common fears. To our ancestors, a bump in the night could have meant a hungry predator. In our homes, behind our locked doors, a bump in the night now is more than likely something as benign as our cat in pursuit of a fly, but still, it draws an adrenaline-filled response from us. Great portions of our genetic memory are obvious if you think carefully about it, but it can leave some unanswered questions. According to science, we observe our environment with five senses. Sight, smell, touch, taste, and sound. Yet for some reason, we can often sense the ill-intents of those around us. Sometimes, we can get an urgent feeling as though we need to leave a place, even if we haven't observed something threatening with these five senses. These feelings can be far more powerful than our urge to flee a snake or spider, or the fight-or-flight response to a bump in the night. All of these things, for our ancestors, posed an immediate threat to survival, which begs the question: What did our ancestors know that we don't? What killed the ones who didn't run? Has something else evolved with us?