I Miss You, But I Can Live Without You

When we say we lost something, it's assumed that it's possible to find again. The absence of the "thing" is not permanent. It isn't "gone", it's temporarily misplaced. 

I've lost a friend. 

No, they're not dead. 

Simply, lost. 

I'm not sure I can find them again. I'm not sure loose strings will ever heal, or much needed words will ever be spoken. I would say it's my fault but I'm sick of every person I come across acting like every problem in the relationship they have with me is because of me. 

You can ignore me, that's not my problem. At least I pretend that it's not. 

I will cry at this loss. Probably to sleep at some point. I will miss this friend. Miss them like I miss everyone I seem to disconnect from. Someday I'll probably look back and realize the problem was me. Blaming myself always seems like the best fall back plan. 

However, I will not stop for them. I will move further into my life, and into what I love despite their wanting to be removed. I will breathe as I do every day. I will find new roads and doors, even open them happily. 

I cannot hesitate and command myself to the wishes of anyone I come into paths with. 

I am my own person. I have my own needs. 

I will miss this person, as they feel so lost to me. As lost things are always so often precious to those who had known them.

Goodbye old friend, I wish you the very best in your life. In fact, I hope it's fantastic. 

-Gwen 

Why I Can't Stand Being Told to 'Calm Down'

Nearly everyone has a memory of running hiccuping into our mother's arms, words mushed together as we sob into her shoulder. The next thing we probably notice in our memories is the simple phrases used to placate our distressed disposition. Phrases such as, "Calm Down," or, "Breathe." Once we have calmed to where we are intelligible, our mother's more than likely caressed our heads, then fixed our problem in the only way that mothers can.

That's all good and well when we're five. Maybe even ten. Yet, as I get older, my mother says these endearing terms less frequently as my peers do. Peers, who don't seem to know what to do with someone outwardly exhibiting their emotions.

I hate it.

As someone who frequently revisits anxiety, has anger issues, and is awkward when coping with anything other than joy, the last thing I want is for a friend to look me dead in the eye and say, "Calm down."

They may think it's cute, or leginitemly will fix 'the problem', but I can't see it that way. I'm expressing myself to you, which is already hard with anxiety. Trying being shy on top of it all. The fact that I I'm openly exhilarated around you, or have finally found words to open to you, means I've trusted you to listen. I promise you I already feel like I'm five without the help of your correlation to that point in my life.

The fact is, opening up feels immature in a way. Everyone is taught today to be continuously happy. As someone who is frequently not, I feel foolish when opening up. When you continue to treat me like I'm your child, and need placated, why would I open up to you again? Clearly, you don't see me as a peer. It makes me feel awkward and immature, and like I've done something wrong.

 Something better, if your friend is that distressed, is a solution more mature. "How can fix this?" "Is there something I can do to help you?" "Let's grab ice-cream, and we can cry over a movie together." Phrases I learned, and try to put into practice. Something that fits the age group better than, "Dude, breathe."  In contrast, If I'm getting too excited, and the mood is light, jokingly expressing that thought is appropriate. I might even ask you the same. Not when I'm expressing legitimate emotion in a moment of vulnerability.

A peer is a peer, a friend should never be a second mother.


God bless,

Gwen

We're All a Little Crazy Here

I had this natural knack, back in my awkward middle-school years, at being both ignorant, and uninterested in modern trends. While everyone was doing their hair and indulging themselves in the latest chick flicks, I was left wondering if The Doctor was going to survive the next episode or not. It could be said that it was my dad's fault that my first crush wasn't Channing Tatum or Alex Pettyfer; that it was Ewan McGregor, from Star Wars. I could have, but I didn't. It was only fair that eventually I would realize that not only was my introvert shyness a turn away for most people, my love of stereotypical 'geek' paraphernalia kept me from becoming good friends with a lot of people. They would pat me on my head, call me "cute", and "crazy", then be on their way.

It was some where around here that I met someone who was to be my best friend for another five or six years. It was the oddest friendship.

She did dance, and was incredibly good at it. Had dreams of becoming professional and all that. She was also in the "in crowd". A crowd, I hadn't yet realized, that  would never accept me. Still, we became great friends over certain subjects (as is the way of a tweens) and life continued to spin despite our inherent differences.

Then the fatal day happened.

One afternoon, on one of those awkward Homeschool "Show and Tell" things (an excuse for the moms to hang out while we played out side) took place at my home. My mom hosted, so after an entire morning of relentless cleaning, I was looking forward to hanging out with my Irish Dance friend (we'll go ahead and call her Grace for the purposes of this post). See, because Grace was in the in-crowd, I was left with a harrowing choice every show and tell. Do I hide in the corner, or brace myself against the popular girls in order to hang out with Grace. 

I decided that day that it was worth hanging out with Grace.

