There's one thing I'm sufficiently sure of: I have always been a musical critic. On December 7th, 2005, I expressed my irrepressible love for Jay Ungar and his Ashokan Farewell. It conveyed something to me and through me, that I simply could not express in words.
But there is a point where music cannot fix that which it conveys. It can show, but not explain. It can interact, but not fix.
And God knows, I needed fixing.
Recently, while lounging on my feather comforter, the smell of the fresh paint in my room lingering in my hair, and moving boxes strewn about the carpet, I discovered something. I already knew it, really, but it was a check mark in the space that desired confirmation. I opened my pink journal, the one with pug puppies on the front and a remarkably thin and beautiful girl, to confirm that, yes, I rely on males for happiness. Ridiculous, refuted revelation.
What do you expect?
My father, when I was a child, was translucent. You know when you have dreams that are so tactile and real, and then there's that blotchy spot, location, item, idea, or person, that you simply cannot see or remember. That's my father. Yes, he was definitely there, but the vague memories I have of him are him leaning over in a tree stand to tell me to be quiet, him mowing the lawn, him telling me to do the dishes, him drinking sour tea, and him 'taking the Lord God's name in vane' when a silly airplane flew straight into a building.
All of which occurred in the one story house.
On my birthday, up until I moved, my mom would call me to her, and tell me about the day I was born. I was the only baby my dad cried over. Why? Because I caused pain. My mother couldn't be properly medicated because my doctors didn't even understand English. He saw how much pain she was in, and he wept. I caused pain, and he wept.
Not much has changed.
The most that HAS changed, however, was that while I was out causing so much pain, for others and myself, I was also being marked by pain caused from others. That's the beautiful part of my egocentric little self. I was so wrapped up in how much I was hurting myself and others, that it didn't exactly dawn on my that others could hurt me, too. I would have blamed myself for the Oklahoma tornados if I didn't know that it was scientifically absurd. All pain revolved around me. Alas, geocentricism to the guilty heart.
Three years later, as I reflect on my teen years from a bed placed in a home that does not belong to me or my family, I realize that pain, like life is a circular chain, linked, and occasionally broken.
So in all reality, this is not a memoir about a woman's capability to function, but rather, it is a story about circles. Love, it's a circle, one that can certainly be unbound. A circle that can be linked and layered with many more circles. Life, then, is just one elaborate version of the olympic symbol. Everything is bound and and layered and linked. What a beautifully painful thing that is.
I hurt my mother the most. She was my best friend, but I brought her so much pain. My dad, on the other hand, hurt not only himself, but everyone else around him. And after these short years, much anxiety, a little college and tolerance of myself, my margin for bringing others pain has significantly declined. I have gained a capacity to experience pain. I've gained this space by allowing myself to love, because to love is to hurt. To love is to let yourself be vulnerable. To love is to allow others to be linked into your circles of pain, trust, and chain themselves to your very being. And in the end, what is a life without love?
It was plaid skirts and tube socks. It was getting lost while driving because of getting lost mentally. It was zoloft and books. Post it notes and anxiety attacks. Mirrors and scales. Smudged lipgloss and unanswered phone calls. It was the way he looked when he said he loved me and the way he looked when he said he never wanted to speak to me again.
So, that being said, I've learned to love. I have learned to accept pain and joy as two things that sometimes coincide.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Friday, December 7, 2012
Part 1
We had a huge pillow.
The kind that engulfs your whole body when you sit on it.
At least, it would if you were six years old.
Though I believe I have forced many memories out of my mind, there are a few that the cells and synapasis and neuron exchanges seem to have left being---a receipt on a soiled table if you will. They are really of no use, but still reflect the item they came from. Me. What I was. It takes five years for your body to fully recycle your cells. We are constantly changing. I am not literally the exact same person I was five years ago, but us humans, we retain some interesting memories triggered by the most bizarre things, they may not be useful to you, or to your neighbor, or the last person to ride in the car with you, but to my identity, they are everything. Single memories usually don't mean much, they don't contain some extraordinary life lessons, but contribute as puzzle pieces to a greater work.
