|wApr 1, 2004|
Today, the local Catholic newspaper appeared in my mailbox. And I read it. And I came across a letter to the editor that simply made me livid. So, I wrote a letter back. I was very proud of my letter. But before emailing it to a couple people to edit, I took the paper (containing the letter that originally made me mad) and brought it downstairs to my mother. I read it out loud, so that she verify that the letter said what I thought that it said. (One time, someone wrote a letter to the same paper and I wrote a letter in response, but when my mom read it, she said that the original letter really didn't say what I thought it did and I felt stupid) So, I read the letter out loud to my mom. When I'm done, she's just kind of still sitting there, holding her fingers up to her brow. She says, "I don't know why you're writing back. It's stupid. No one reads those, anyway. It doesn't change anyone's mind. Don't even bother. They're just political views."
"But, he says here that he thinks anyone who's Christian or knowledgeable shouldn't associate with---"
I remain silent, staring at her.
"It's stupid. And I don't want you writing a letter."
I fold the letter, shut off the light, walk up the stairs, shut the door, walk to my bedroom, lie on my bed, and cry because that's what I do when I can't deal with things. Maybe it is just stupid. But I just....I remembered how excited I was after I talked to Jennifer last week, when I was thinking maybe I could get involved in politics as a profession and I told my mom and she said, "Be a teacher. You need to do something so that you can get a real job." And remembering that just....made me cry. When I wrote that letter, I felt alive. Maybe it sounds stupid to you, but I did. When I write, it's the only time I feel like I'm worth something. Like I'm good at something. And I guess....when I write things like letters to the editor, I think that maybe if just one person reads that and thinks about it, then it was worth it. It's stupid. Maybe it is stupid. No one "reads those anyway." Maybe no one does. Maybe no matter what I ever write, no one will ever read it and care. My dad told me once that I'll never publish a book. It infuriated me at the time and I planned on dedicated my first book to him just to spite him. But maybe he's right, too. Look at my writing - all I do is hurt people, or I guess, as my mother's told me, write things that mean aboslutely nothing in the first place. It doesn't change anyone's mind. No one gives a shit about what I have to say. I don't know. Then I thought about not blogging any more. Or not writing in my journal any more. Or not writing on my graphpaper. What if I never wrote again? What do I have left? That's a really scary thought because the only word that comes to my mind is nothing. I just don't even know what to do any more. This really wasn't a good...pick-me-up after getting depressed earlier this afternoon. I don't even know how to fight it any more. It just totally takes down my defenses and then things like this happen and I just feel so drained and I don't even know how I'm going to interact with everyone tomorrow. I'm all fine at school, but really all I want to do is stay in my room and read books and write (because it's just for myself AND THAT'S NOT STUPID, DAMN IT) and play video games because then the people who are supposed to support me can't tell me that the things I love the most are stupid and meaningless. I think this is one of the worst weeks I've ever had. Maybe if I weren't so damn emotional and insecure, then I would be fine right now, but I can't really help it. All I want to do is play the damn piano but it's too late to go to Lindsey's and I think the piano's still covered with a sheet in the middle of the room until the den's painted. Maybe I'll go uncover it anyway. Wait, that might be stupid and worthless, too. God. Can something please go right?scribbled mystickeeper at 9:02 PM
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