Author: Taylor Downs

I miss being five years old. I miss having no worries in the world other than finding a way to get out of eating my peas at dinner that night. I miss it being acceptable to take a nap during school, when we couldn’t be penalized for being tired because we woke up at the crack of dawn to go to class. I miss being friends with everyone because when you’re a kid, everyone gets along with one another, when there was no such thing as society’s standards in our minds. I miss being able to go to sleep at seven at night and wake up absolutely fine in the morning – no insomnia-filled nights where it feels as though sleeping will only be something I do when I die. I miss when the worst thing you could do to a person was stick your tongue out at them and not share any of your Popsicle. I miss when the world was filled with people who actually interacted with one another, rather than scrolling through social media all day, their noses buried in their phones (which I admit I do as well). I miss when my days consisted of eating, sleeping, sitting down with my family and going right back to sleep again. I miss having absolutely no reason to stress; hell, I miss not even knowing what stress is. I miss not even knowing about the existence of anxiety and panic attacks and depression and suicide. I want to wake up and not have the one thing I look forward to be the weekend so that I can just sit back and do pretty much nothing. I miss when I did not hate my body because it belonged to a “young woman.” I want to go back to when politics did not even exist to me because I was too young to know what they were, when TV was just a thing that you watched for entertainment and I did not get emotionally attached to fictional characters that I cry over when they die. I miss when we were all brutally honest with one another because children’s mouths have no filter, and we got to actually sleep when we were tired. I want to go back to a time where the biggest issue was if I colored inside the lines, rather than if I accidentally used cosine instead of tangent or the formula for gravitational potential energy as a substitute for that of kinetic energy. I miss the simpler times, when there was no fear of growing up and being on my own in just a matter of years and having to get a job probably within the next few months because I’m legally old enough to now. The time when our problems consisted of how many cookies we could have after dinner and how late we could get our parents to let us stay up – maybe past ten if you’re lucky. Man, do I wish I could go back.

Dear you (again),

You come back to me a month after we last talked, saying that you’re sorry? You’re sorry? You should be sorry. You made me feel like I wasn’t a person – like I deserved to be treated exactly as you did towards me on that last day we spoke. After you went on your little rant, talking about how I was a narcissist, how I never listened to anything you said, how I always talk like I am asking you for pity. I’m sorry, but I do not want your pity. You misunderstood my intention, and I cannot help that. I never said that I thought you were stupid when I had to repeat whatever it was that I had just said; it never even crossed my mind – those words came from you, not me. I never intended to make you feel that way, but you clearly wanted me to feel as horribly as you did about a month and a half ago.

Honestly, I’m not so sure I should have forgiven you as easily as I did. Maybe I only did it because I missed you. I missed having more than one person to talk to about whatever I wanted to. I missed being able to look at my phone and smile whenever I saw a message from that person I’d been waiting to hear from all day. I probably shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help but miss you because you made me feel like everything was okay. Anytime I got to talk to you, I would get this huge, stupid grin on my face, and I would completely forget whatever had been bothering me. And it never seemed like that to you, I guess, because I’m terrible at expressing my feelings to other people. But trust me, it’s the truth; I have no reason to lie about this.

As an example of what you do to me, let’s talk about this: every time I would get a notification on my phone, I would secretly hope that it was you, even in that time we did not speak for a month. And when it was? Jeez, when it was  you, I felt like one of those giddy teenage girls that people always make fun of on movies and sit-coms. I’ve never had that feeling before. And I feel weird just typing it out, knowing that some of my classmates very well may read it. But it’s the truth. I don’t want it to be, but it is. I’m usually the type of person to hold grudges – believe me – and this one, I can’t seem to even mend, which is typically the easiest part for me.