As a child, my awareness was cultured by the dynamic around me. I live in a family of eight souls. None of which are damned. I hope. In a way, I still think of my family as just five of us: Mom, Dad, Jacob, Raquel, and myself. My parents are of Hispanic and German ethnicity. My friends call me Germex.
When I was a real girl, my sister and I played boy-band cd's on our boombox and rocked out to Christian-inspirational-soft-rock. When I was a real girl, my mom would let me make my own eggs in the morning; sometimes, she would even let me scoop my own chocolate milk mix--it reminded me of fish food, and I honestly didn't even like it that much, just the authority of scooping. When I was a real girl, the best part of the day was when my mother would free me from the dreaded 'school room' and allow me to gallop in the sun. I used to but my chin on my hands, laying in the grass, and sit still. After a moment, of staring blankly, I would see bugs squiggling, blades swaying, the earth has a sporadic heart beat.When I was a real girl, I had hooves , cucumber ant squash plants were my gold medal jumping posts. When I was a real girl, I'd take a sip of daddy's ice tea and gag because, it definitely was not iced tea. And then, like a foot squirming into a cramped, laced shoe, I was no longer a real girl. I squished myself into a new reality, suddenly breaking free into something that expands at the same rate of the universe. I'm not sure when I decided it, but I just simply knew it had happened. In that un-nameable time, I became un-real in the sense that I became Aware. While awareness is a product of life, as is knowledge, my awareness came hurdling out of the sky, 8,000 miles per hour (8,000 is divisible by two and nice because if you square two it equals half of 8 and therefore; it's a 'good' number).
It suddenly slowed down and plopped right on my face. Right, on it.
And there you have it. I was an aware little girl. I was aware that every person in my family was entirely different from one another. I was aware that my hair was knotted, my fingernails weren't pretty, and that I had warts on my ankles. I became aware that my dad drank sour liquid that looked like tea, but most definitely wasn't tea. I became aware of how he would stand in our back yard and hold smoke in his right hand. The same hand that pet my little head when it was against his chest. I also became aware that my neighbor (who I was going to marry) also held smoke in his hand sometimes. I felt like I was intruding when I saw them do this, and it's because, well, I was.
I saw what I wasn't suppose to see.--Always, it seemed like. I didn't know this at the time, of course. But looking back, I'm almost positive that my awareness at such an abnormally young age is the reason I am the way I am now --
As a child, I knew how to satisfy the people around me. I gained popularity through awareness. The girls liked someone who would listen to them and pretend to like their girly ideas, and the boys liked someone who challenged them and pretended to hate their boyish ideas. Both of which I legitimately liked and disliked regularly.
Pretty simple, right?
Wrong.
Appealing to those around me was self destructive. Many times, I went against my true desires, but overall, I really just lived a multi-personality life. I was very good at being what everyone wanted me to be at different times. For example, my best friend Allison called me her twin, so naturally, I acted just like her. My mom loved me for being me, and naturally, I acted weird (which was me, I guess). My sister liked me because I was her companion, and because I would have jumped off a cliff after her. For my dad, I was innocent.
And that's how life trucked on.
I was perfect for reading, because that's how the librarian liked me.
I was great at swimming, because my grandma liked the lake house.
I was motivated in everything, because that's what everyone wanted.
One day, while wondering through the yellow halls of my one story houses, (one story houses aren't as 'good' as two story houses, in my childish mind) I realized, I could be me, to my full entirety, as long as nobody else knew. So I was, and that's how I ended where I am now.
...Where am I now?
The question we have all been wondering.
As a child, my awareness was cultured by the dynamic around me. I live in a family of eight souls. None of which are damned. I hope. In a way, I still think of my family as just five of us: Mom, Dad, Jacob, Raquel, and myself. My parents are of Hispanic and German ethnicity. My friends call me Germex.