Everything was going smoothly until Grace approached me from where she had been playing with a couple of other girls. The girl, one in particular who hadn't really liked me from the beginning, watched on from a distance. I was uneasy, but let Grace pull me away from the group. Little did I know what this would change.

"You know," she said, "My friend just told me that she thinks you're immature. You know, kind of babyish."

I understand now that this was simply kid drama. At the time, my heart dropped. I was already a loser, and now the popular girl thought I was too little to be bothered with.

Good-naturedly, I shrugged it off, but did my best to avoid that girl in the future. Grace was annoyed, we were both decent friends of hers, because we had a hard time hanging out in the same room together. Some drama happened, but every time she introduced me to one of her friends the same thing seemed to keep happening. I was growing frustrated with myself, no one else at fault but myself.

It was hilariously fun trying to get along with both of them at the same time.

It all ended up boiling down to the fact that my obsessions were Star Wars and Phantom of the Opera, not Nicholas Sparks. I spent several years trying to mold myself into that group. Everything was upsetting, and nothing was fun anymore.

Everyone I knew that I was trying to be friends with were trying to accept me, but they always felt that I was childish for liking my nerdy things. Maybe I was, but I just didn't see myself as someone like them. Grace knew that, and tried to help me fit in with her, but I turned her down.

Eventually, at some point during Freshman year, I started flaunting my nerdiness like a bonus card for life that would get me extra points or something. Grace was somewhere in my life, not close anymore, leaving me emotionally destroyed. Her friendship was like taking a bullet  when it left. I was desperate, and no one was understanding me. Was it ok to be this nerdy? I was blaming myself for the destroyed friendship, and kicking myself for not trying to fit in better.

Fandoms are funny like that. When you feel most alone you come across that one show that happens to have an emotional appeal for the emptiness you feel. Because, despite whatever society says, nerdiness is still unacceptable today. I still have a hard time finding people who like the same things as me, or don't think I'm weird because I like Hawkeye over Mr. Darcy. It's a struggle, one I kind of used to single myself out. I wasn't a happy tween, I honestly wasn't. And anything that I could use to fuel that sadness was great for me; I didn't realize the pain that came with that though. That I would miss so many great friends because I didn't like them for thinking my likes foolish.

I didn't give them the opportunity to like me for me; instead of  allowing them to see me outside of my interests.

I guess what I'm trying to say is hang in there. Just because someone doesn't share the same interests, or makes fun of you because of yours, doesn't mean you can't get along with them. Doesn't mean you're alone forever. Open your wings, and be amazed at what you accomplish. Things might seem condescending and personal at the moment, but you'll always pull through. Humans are kind of cool like.

I know I am strong.

My heart has been tortured, tested, drawn, whipped, and wasted.

Yet it still continues to beat the same rhythm.



Gwen Keller

If Liberty is to Die, Then are We to Die with it?

The air is thick, providing a dense mist that saturates my clothing. It feels like walking underwater.

My boots sludge through the mud as I listen to General Washington's voice echo in my head. Beside me my fellow soldiers tumble on, leaning on each other for support. There is no clear road ahead, all the markings have long since washed away, leaving us to wander with no absolute destination. I'm starting to wonder how much longer I can go without food in such temperatures.

My chances are looking dim.

We pass few homesteads with wives tucked away inside, desperately trying to protect their offspring from the onslaught of illness that practically permeates the air. I can even hear some of the men around me cough half-heartedly while we trudge on forwards on our empty road.

I'm starting to calculate my chances of survival if I myself get ill.

I've decided to write to my family instead.

In the off chance that the letter isn't intercepted, and does, in fact, reach it's destination; I shall spend my next few days in pure enjoyment from the notion that my mother has heard from me. If not, I will spend my weeks mourning the thought that she will never know that my elder brother has passed in the recent course of freedom.

Oh, freedom, thy single word a fresh start whispered from lips with everlasting reassurance of what might be to come. I know that there are those who oppose the idea, but I can't help but find it renewing. Is it not worth our lives to ensure the free lives of our children, their children, and many generations to come? I cannot conceive such a thing to surpass an ideal as therefore mentioned.

If this cause, this reaction is to end with my death, I will have died happy. The thought the we stood for no intolerance, no injustice, and no enslavement provides pride that cannot be matched.

The pride of a bedraggled man, and his growing, independent country.

\\\\\\\\

Hey guys! 

So, because this is a blog about writing, I thought I'd give some of mine to you guys!
Basically based around the revolutionary war, I'm trying out some first person journaling! Not sure how I feel about the style (or beginning) but I'll let you be the judge of that. :) ( My excuse to burn some ideas before writing a long paper in a similar style.)

God bless, 

Gwen 

A Thing or Two About Life

Everyone knows that I want to be writer of some kind when I get older. I love typing, I love researching, with the idea that another plot sits around the corner waiting to be discovered.

I've been doing it since I was twelve, and have yet to find it unenjoyable, or stressing.