Sincerely,

someone who wishes that when they said goodbye, they meant it

Long-distance friendships are difficult. You cannot be physically there for them, you can’t help them when they’re sad, when they want to go buy something for another friend or a particular event that they need nicer clothes for. You can’t hang out with them on the weekends or the days that seem like you just need to go on a drive with that friend that makes you feel as though everything is just fading away, and you have no problems in the universe and that nothing can ever bring you down again. There is no going to the movies or the mall, just because you’re friends, and that’s what you do. No traditions that you two always take part in that you made up yourselves, no sleeping over at one another’s houses. They can’t meet your new cat or look at your newly dyed hair in person, and cameras never quite catch the color just right. You can’t run through Wal-Mart together, just for the hell of it or drive through a fast food restaurant together or introduce them to your parents properly. It’s extremely difficult to give them birthday presents or Christmas presents or little Valentine’s Day notes because you’re the only Valentine each other needs, so instead, you have to substitute for writing her something because she’s always said she loved your writing and sending her a picture. Which never feels as satisfactory as you want it to. There are no late night drives to that place you always go to or any going to concerts together or all but dragging them along with you to some event or another you were forced into attending so you won’t be as bored with them there as you know you would be without them. Never have you felt that sense of overwhelming joy and contentment as you sit with your best friend with them or what it’s like to know you always have someone and somewhere to run to when you need to be anywhere but your own home. Instead of hearing constant nagging about how you go out so often, you get to hear your parents complain about how you are always inside and on your computer or your phone. And no one seems to realize just how freaking hard it is when your best – and nearly only – friend is thousands of miles away and that, yes, it is possible to form a connection with someone whose face you did not see as soon you met them and that you can only talk to through some type of screen. And how, what you desire most in the world is to see them, hug them – just be with them. But you can’t because they’re so far away.

I really miss the thrill of being at a concert. Of standing up for hours that it makes my knees ache as if I had been running for a number of days, but not even noticing the presence of that pain. I miss adrenaline pumping through my veins like gasoline in a high-powered vehicle. Of waking up at five in the morning, staying fully awake for the nearly eight-hour drive to another state and remaining awake until about midnight the same night. (And not to mention, only sleeping about three to four hours the previous night because I’m so freaking excited.)

This summer, I went to a concert and saw two of my favorite bands playing at the same time in Houston, Texas – Avenged Sevenfold and Metallica. It was the best night of my life, and the entire day was filled with anticipation, extreme excitement and impatience for the long drive up there and the wait once we arrived at our hotel. I went with my dad because he is the one to blame for my particular taste in music; while other kids grew up with The Wiggles and Dora the Explorer, I grew up with Metallica, Guns N’ Roses and many, many others. So when my dad suggested we go see Metallica – my number one favorite band – this summer, I legitimately thought my heart had skipped a beat.

Once we got to the venue – about an hour or two before the doors opened, might I add – I thought that I was dreaming and that my heart was going to burst out of my chest from the excitement I was feeling. We stood outside, in the blazing Texas heat for about an hour before people were allowed into the gates. And I am not fond of warm weather, much less hot, trust me. But I was standing out there, happy as ever, waiting for our chance to have our tickets scanned so we could go inside. And of course, once we got up there, and our tickets were scanned, the small device the guy was using to scan them started making this repeated beeping sound that means the ticket is not valid. Not on my own, just on my dad’s. Let me tell you – I was freaking out. As soon as I heard those four beeps, the only thing I felt was the sensation that I was going to cry.

Well, after about fifteen to twenty minutes of walking around, being lead from here, to here, no, over there, we finally got inside and sat in our seats – and the anticipation continued.

Now, I’d been to two other concerts prior to this one, and never have I ever been so happy to be surrounded by thousands of other people, screaming, singing, and completely forgetting about their problems for the moment. And I absolutely hate crowds, but this was different. I was with people who enjoyed what I enjoyed, loved the music, the band, and we could all just be one, no matter who we were or what our background looks like – the Metallica family was one that night. And James Hetfield (Metallica’s lead singer) said something that I will never forget in my life. He said, “Metallica doesn’t give a shit. We don’t care what you look like, who you are, where you’re from, what skin color you are, what you do or don’t eat. We are all family here; we are all the Metallica family.” And that is the best thing I have ever heard a celebrity say to those that idolize them and also one of the many reasons that was the best day I have ever had in sixteen years.

I’ve always had trouble with sleeping – get too much or too little.  Not nearly enough or so much it affects me the next day and my ability to keep my eyes open in class.  Do not sleep a wink or sleep for what feels like a week.  This has been part of my unpredictable routine since the sixth grade.  I have spent countless nights, laying awake, staring at the bland ceiling above my bed, counting down the hours I could get in if I were to go to sleep right now and sacrifice breakfast in the morning.  Five hours on a good night, two and sometimes even one on a bad night, and six or seven on an extremely lucky night.  I grew accustomed to having bags under my eyes when I was thirteen.  Got used to covering them up as well I could with makeup.  And eventually, it was like they were hardly there at all.  It felt like, maybe in the world of the impossible that I somehow lived in temporarily, that they had just disappeared.  Truth was, they had only disappeared from my mind.  I stopped worrying about how obvious they were and how I looked like one of those mentally ill teenagers on sappy sit-coms that eventually have someone miraculously cure them of their terrible fate that had been made to live out.  I knew no one was going to fix my problem because this is real life; real life doesn’t happen that way.  But after a few years, things seemed to be getting better – until last night, when I barely managed to get three hours of sleep.  And the thing is, you’d think I would be half asleep right now.  But I’m not.  I am wide awake – or as they say ‘bright-eyed and bushy tailed.’ I haven’t felt this awake in months.  Three hours.  You know, they say the average human being needs seven to eight hours of sleep each night, and that used to be appropriate for me, as well.  But I’m not so sure anymore.  The past two months, I’ve been getting about seven or eight hours every single night, and I would wake up feeling as though I had been asleep for a total of five minutes.  Maybe I don’t need so much, after all.  I should be tired – very tired.  But I am not.  My mind is racing, my feet are moving – I feel perfectly fine.  But what keeps running through my mind is:  Is this normal?

