The Final Verdict

It's been 3 weeks since I last blogged. Honestly, I've been avoiding it. I've been wrapped in my head, telling myself all the things I do wrong.

In "2015 Purple Owl" I wrote a list of things I'm supposed to do at my age but haven't been able to accomplish. So far, I've made quite a dent in that list.

I've: started school, gone out more weekends, and have been getting experience in my chosen field.

However, I'm not happier for reaching these so called requirements. I'm still being pressured to do more. To get my license. To help around the house more.

It's not that I like avoiding these things. It's that these things scare me. Stress me out and make it hard to sleep. I rarely dream anymore without hearing some piece of advice. In my sleep!!!

And it makes me feel like the most horrible person on the planet.

The Charges: Major Flaws

Guilt makes me small
I hate that I was born
Ruined my family's lives
And many, many more

Guilt makes me mean
To the boy I like
Can't make myself happy
Let alone help him to be

Guilt makes me weak
It pressed down on me
I don't want to go on
And on anymore

Guilt makes me strong
It pushes me onward
For all the suffering
How can I alone escape

So is it good or bad
What is the sentence
Am I wrong
Or am I guilty?

- CoJa Brown

I'm not guilty! I don't have to live in guilt anymore. To be motivated by guilt is painful and misleading. It's wrong to lock myself away and lie to other people.

The Sentence: Personal Acceptance

I'm not sure exactly who I am
Does that make me an idiot
There's got to be a way
To find myself

I am lost inside the world
Life feels like it finds you
Not the other way around
I chose not to be molded

When I'm by myself
I'm a little more real and sound
Now I have to figure out
How much of it is true

I need to accept her
I have to show her to the world
Because there's nothing wrong
With her, with me

If I believe that
I will be happy and strong
I will be me
Different will go on

- CoJa Brown

I guess it's okay not to know who you are, especially as a teenanger. I've just been so sure of myself for 18 years that it's upsetting to be otherwise. I just know I'm not who everyone's telling me to be.

So now, I get to find myself. And you get to come with me. I'll put up the blog topic schedule Monday. Tune in for more!!!

P.S. Double dose of poetry because of my unannounced haitus. I don't plan on being gone that long ever again!

Life of an Anxiety Ridden Teen

I don't know if I have panic attacks anymore. I think I live in a perpetual state of panic. I'm not sure if breathing easy is even possible anymore.

I look out into the world and feel like I'm watching a movie. People move, talk and continue living. Completely detached from me. I'm in a bubble. I have no effect on the story. But every atom of the story has an effect on me.

I'm afraid to leave the house. I'm afraid of what might happen outside. I'm afraid I'll give up. I don't even feel like getting out of bed and talking to my family. I'm afraid they'll say one thing wrong and I'll fall down. And I don't even know what that one thing will be beforehand.

It's ridiculous I know. It's ridiculous to be scared of living. Life is beautiful. I just wish I didn't feel everything.

I was on the street yesterday, waiting for the bus. A young woman in a wheelchair came up behind me. "Do I let her on first? Do I get on first? What is supposed to happen?" All these questions ran through my mind but I couldn't just ask her to find out. I wanted to solve it myself. So I stayed where I was.

No.

She gets on first.

The bus driver told me to hold on. I stepped to the side. He put down the ramp. She got on and I watched her settle in, ashamed.

"Do they think I was unkind, inconsiderate, evil? Do they think I was oblivious? Am I selfish for thinking of getting on first? Does it matter that I forgot the procedure when I didn't offer to let her on?"

I got on the bus. And sat. Silently, lecturing myself for the whole bus ride. Wondering if anyone else saw. Wondering if they all hated me too.

I realized that no one saw it. And if they did, they weren't thinking about it anymore. It didn't matter.

But I need to make everyone's day better. I need them to have liked coming across me. I need them to be happy to have interacted with me.

I waved to the driver, desperately trying to make up for my blunder. I stepped off the bus and started the walk home. I wondered how everyone on the bus would end the day. I hoped it would be well. In spite of meeting me.

