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Name: Elena
Country: Canada
State: Ontario
Metro: London
Birthday: 6/28/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: music of all kinds, poetry (but NOT classic literature... except T.S Eliot, but he was on a special form of crack I can really appreciate!), reading, creative endevours...
Expertise: playing bassoon, being random, knowing all there is to know about really curly and extra-ly fuzzy hair!
Occupation: Student
Industry: Other
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
10/13/2005
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| Side Note: My Feet Hurtrandom languages flow through me,
i like their flavour though i lack understanding
words are solid in my mouth, textured to my ears; awkward, beautiful
dialects ripple across my skin, foreign phonemes are mimicked by my helpless tongue
English is so un-exotic.
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| my memory escapes me
in moments of shaken faith and reality
and i am blind to the strands woven
by each person in life's tapestry
i fall and find my self leaning
i cry and find my self held
the presence of these things shocks me
and i am left re-evaluating my faith
i am left speechless and, though as yet un-fixed,
left with the notion that i have the ability to carry forward
i spoke and someone listened
i reached out, and to my surprise
there were hands for mine to grasp
it is my hope that in times of darkness
these moments; pricks of light that penetrate our existence,
that beat down our barriers that we built up when we were defenseless
it is my hope that you find this light when in need
so that in darkness you have hope,
or even the slightest sense that if you fell
you might find yourself leaning,
that if you cried
you might find yourself heard,
held,
loved.
(this poem, while not my best work, is inspired by this time of stress and the gratitude i feel for those who's help and understanding are helping me to push through it)
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| In my Psych class we discussed maladaptive thought patterns that lead to anxiety and depressive disorders.
The class was to volunteer up their own "maladaptive thought patterns" that get them down at times. The students related stories of getting down on them selves after an exam, procrastinating studying, and feeling that they didn't accomplish enough work that day.
Immediately my thoughts were as follows: "Aww, that's cute! They're all so mentally fit and have no idea what it is to be depressed!"
I remember once experiencing a form of non-destructive/dehabilitating "anxiety" about a math test in grade 11. I laughed to my self and said "so this it what it feels like to just... be worried and that's it". It was interesting and so much less dramatic. It felt like such an easy, nonchalant feeling; real, but without the side effects of insomnia, over thinking it into the ground, etc.
Haha, so cute, little healthy social sci majors. Adorable! :)
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| Intracies of Simple and DifficultI was brave,
My voice reassuring from within:
"this is okay, I love you, you are okay"
I smiled and joked; exposed
Dressed in paper and plastic ribbons
Consciously relaxing each muscle
Denying the reflex to hug myself
Wrap my arms over the bare paper surface of my body
"i am fine" and I CAN do this
I don't know what went wrong,
I don't know why I feel like scratching this foreign flesh from my bones
To claw at the door and collapse outside of it
Crying.
"you are okay, this is easy"
And it was, I could, I did so well
Why does the discomfort still plague me?
Why do the memories of un-tragic moments
Still cause me to curl up like a child
Nails embedded in soft, cool skin
Shuddering on the inside, nauseous, terrified
But it was so easy,
I was brave
I was brave
But I feel... raped somehow.
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| I could really go for one of those therapy sessions where you beat the shit out of a soft bench thingie with a baseball bat crying out "fuck you!" repeatedly. Do those sessions actually exist?
Can I have one?
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