Dear you,

I feel like trash.  And it’s partially thanks to you.  I thought that if you cared for someone, you stuck around and waited for – helped – them to get better.  I thought that if you were wanting to be a friend, you chose what was best for them – not what was most convenient for you.  But apparently, I was wrong.  Unfortunately, caring for someone means that you “put up” with how negatively they talk and think of themselves until you just give up.  According to you, a friend isn’t someone who tells you when they feel bad.  According to you, a friend is not, nor will it ever be, someone who’s honest when you ask how they’re doing because it would hurt your feelings too much.  According to you, I will never be anyone’s friend in this lifetime because I can never live down to those standards.  You hurt me, and I am utterly enraged at your for it.  Because all I ever tried to do was be honest with you.  You say that I sound as though I am constantly asking for pity – although it is never an intention – but I never deliberately put my feelings and what is easiest for me over those of the people I care about – actually care about – or what is best for them.

Besides, your whole supposed “reason” for just up and leaving like you did was because you “hated seeing” the way you say I talk about myself.  But if that were true, would you have even said all that you did say to me?  Would you really have just walked out the door because it got “too hard” for you?  Is that really how you treat the people you say you care about?  If so, then I thank you.  I thank you for getting me out of there.  You twisted my words and said that I told you things I have not thought in years, and I’m beginning to think that all you wanted was an excuse to get rid of me.  You said I was not “bothering” you, yet you were constantly saying saying that you were going to stop talking to me – just out of nowhere.  No warnings, no reasons, just “I won’t talk to you anymore.”  I said to you multiple times how I word things horribly when it comes to personal matters.  And you held it against me.  You said I never listened to things you said, but it was always you that asked about me, and I never wanted to talk about anything personal.  You say you don’t care about my problems, but before we stopped talking, you were constantly asking about them – even after I had clearly stated that I did not want to talk about it.  When we first met, you pushed me for a good five to ten minutes to talk about what was bothering me, and I said – over and over again – that I did not want to bother a stranger with my personal problems.  And you still pushed.  So I caved.  And you let me, gave me a bit of advice, even.  If you did not care about my issues and all, why did you ask me about them, repeatedly?

I’m nothing to you now, aren’t I? You just wanted to play games with someone’s feelings – someone you already knew was vulnerable before you had even sunk your claws into them.  Didn’t you?  Someone who, when you met them, you were completely aware of their situation, so you knew you would get what you wanted out of them.  Are you proud of yourself?  Did you accomplish what you had been reaching for?  I sure hope not because you do not deserve the satisfaction.

Goodbye,

the “narcissist.”

Without the plot twists and the surprising turns, a movie would not be considered to be one of good taste to many, myself included.  We rely on movies and TV shows in order to give us some sort of entertainment after a day of our own seemingly uneventful and “boring” lives.  Compared to those people on the screen, we feel as though we are no more than bland, over-emotional beings.

Movies are a thing of wonder, of imagination.  When we are bored with our lives or want to avoid doing homework, we sometimes watch movies.  And what is the best part of a movie?  Well, personally, I believe that the best part of a movie is when it makes you cry, or it makes you rethink something you’ve gone through or choices you’ve made throughout your life.  It makes you think, or feel, or consider extremely intensely.

The part of the movie that makes you cry is one of the best because a good piece makes you cry.  A good piece makes your emotions surge all around you and into the sky above you.  It makes an impact greater than you could ever imagine that a movie would have on you or how you think, or how you feel.  Without that, the movie itself is bland. Without the powerful emotion it makes you feel, it becomes nothing more than a couple of people being recorded living their everyday lives.  Without emotion, a movie is not a movie.