I walked past the people on the street. Listened to my music. And teared up. But I refused to cry. Just because I'm crazy doesn't mean I have to cry on the sidewalk. And I needed to get home and make my family's day better.

Now I'm at school. After being late to my doctor's appointment. Effectively ruining his day.

I tried to get everything across quickly. I tried to get out quickly. I tried to put his day back on track.

I got on the bus and tried to breathe. I debated which stop to get off at. I forced myself to stay on the bus until I get to school. Then, I forced myself get off so I wouldn't end up miles from schoool.

"Why do I have to convince myself to do things people do with no problem? Why do I have to remind myself of the rewards? Why do I still not want to do it after all that?"

Daily Motto

Forward, forward
Keep standing
Keep marching
Move on, move up
Do what you need to
Make others proud
Live life well
Be independent

- CoJa Brown

So I got to my department and looked at the benches in the shade. I couldn't sit in the shade. I was cold and would have shriveled up. So I sat on the ground in the sun. And got some strength back.

I got odd looks but I couldn't care. What's socially acceptable wasn't what I needed. It wouldn't help. I did what I wanted to, needed to. Even though it was weird.

That's what I do. I care so much about what people think of me, until I reach a point where it's impossible to care. Until it hurts to care at all.

P.S. I know it's not healthy to be so on edge all the time. My therapist mentioned it could ruin my nerves. But it's really difficult to talk myself out of being upset.

Also this post was a bit chaotic. Sorry about that.

Don't Give In

I saw two dogs out for a walk the other day. Same breed and looked about the same age. One was of full health. The other had three legs. But what's interesting is the one with three legs was the energetic one. That's the one who jumps on trees and runs. His body has adapted to the change, whether he was born with it or an accident happened. This dog has skipped it limitations and hasn't let them stop him from doing what he wants.

What do we have to push through? What do we have to get over? What do we have to stump down?

Let's follow the example of these two dogs and be the person we want to be despite what our stats are. Despite the outward appearance, the mental disabilities, and the circumstances we were born into.

P.S. I wrote this a week ago. Then I got too sick to post it.

As I laid about nauseous and tired, I kept thinking about this post. I was miserable. I was scared because the cause wasn't confirmed. And I didn’t want to use the little energy I had to do anything. But I made myself do a little more everyday. Just one more thing, just one more feat. That way, I wouldn't over do it when I was well again.

I kept my spirit because of this post. I wrote it for when I'd need it in the future. But I needed it before I even posted it. How's that for effectiveness?

Painful Memory, Useful Memory

So I was telling my therapist about my panic attacks the other day. She asked me when I had my first panic attack. That took me a moment because most of my childhood memories are laced with unease.

The first panic attack I remember having was at age 7.

Characters
Purple Owl (age 7)
Mom
Aunt
Office lady
Teacher
Classmates

Mom: We have to go.

Purple Owl: I can't leave. I haven't finished my project.

Aunt: You have to go to school and we have to go.

Purple Owl looks at the table and down at the floor.

Purple Owl: But my project's due. And I can't present it if it's not finished.

Aunt: Do you think...

Purple Owl looks back at the adults.

Mom: We do have some time. Purple Owl, let's finish your project.

Purple Owl jumps into her seat. She picks up the materials to work on her project. Aunt pours a cup of coffee. And Mom reads while helping Purple Owl.

Purple Owl: I'm done.

Mom: Great. Let's go.

Purple Owl takes her sweater from Mom and freezes.

Aunt (from the open front door): Purple Owl, what's wrong?

Purple Owl: I'm late. I can't go to school. I'm late.

Mom: You have to go to school. Now that your projects done, don't you want to show your teacher and friends?

Purple Owl: No. I'm late. I don't want to go. Can't I just spend the day with you?

Mom: No, Purple Owl. You have to go to school today. Your project looks nice. You'll get a good grade.

Purple Owl looks down.

Aunt: We have to go, Purple Owl.

Purple Owl: Okay.

She follows the adults out of the apartment and to the car. She gets into the backseat and stares out the window.

School is going to be terrible.

Mom: Purple Owl, we're there. Are all your things collected?

Purple Owl: Yes, mommy.