When I was a real girl, my sister and I played boy-band cd's on our boombox and rocked out to Christian-inspirational-soft-rock. When I was a real girl, my mom would let me make my own eggs in the morning; sometimes, she would even let me scoop my own chocolate milk mix--it reminded me of fish food, and I honestly didn't even like it that much, just the authority of scooping. When I was a real girl, the best part of the day was when my mother would free me from the dreaded 'school room' and allow me to gallop in the sun. I used to but my chin on my hands, laying in the grass, and sit still. After a moment, of staring blankly, I would see bugs squiggling, blades swaying, the earth has a sporadic heart beat.When I was a real girl, I had hooves , cucumber ant squash plants were my gold medal jumping posts. When I was a real girl, I'd take a sip of daddy's ice tea and gag because, it definitely was not iced tea. And then, like a foot squirming into a cramped, laced shoe, I was no longer a real girl. I squished myself into a new reality, suddenly breaking free into something that expands at the same rate of the universe. I'm not sure when I decided it, but I just simply knew it had happened. In that un-nameable time, I became un-real in the sense that I became Aware. While awareness is a product of life, as is knowledge, my awareness came hurdling out of the sky, 8,000 miles per hour (8,000 is divisible by two and nice because if you square two it equals half of 8 and therefore; it's a 'good' number).
It suddenly slowed down and plopped right on my face. Right, on it.
And there you have it. I was an aware little girl. I was aware that every person in my family was entirely different from one another. I was aware that my hair was knotted, my fingernails weren't pretty, and that I had warts on my ankles. I became aware that my dad drank sour liquid that looked like tea, but most definitely wasn't tea. I became aware of how he would stand in our back yard and hold smoke in his right hand. The same hand that pet my little head when it was against his chest. I also became aware that my neighbor (who I was going to marry) also held smoke in his hand sometimes. I felt like I was intruding when I saw them do this, and it's because, well, I was.
I saw what I wasn't suppose to see.--Always, it seemed like. I didn't know this at the time, of course. But looking back, I'm almost positive that my awareness at such an abnormally young age is the reason I am the way I am now --
As a child, I knew how to satisfy the people around me. I gained popularity through awareness. The girls liked someone who would listen to them and pretend to like their girly ideas, and the boys liked someone who challenged them and pretended to hate their boyish ideas. Both of which I legitimately liked and disliked regularly.
Pretty simple, right?
Wrong.
Appealing to those around me was self destructive. Many times, I went against my true desires, but overall, I really just lived a multi-personality life. I was very good at being what everyone wanted me to be at different times. For example, my best friend Allison called me her twin, so naturally, I acted just like her. My mom loved me for being me, and naturally, I acted weird (which was me, I guess). My sister liked me because I was her companion, and because I would have jumped off a cliff after her. For my dad, I was innocent.
And that's how life trucked on.
I was perfect for reading, because that's how the librarian liked me.
I was great at swimming, because my grandma liked the lake house.
I was motivated in everything, because that's what everyone wanted.
One day, while wondering through the yellow halls of my one story houses, (one story houses aren't as 'good' as two story houses, in my childish mind) I realized, I could be me, to my full entirety, as long as nobody else knew. So I was, and that's how I ended where I am now.
...Where am I now?
The question we have all been wondering.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Recap (The introduction)
About six months ago, my life changed.
Observable.
Explainable.
Someone suggested that I record happenings, after all, I have had many experiences and am almost entitled to share them. Deprivation of knowledge, in my opinion, is the worst. So here, let me teach you a thing or two about me.
October 7th, 2012:
After eleven hours of driving and a few restless hours of humid hotel blankets, I arrived at a cute little cottage house. I was fascinated with how the sun seemed to pierce itself through the branches of the thick above. The air kissed your throat, like dew flirting with the earth. This place was Spring. This new place, was icy air filling every cavern of your chest, it was the metallic smell of fresh slimy ink, it was the hand to the corner of the paper, and thighs against a cold wooden chair, fingers against little squares to make a sheet of black and white--whether that be metaphorical or not. This place, was a new start.