Now, the part of it that makes you rethink any decision, or life choices you’ve ever made is my personal favorite.  When a movie causes you to sit down and wonder “Was I right to do this?” or “How many people were affected by what I did?  And was that something an action that seemed insignificant to me but had a life-changing impact on someone else?”  That, is what I have come to enjoy.  We let such simple things determine how we react or what we choose to do when something drastic happens, and something just as simple – say, a movie, for example – can cause us to question those choices we made.  We think we are the only ones that can change our lives, when really, everything but ourselves influences every little decision we make.

Something that does not even pertain to our own lives makes us wonder if we were in the right.

Honestly, I’ve read a lot of books, and I mean a lot, probably hundreds, if not thousands, of online blogs, countless amount of short stories, poems, you name it, but I would have to state that the best I have ever read is one I just recently came into possession of: The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom by don Miguel Ruiz.

The Four Agreements is a Toltec wisdom book and discusses four agreements (obviously) that the author, Ruiz, believes every human being should promise to themselves.  I came across this book when I was told to read it by my psychiatrist, after I had told her that I was having a difficult time with personal issues I have struggled with for years, and she believed this book would really help me.  And she was right.

The first agreement is “Be impeccable with your word.”  By this, the author means that you should only say what you mean – do not purposefully mislead a person with your words, so as to confused them.  He also states that you should never use your Word to speak against yourself or to “gossip” or spread rumors about other people, and you should not use the power of your Word for any other direction besides toward truth and love and to speak with integrity.

The second agreement is “Don’t take anything personally.”  Ruiz believes that if a person is intentionally speaking negatively about you or about anyone other than themselves, then it is not about whomever they are intending to hurt with their Word – it’s about the one insulting the other.  He says that we all live inside of a dream, and their acting negatively is a projection of their own reality, their dream.  When you built yourself up to immunity of others’ opinions and actions, you will no longer be the victim of undeserved suffering.

The next agreement Ruiz discusses is “Don’t take anything personally.”  Ruiz says that with this one agreement, you can completely change your life.  This agreement consists of: finding the courage to ask questions about opinions and customs you are not adapted to, expressing how you really feel about another person, a belief, or even a controversial topic, and communicating with others as clearly as possible, so as to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and most importantly of all, drama.

The final agreement is “Always do your best.”  The author states that your best will change from moment to moment, depending on both your physical and mental state, such as, your best is better when you are healthy as opposed to when you are sick.  He believes that doing your best will result in avoiding self-abuse, self-judgement and regret.

“When you feel good, everything around you is good, when everything around you is great, everything makes you happy. You are loving everything that is around you, because you are loving yourself. Because you like the way you are. Because you are happy with your life. You are happy with the movie that you are producing, happy with your agreements with life. You are at peace, and you are happy. You live in that state of bliss where everything is so wonderful, and everything is so beautiful” (Ruiz).

(I couldn’t find any page numbers online, so please don’t think I’m plagiarizing).

We’ve all heard the expression “jump out of your comfort zone” or “step out of your comfort zone,” but personally, I disagree with this saying.  I believe that by telling someone that they should ‘step out of their comfort zone,’ you are basically saying that they should do things that make them uncomfortable or anxious.  Why would you want someone to feel uncomfortable?  Why would you want them to be anxious?  You don’t, right?  So why tell them to step outside of what they are comfortable with doing?

For example, say your friend has an anxiety disorder, and what gives them anxiety are things like public speaking or talking to someone that they do not know.  Would you tell that friend to just leap straight into it and speak at a mall full of strangers, all at once?  No?  Would that not be considered ‘jumping out‘ of their comfort zone?

Now, in writing, comfort zones are a completely different story, if you ask me.  In writing, coming out of your comfort zone means to write about a topic or a specific origin that you typically do not write about.  Personally, I believe that doing so results in bettering your writing – and maybe even your state of mind whenever you think about that origin or topic and your opinions on said topic.  There is another popular expression that we have all heard on one occasion or numerous ones:  “Practice makes perfect.”  In reality, practice does not make perfect because such a thing as “perfect” does not exist.  Every piece of writing you create or begin to create will not be perfect – there will be flaws, regardless of how many hours you pour into it, editing, rewriting, and just simply changing it.  No piece of writing will be perfect.

Practice may not make perfect, but that’s okay.  Practice simply betters you and your work until you are satisfied with what you have produced, and comfort zones are what makes that writing unique from anyone else’s.  Maybe you’re never written about a family member’s death because every time you think about it, you can’t help but do anything other than cry, or you’ve brought up a past memory but never had the voice in your writing be your own – you always had a character who had the same memories as your own, and they were the “I” in your story.  All it takes is to gradually ease into bettering your work or your fears.  Then, you will be even closer to expanding that comfort zone.