It's a way of life for me. When I haven't typed in a while my fingers itch for the keys, letting my opinions, heart and soul etch themselves onto paper while I type furiously with mad emotion wild in my head. Consuming thoughts of characters, far away lands, with grassy green fields and purple skies. It's all beautiful me. A talent that I've chosen to use to express who I am, what I stand for, and my imagination. Work isn't work when you love it.

Work can be fun, an endeavor we lack in the monotone and emotionless society of today. Grasp that one thing you enjoy, and hold it close because it only lasts forever. God only calls you for so much. Capture that in your heart, and burn it with the fire of ambition. Stretch your talent, multiply it, then show others how.

With joy, others will find hope.

With love, others will find peace.

Love your work, if nothing else than to be an example on how to love life at its fullest.

If I can write a book that people will love for generations, that I will have done the unthinkable.

But if I can write a poem that will change millions in a fleeting moment that lasts only but seconds every time they read it?

I will have done the impossible.

The whispered truths in writing, that is why I love it.

-Gwen Keller

I'm Just Sayin'

I was recently called a feminist for appreciating a woman who had earned a master's degree in Chemistry in the mid 1960's. She did some horrible things with her career, which was saddening but no better than the many men who were involved as well, but I thought it cool that in a time where it was frowned upon for women, she managed to get a degree. It was in a simply documentary, and a fleeting comment from me.

Woman gets a degree? Cool, you go girl. Now stop and reevaluate your life because you shouldn't be wasting your time killing people in the Cold War.

However, the person I was with told me that I was being liberal in thought, and that it wasn't spectacular that anyone got a degree in Chemistry because, I quote, "It's easy. The fact that she was a woman didn't make it special, she was just as bad. You're such a feminist."

I want to get one thing across: I wouldn't consider myself a feminist. The word is too liberal, while their consideration and ideals regarding rights and human life are flawed. I do, however, support women's rights to vote, and their right to be equally treated as men in the workplace. Call me a feminist, but I believe in natural equality.

So the fact that a woman even got a master's degree in Chemistry was cool for me.

And to whatever twat first believed that women were weaker because they couldn't do a man's work hadn't obviously tried to do a woman's work. God was very specific and intricate when he first created mankind. There were no accidents. Men were to provide, and women were to bare children and care for children while being cared for by the head of the house.

This does not make us weak. This does not make men strong. It is simply what we were designed for. Why women will get daycare jobs easier than men, and why women have more trouble getting a job that's physically more trying. It's a fact of life, and one that does well to not put one sex before the other.

In Spartan society a woman could only get a gravestone when she died, if she died in childbirth.

When could a man get a gravestone?

When he died in battle.

They recognized the importance of women, treated them fairly and even get them an equivalent honor as the men. Not every society is as fair. I would even consider the American society to do an injustice to the women as well.

So yea, a woman getting a degree is kind of cool to hear about. The End.

We may look cute and fluffy with our pink and sparkles, but do not think for one second think that we are weak, because the will of God is ahead of the world, and through him, all things are possible.


-Gwen Keller

I'm A Little Me

We spend our entire lives trying not to die that I think we've forgotten how to live.

We plan our wills, write out our plans, and prepare for the inevitable. Taking pictures left and right because, "I want to have it forever!"

What are we going to leave our loved ones when we go? Where will we go when we die? And when that doesn't satisfy us, we loom over others pressuring them about their life choices and where they will go when they die. "YODO: You Only Die Once!"

What about life has us believing that it has to be so perfect? What are we missing? Is it love? Is it hate?

It's empathy.

We've forgotten what Jesus has said over and over and over again. We have also forgotten that he has dined with sinners. Not to accept them in their sin, but understand where they are, and lead them to redemption but meeting them where they are at. Doesn't mean he's encouraging or approving their path of sin, he's simply trying to show them the narrow way through understanding and love. No yelling, no heated glares, no scorn, or hatred; but love in it's purest of forms. Love in seeing their pain, and their flaws, but encouraging them to be a better person; to set an example that can inspire them to become a better person.

I'm a little me, and I have little to give. I'm looked over often, I prefer two or three friends instead  500, and I'm not too concerned with much else but family and God. The fact that our God, who had made himself human, had dined with sinners and saints, could possibly love me, is beautiful.

To stop wondering why God has chosen little me, and instead thanking him for it. He's chosen all of us. Some miss it, some embrace it, and some fight it. Our jobs: to meet them where they're at with empathy, in love, to encourage righteousness. There is no greater gift than that, no matter how we are called to do it.

We have forgotten how to live because we think we are alone. I'm a little me, and sometimes that's enough, but with a little me, and a lot of God, there is much to be done. And in this endeavor, being enclosed and scornful will not do. Something I think I'm still learning today, possibly will never stop learning. Thankfully, I have a whole lifetime to practice, however long that may be. :)

In Christ,

Gwen