The jump that ripples through a runners body when the gun ignites. It was the feeling of a divers toes grating against the sandpaper edge of the diving board before the 100% performance. This place was everything I needed.
When I was a young girl, I liked sunshine, dust, and horses. I liked the feeling of chocolate in between my teeth, and of course, glitter on my toes. While the pictures are merely a tactile representation of my proven facade, they do accurately represent one thing: I was a little girl. And anyone who was ever a little girl knows that when one is such, many things are required. Some of which being, fruits and vegetables, pink, alone time, friend time, some sort of hyped up princess inspired sport, and a loving, nurturing family. While the jackle-tooth, knotted haired ballerina represented in the pictures might have been given many of the necessary tools to succeed, a series of educational and perhaps unorthodox events happened along her way to womanhood, which all in all inhibited her success; however, while they inhibited her success, they did not override her potential or ability to identify how she could better herself.
That's really what I'd like to talk about. The moments of childish bliss to where I am at this moment. In a way, my life is so cliche, which really makes for good reading. Chances are, I will tell you something you have already heard, but even more likely, I will tell you a combination of ridiculous things you never wanted to hear, but things that will make you wonder.
To be frank, I don't really care what your opinion is. I don't care if you don't like my run on sentences, my repetitive bad choices, or cliche family plot, because this story isn't about you. This is the story of seventeen years in the life of someone who you will never completely understand. Anxious as I might seem, I'm not thrilled to share; however, I feel it my duty, and I don't do well with frivolous bullshit, so excuse my stolid, pretentious behavior. Although I feel obligated in a sense, I'm not sure why I'm writing this, for I don't believe it is for my benefit or "healing". No, certainly not healing. If I wanted healing, I would not conjure a recipe for reminiscent disaster, which this most certainly might be. I don't even hope that you get any sort of "life lesson" out of this, but maybe just... a glimpse. A glimpse of the soles in another persons shoes. I don't owe anything to you and you don't owe anything to me, so why would I lie or leave anything out.
While I often solemnly swear I'm up to no good, I solemnly swear to be honest with not you, but myself.
There are four things I know to be true:
My name is Skarlett Suzanne Hartford.
I am seventeen years old.
Snow is unpleasant to me.
My fingers are bony.
I attribute every connotation possible to the color white.
Uneven numbers are simply inchoate and arid of organizational quench. And most of all, (the unique part) like everyone, I have a story.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Recently
Recently--- I have had a plethora of homework to finish, and I must admit that this whole "school" thing isn't exactly the most pleasant way to spend time. My education means very much to me; however, I do feel that if Homework was a person--I'd probably stake him.
I will have my tea. I will get my education. I will do something with my life. High aspirations? I think not. I am capable, and honestly I think you probably are too. We weren't made to lolly gag about this sea of humanity and chaos. We were made for a reason. We have purpose. It's finding out what that purpose is that can be tricky.
I haven't uploaded pictures lately, or even posted...I haven't forgotten about everyone! I'm thinking of you. All you people just -there- on the other side of my little laptop screen. Somewhere.
Don't get all caught up though my friends, like a certain boy I know. He's so lovely, and so capable, but he just has forgotten how to be care free. He acts as though he hasn't, but I know him. I know he knows there is a greater meaning to life. I know he knows I know.
Be carefree, but do something worthwhile.
Skarlett<3
(I MISS SUMMER)
Sunday, October 25, 2009
A day. A day at work. A day with a swing.
Heather ^_^These are unedited...Hope you didn't notice my lunch box.
Skarlett<3
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Decisions Decisions
Decisions.We make them every single day.
Some are on the titanic side of the importance scale.
Others
not so much. The worst is when you know the decisions you make will majorly change your future.
My decision is on the topic of :life. and what I'm going to do with that little piece of existence I own.
Like I promised, another picture from Europe. This was taken at a wedding we attended with our hosts. The dove throwing is traditional and extremely cool. I was asked to play violin for this wedding. Because I only had a weeks notice, I politely declined.
Funny how every post reveals so much.
Yes. I'm a violinist.
<3Skarlett
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
