A Letter Written One Thousand Times Won't Take Me Back In Time...I'm Still Here...You're Still There.

...

I could list important dates or some of our awesome memories, but what would that do? Remind you of how much I hurt you?

At the beginning of our relationship, I had to convince myself that it was okay to like you. We got together so quickly, I'm thinking that it might have been too quickly. Five months seems like a stretch, but I wasn't prepared to be with you. It's not fair to you that I was selfish in my ways, but can you blame me for wanting someone who treated me like a princess?

Treating you the complete opposite of the way you treated me was wrong on every level, but I had become accustomed to finding attention in places where my nose didn't belong. You gave me all the attention I could have asked for and more, but I overlooked it. I felt sorry for myself trying to use my past relationship to justify my actions. 

Going out to the bar was the vehicle transporting me down the road of destruction. For some reason, I couldn't stop going whenever I had the chance. My friendliness was overbearing, and every guy that I was just being nice to took advantage of that. It was a misunderstanding until you explained the real deal to me, then it was my bad for not committing that to memory and leaving well enough alone. 

My begging won't get you back, and at this point I don't think anything will, but I feel compelled to explain myself. You deserve that from me as much as I deserve your silence.

Apologies aren't something that I'm really good at, because I don't usually feel sorry for many of my actions, but the sorry I owe you is far beyond my deepest, sincere apology. 

I want so much to create a simple chain of words that will make things better between us, but words are just words, and everything that happened, happened.

Feeling your love was the closest I've ever been to believing in magic, and you leaving was the biggest learning experience I've ever earned. You were right; this is hard.

I imagine us dressed up to go out but then staying in and dancing by ourselves...staying so late with you that my drive home is in a blizzard...riding in the truck with you and staring at the side of your face while you drive because studying your face meant that even when we weren't together I could see your face in my dreams...cleaning the kitchen together with the Frank Sinatra pandora station because  again, who doesn't love a nice dance?...coming home after a long day and jumping into your arms because when you held me I felt weightless...sitting on the beach on a warm September night staring out at our "fresh water ocean" admitting not only to you but to myself that loving you felt right. Memories of you and the love we shared create a euphoria for me. It's a high that makes me forget that you aren't coming home tonight, and that you won't be coming home on any future night.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that the most recent memories that we have made us forget about how happy we were. I'm sorry that I didn't have the right mind to treat you like a man. I'm sorry that I made you experience feelings that nobody should have to bear, but most of all I'm sorry for taking a nail, hammering it into your heart and then just leaving it there. 

I'm also sorry for mentioning memories that only make the pain hurt more, but hey, the knife won't cut if you don't pick it up(you probably won't read this anyways, this is just a healthy release for me).

My thoughts of you will always be pleasant, and my love for you always sincere.

...

Emily Page.

Tell me again what this was supposed to be about..

Sing me the lullaby...the one that will lift my spirits unto eternal peace.  My soul needs a break from feelings.

Country music only reminds me of what I am not capable. My love is never accepted for truth but for every single lie they have ever been told.  Their misconception of conformity among women reserves a seat for me at the head table of lady liars.  Emily is not, and will never be, capable of loving enough to deserve a hint of reciprocation.

An old man ventured to Subway while I was working the night shift. The name embroidered into his jacket read "Dave."  His words to me brought a sense of sorrow as he explained the passing of his wife 39 days earlier.  She was his gift from God according to his touching story, but why did he feel so compelled to reach out to me?
Knowing nothing but my name, "Dave" mentioned to me that I had dated the devil. Freshly out of a relationship, this struck me as interesting as I was curious as to why he made such a harsh accusation. The remainder of his time at the subshop required me to listen to his teachings, but to be frank, he was preaching to the choir.

Weird things always happen to me.

My drive is gone. What am I doing with my life?

Missouri is not a pleasant word, but it is a wonderful place.  Ever since I was a child, I believed that my heart and soul belonged in St. Louis.  Michigan is as unappealing as the day is long.  There is no adventure here for me, and it's making me second guess the sanity of my family for choosing to live here.  I'm bored with the scenery.

Phobias are real.  If I had to mention one thing that I am deathly afraid of, it would be me gaining a huge amount of weight in a short period of time.  Some say it's a problem, I say it's a yearning to be fit enough to outrun a bear.

Juicing is new to me, but in the short time I have been trying it out, I've felt better about myself. Yay, juice.