The adults look at each other.

Purple Owl stares at her school.

Aunt: Purple Owl, you have to get out dear.

Purple Owl: But...

Mom: You've missed too many days. I can't take you with me. And you have your project.

Purple Owl sighs and closes her eyes.

(Beat)

Aunt: Purple Owl?

Purple Owl: I'm going. Just a moment.

Purple Owl eases the door open. She picks up her backpack and lunch bag. She climbs out and leans over to get her project.

Mom: Have a good day, Purple Owl.

Purple Owl: You too, Mommy. Bye, Aunt.

Purple Owl walks to the office. She waves to her mom in the passenger seat. She pulls open the office door and hears the car drive off.

Office Lady: Hi.

Purple Owl: Good morning. Purple Owl, room 15.

Office Lady looks through the files. She writes on the card and hands it to Purple Owl.

Office Lady: Make sure to give this to your teacher.

She opens the gate for Purple Owl.

Purple Owl: I will. Have a good day.

Purple Owl puts the attendance sheet on her project and opens the door. Down the ramp and across the yard.

She passes the restroom. Then stops.

Purple Owl: Hmmm, I could use the bathroom. I don't need to. But maybe I should.

She takes two steps back and enters the restroom.

She sits down and puts her project next to her. Purple Owl leans her head back and takes a breath.

She's late. If she goes in, everyone will stare at her. The teacher will ask what happened. She'll disrupt the class and ruin everything.

Purple Owl lets out her breath. Her eyes widen and her fingers shake.

Ow!!!!!

She stares at her chest, confused about the pain.

She looks back at her project and sees the attendance sheet. Purple Owl picks it up and follows her name. Purple Owl... 8:45.

It’s been a few minutes. The restroom is a good enough excuse.

She closes her eyes again and tries to breathe. It's painful and difficult. The air won't go through. But she tries to breathe.

She looks at her project again and smiles warily. She worked hard on it. She should turn it in with pride.

But she can't. She can’t go to class. Her heart races and she stares at the bathroom wall.

Purple Owl pushes herself off the wall. She walks to the sink. She turns it on and wets paper towels. She wipes down her face and stares in the mirror.

Purple Owl: I can do this. It's just the door, teacher, and then my seat. Everyone in the class is my friend. They aren't scary.

She raises her eyebrows. Purple Owl in the mirror questions everything she said.

Purple Owl: I have to go. It will only get worse the longer I stay.

Purple Owl in mirror looks defiant. After a few moments, Purple Owl sticks her tongue out at her reflection and shrugs. She's not the one in charge.

She puts her backpack back on. She picks up her project and walks to the door. Purple Owl looks at the bathroom and shakes her head.

Purple Owl: Someone will find me if I stay here. I have the attendance sheet. I have to go.

She starts the walk to class. It seems so long. Her legs feel heavy. She gets to the door and takes a deep breath.

Purple Owl: Here it goes.

She opens the door. And as expected, her classmates and teacher turn to look. She walks up the aisle to her teacher. She hands her the sheet.

Purple Owl: I'm sorry I'm late.

Teacher looks at the clock.

Teacher: The attendance says you came 20 minutes ago. What happened?

Purple Owl: I was in the bathroom.

Teacher: For 20 minutes?

She nods.

Teacher: Okay. I'm glad to see your project. You'll present just before recess. Have a seat, Purple Owl.

Purple Owl goes to her seat and her guy best friend smiles at her.

Classmate: Why are you so late? Might as well not have come. I mean you never do anyway.

Guy Friend: Leave her alone.

The classmate huffs and looks away.

Purple Owl stares at her friend. Usually she's the one standing up for him.

Purple Owl: Thanks.

Guy Friend: You're welcome. You do it for me.

He looks at her.

Guy Friend: Are you okay, Purple Owl?

Purple Owl nods.

(Beat)

Guy Friend: Are you sure?

Teacher: No talking.

Guy Friend: Sorry.

He glances at Purple Owl and then looks at the student presenting.

Purple Owl feels a nudge. She looks up to the class and teacher staring at her. Guess it's her turn. She walks up and gives her presentation.