Pandora suggested a new station for me.  My thoughts have never been so clear!  This must be what excitement feels like!  Too much exposure to this music might possess me to clean my bedroom and relieve it of things with no importance to me anymore...."ALL MY OBJECTS!"

It's a chill night.

Take time to breathe,
Emily Page.

waiting for a beautiful boy to save you from your old ways.

What do you do when you are ready to give all of yourself to someone who isn't willing to accept you and love you for everything that you are?! How do you compose yourself and deal with the heavy burden that has been slung upon your brittle self-esteem?! Do you withdraw the sum of everything you've saved in the bank of love becoming emotionally bankrupt?! 

I've lost my mind trying to understand why certain things happen in this worldly hell. Spending time lost in endless thought has led me into a sea of fear and failure. Standing on the sideline screaming encouragement to a deaf band. Control over anything more than my own person has become the greatest challenge, but is it really my challenge to conquer? The complexities of the soul tie themselves into knots. Maybe they are meant to remain tied up..meant to be appreciated in their natural form. 

Change. The inevitable effects of meeting new obstacles withers the personality at a slow, yet perpetual pace. For good or for bad, it doesn't matter. It happens. What matters is learning to welcome the new idea with an old fashioned heart. 

Love. Many modern definitions diminish the original meaning of this word. 

My mind is in recovery. Present speculation is simply a stone on which I will step, for someday I will completely interpret my thoughts...not for others to compare to their own progress, but for me to finally have a grasp on the concept of "purpose."

For now, my love is for myself. And when I am rich, then and only then will I be able to give myself away and remain whole.

Recent Thoughts

My transfer from Grand Valley to Ferris was a little rough. I was pretty late getting all of my information in, so my class list wasn't made until days before class actually started. I'm starting to get into the swing of things, but there are a few things that might continue to upset me this semester.

My communications professor, she is a little off. At first this didn't bother me. It didn't start to bother me until she started telling the whole class that we are going to fail because we don't listen.

I don't know if she realized this, but I was surely listening to this nasty assumption about an academically inclined group of students.

Professors like her make me angry.

We were told to give a speech about what makes us angry. She, in fact, makes me angry. Oddly similar to my writing professor at Grand Valley, she is closed minded. Anything that isn't done her way is the wrong way...unless it's a speech that you are passionate about giving....then she will decide to give that same speech as an example and tell you that you fail if you give the speech even the least bit similar to her speech.

I might write a book. My thoughts are so scattered, but all I have to do is organize. I don't even care if it takes years to get my thoughts onto a page. My thoughts overfill my poor mind. It needs a good cleaning. Putting my thoughts into a book is like saving information from my computer onto an external hard drive. 

It could be very well worth it. If a computer crashes, the hard drive still holds such sensitive but  important information. If I were in a bad car accident that caused me to forget things, I'd still have my own important memories saved into my external hard drive....in other words, my book.

This is...awkward.

It's been awhile since I've taken time to do a check up on my life at any certain point.  There are very few things that actually trigger my sense of creativity...the things that lead me to process a well thought out blog post.  This is a day blog, so my thought track isn't exactly on point, but it's definitely time to take out the trash.  I might actually be able to think straight.

We'll see.

I'm trapped.  Stuck in this life I never thought I'd live. Am I really falling into the position of the underdog? Is someone who owns a name other than my own seriously controlling my every move? It hurts.  This is the kind of claustrophobia of which I've always been afraid.  Loved for who I am, or loved for the person others  have created?  This question is a tough one, and I'm dreading the honest answer.

Country music has been so gentle to my ears as of late. Is this a phase?

Waiting is something upon which I do not look too fondly. Waiting once for something is okay, but continually having to wait for that something is too obnoxious for me to even withstand.

Have I become a people pleaser, trying so hard to make sure everything is okay on the other end, when in all reality I haven't been keeping myself happy? Do I even know what it means to be happy? I'm learning way too much about how hard life may be when you stay worried.

*sarcastic laugh* Worried? What do I have to be worried about?

Love. While listening to the song, "What is Love?" by NeverShoutNever, I ask the same question.
What is it exactly?  Is it giving up on yourself, having to have somebody else by your side always? Who knows... I try not to over analyze what it could mean.

Reading back to all of my previous blog posts, I thought to myself, "What could possibly possess me to think in such.....awkward....ways?

It's the middle of the day, and I have done nothing but write. What's gotten into me?! I've also been going to bed at reasonable hours.

The hardest I've tried to think in months,
Emily Page.