The bell rings as she finishes. She walks to the back of the room in a daze.

Her two best friends wait for her.

Girl friend: Are you okay?

Purple Owl nods.

Guy friend: For sure?

Purple Owl sighs. Her pain is gone. She can breathe. Purple Owl smiles.

Purple Owl: Yes, for sure. Let's go eat our snack so we can play.

Her friends follow her out.

Purple Owl talks to her friends while she eats. She laughs while she plays. And listens closely to the rest of class.

I filled out the conversations a bit. But the framework was the same. My first panic attack is burned into my memory. I wish I couldn't see Purple Owl falling apart in her elementary bathroom.

But I can. And it gives me understanding of the panic attacks I've had since. At 7, I didn't even know that phrase. But now it gives me relief. Relief to know I'm not alone or strange.

In Loving Memory

In loving memory. I feel strange applying those words to my mom. I loved her as a mother but not a friend. I remember her as a friend, not a mother. It's all mixed up and I don't know if loving memory applies.

I know I love my mother. Everyone loves their mother. She gave birth to me. She raised me. And she loved me. It's only natural to love her as a mother. But she was an amazing woman. She should have been more than my mother. She should have become an adult friend.

I remember her as a friend because she talked to me like one. She reasoned with me. She counseled me. And never once talked down to me. But I wish that we had fights. Not at 8. But I wish we had time for teenage Purple Owl to fight with her mom.

I guess I also feel bad because I don't remember her. I remember my life with moments of her. As I try to tell someone who she was, I spin off into a story about me. I guess that makes sense. One, children are usually self-centered when telling stories. Two, people see the world from their point of view. I have stories that star Purple Owl because she's what I see.

I get so wrapped up in the mothers I see in media. I read and watch TV. I think that's the way it should be. I feel like we missed out on something. That makes me feel sad for us both. And I feel guilty about my lack of memories. But I do remember my mother, my friend.

How much more could a mother ask anyway? A child who may not remember you well but remembers your touch. Remembers your touch, physically and mentally. Who in part owes who they are to you. A child who had their own life outside of you but is thankful to have had you. Who knew what they had while they had it. A daughter who has no bitter memories of her mother.

In loving memory, Purple Owl's mother, mom, 엄마, 어머니.

P.S. This is basically what I think each December and January. These thoughts of guilt and regret are the reason I get more depressed than usual. But this is the last year I'll do that. In the future, I'll be sad about the fact that mom died in January. But I'll remind myself that we didn't miss out on too much. And the way she added to my life, without dominating it, shows the woman and mother she was.

My style of Love

I give out pieces of my soul. That's how I love. I attach myself to people without them knowing. I let them have a piece of my heart.

I always thought I gave out the same number of pieces. I thought I loved everyone equally. But I don't. There are people I gave multiple pieces to. Every time I was with them, I'd give them a new piece. It's dangerous giving that much of yourself away.

Old Pieces

It started one summer
We talked
We learned
I loved

I carried the memories
In my heart
A special place
There they stay

I knew not to hope
I knew I was alone
That you didn't
Feel the same

You've carried on
Now I need to as wel
And like that
In a summer it ends

- CoJa Brown

And then I remember random people I've given my heart to. And I'm in pain because we don't talk like we used to. Because we don't laugh like we used to. Because we don't love as we did.

2015 Purple Owl

It's a new calendar year. It's my 20th year.*

But it doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel new nor do I feel older. I feel the same as I did when I was 10.

My therapist thinks I stopped progressing when my mom died. I understood that to mean I stopped hitting my age accomplishments at age 8. And that is a fair analysis. However, I've been missing my age marks much longer than that. 3 year old Purple Owl wouldn’t be surprised that 19 year old her doesn't behave like an 19 year old.

I don't: go to school, have a license, have a job, or go out at night.

And I'm fine with it.

But I shouldn't be fine with it.

I know that logically. It puts me at war with myself. I want to be treated my age but first I've got to start acting it.

I'm going to spend this year hitting the age marks I've missed.

* I'm 19 but this is my 20th winter. You experience all seasons before you turn 1 year old.