P.s. I have to be in school for what looks like more than 9 years...yay.

Your friend, my friend, why aren't we all friends?

All hell broke loose this past week. The exact reason as to why remains a mystery, but I guess it's another learning experience. Life gave me lemons, and I'm making nothing short of the best lemonade ever to be consumed by man.

Let's talk about "friends."

What does it mean to be a friend?

In this life, we are given the chance to meet people. We can choose from the moment we meet them whether or not we care to have them as a  part of our life or if we choose to deny their presence while continuing our search for friendship. Having always been an accepting person, I wonder why the search has to be so difficult. There is no logical reason as to why process of elimination is used when judging such things as appearance, hygiene, or social class. Do people feel as though they are too high class to befriend somebody who is less fortunate than they? That seems pretty ignorant, but the world is an imperfect place.

Everybody is my friend until they give me a reason not to trust them. I hate that it has to be that way, but some people simply decide not to be trustworthy.

Friendship is something that is super important while traveling life's narrow paths. Picking and choosing can be difficult. As much as I feel that everybody should be friends, it just can't happen. There are so many judgmental people in the world; it's nearly impossible.

Even after finding the right friends, you might even begin to realize how wrong they are for you. It seems silly, but after working so hard to be a good friend, it hurts to find out that they didn't work the same. They didn't put forth the same amount of energy to keep the friendship alive and healthy. Best friends aren't supposed to speak negative words about each other, and they surely aren't supposed to lead others to think ill of them either. It still happens.

Why?
It's the question I ask in most posts, but it's the most fitting. It is also yet to be answered.

People will try to work words into sense, but how could they do that when they don't even know what it means to reason?
I've run into this problem far too many times with the same person and multiple times with other people. I've come to understand the true meaning of Deja Vu.

While running through a field of poppies today, I stopped to think about how these simple little flowers are so similar to the complexities of life. Why is it that some of these flowers grow big, some grow small, some are pink, some are red, and some are white? What makes them so different? Well, some parts of the field might not receive the same amount of sunlight, some might rest in a little different soil than the others, and some might absorb water better than others. Just like humans, these flowers have obstacles...things that affect the way they grow which contributes to their appearance.
We have obstacles. Things that step in our way forcing us to grow in different directions are everywhere. As different as we make ourselves seem, we are truly all the same, and we need the same care just as the flowers do. The small flowers aren't offered less water because they are small, and the pink flowers aren't offered more sunlight just because someone thinks they are more beautiful.

All is beautiful.

The world is caught up in a large misunderstanding. We are similar but remain different to those who refuse to see otherwise. Those who refuse to see otherwise are usually the people who lead unhappy lives with shallow friends...if they have any.

Aside from that thought, I am thankful for the caring friends that actually comprehend the term "friendship" and follow the golden rule.

Wasn't even prepared to have a deep thought today,
Emily Page.

P.s. I guess what I'm trying to say in this post script is that I'm done trying harder for people who won't try at all.

P.p.s. Violence is never okay...........unless it's necessary violence.

Thoughts on "Why?"

As much as I shouldn't care, I can honestly say that I despise my ex boyfriend's girlfriend. I mean, I ended things with him over a year ago, and I don't know him enough anymore to say anything, but she is totally untrustworthy. She writes in her online journal about how she isn't totally sure about being with him. If you say you love somebody, then you shouldn't be unsure. Obviously she is unsatisfied.

I've never been more satisfied with anybody in my life than when I was with my most recent ex boyfriend. Sure things didn't work out, and that happens...I'm still wondering why, but it happens. I never told him that I loved him, but while I was with him, I thought I knew for sure that I'd be beyond satisfied with him for the rest of my life. There was never a moment of wondering if things could have been better, because I thought I had the best.
That's the kind of attitude she should have, but she doesn't. It doesn't matter if she's young. Telling the world how she feels while hiding it from the person that should matter the most to her is never okay. I did that once when I was a little younger, then I figured out that it was purely asinine. It would never be okay to do that to the one you refer to as "the love of your life." Granted, when I did it, I was 12 and didn't have a "love of my life."

Why do I laugh at the stupidity that is revealed so effortlessly in this world?

I'm not one to judge, but I can most certainly allot my opinion to whomever may come across it. This IS my mode of release.

Corresponding with always, my question being "Why?,"
Emily Page.

P.s. Love is real if you choose to believe in it. Don't be a Cynical Sinjin. Believe in love.