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Young and Tainted

My lit class is over, but I want to keep blogging. However, It may not always be about prize winning literature (like today).

I met someone that made an impression on me a few days ago. I met him through chicken stew. Yeah, I'm serious. STEW. I'm not even going to go into that part of the story.. Just know he was stirring a massive pot of chicken stew in a fire department when I first saw him. Let's call him Matt.

Matt is 17 years old, but he has the gravelly voice of a man, and the face of a tired pre-teen. He was tossed onto my path throughout my entire Saturday, and somehow I learned a vast amount of personal information about him in a few hours.

In his red pickup truck, listening to some outdated Christian contemporary tunes, he told me the story about waking up for his first day of school in the ninth grade, and being in the back of a car, covered in piss and vodka.

Reminding himself not to speed, even on the abandoned country road, he explained that he had to be careful when driving. When he was also fourteen he had stolen his grandmothers car, high as goshdang kite and intoxicated, causing him to wrap it around a tree. His grandmother couldn't press charges though. Because then he would tell everyone about where he got his weed. If you get my drift.

In rehab, at FOURTEEN, he barely did school. He sat and lost himself in withdrawals all day long.

His mom has disappeared with his baby sister that he has never met. She taught him how to pop the pill before she left though. A lesson he forked over his youth for.

He told me more, and more, and more. Sometimes he laughed, he never lost his composure. He saw it all in his mind and said to me, "I did it to myself."

He is graduating from high school early now. Clean. Forgiven. But when I look at him from an unobserved place, I see wells of ashy residue that the narcotics painted him with.

The Final One

I love to read. I'm also a very reflective girl. Everything we were assigned to read, I read and tried to apply it to my life in some way. All of my discoveries during this class were on a personal level. The literature didn't make me think of science, politics, education, statistics etc.. It made me think of humans individually and as a whole. I thought of myself and how I resembled/differed from those that I read about. I thought about my family, and familiar emotions. Therefore, this final blog post may not seem very academic, but it is genuine to the core of what I got from American Literature through Whitman.

     I could go through and write about everything all over again, but I'm in a time crunch and I'm sure you are as well. I went through and picked the top three thoughts that I wrote about in my blog that made an unusually defined impression on me. Namely: De Vaca, Mayflower Madam, and Hawthorne's "The Birthmark". They don't really seem to go together do they?

De Vaca

 Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.
Joseph Addison

     Humanity, humanity, humanity. I read through quotes on humanity for a long time. Most of them were honestly just stupid and barely even broke the surface of what I think humanity to be defined by. Well, I say I know what I think humanity is defined by, but I don't REALLY know. I just have this sub-conscious sort of feeling about it that I can't really put words to. Maybe everyone has this problem, and that's why all of the quotes were so... blah, because no one can really put words to it. We all just sit back, watch, and feel humanity.

   

     I've said all this because the only thing I could think about as I read the account of De Vaca as he lived with the Native Americans, was humanity. The way he described those Indians painted a picture of humanity that I had never really seen before.

   The Indians were dependent on each other. Perhaps that's why they cared for one another and made an effort to stay close. I feel that way about my family, but not my neighbors, not the President, not my hometown preacher, and certainly not the random guy sitting next to me and talking to himself in the library at this moment.Living in a community where you all work together and support each other in order to live is a foreign lifestyle to me.

    Have you ever seen the movie, "Red Dawn"? Not the new one (I'm sure they probably ruined the original..) . I'm talking about the one they made in the 80's. A story about a group of kids who were forced to work together in order to survive.

    

     As I was re-reading my blog on De Vaca, I saw where I had wrote that the Indians seemed so pure and wholesome (in SOME ways) than the average joe today. I thought it might be because they were exposed to so little depravity out there in the middle of the woods. I started thinking about it again.. I don't think I was right. If I think about it more, then I question that argument because all you really need for depravity is one human. Even if he or she is out in the middle of nowhere, alone. I'm a firm believer that humans inherently have something depraved in us. Exposure to certain evils can make it worse, yes, but even in total seclusion you are still going to have the inborn nature that can take hold.

     The Mayflower Madam 

     Such a touchy topic. Little ladies in Sunday school would probably keel over if they read my blog of admiration for the Mayflower Madam, but oh well. I re-read my blog on Sydney and I think that I was dead on. I still agree with everything I said. I can't really be as philosophical minded on this topic because for me, a lot of my opinions are very cut and dried. I'm reminded of these cliche's: Bite the bullet, put your big girl panties on and deal with it (yes, my mom frequently tells me this..), git er done, SUCK IT UP. Sydney did these things and managed to make it out alive, ha. Bravo. I hope I do. Although I don't think I will run or participate in an escort service. I will, however, continue to be clever, persistent, and work smart. 

" I don't condone the way Sydney made her money, and I don't have to in order to just admire the skill, intelligence, and drive that she possessed. Not only did she make herself successful, but she managed to do get of some serious trouble down the road. It takes skill to solicit high end escorts and or prostitution for years and get off with only paying $5,000  and a "kiss on the wrist," (Sydney Biddle Barrows) instead of a slap on the wrist, after you've been caught." -From Mayflower Madam Blog

     If I lose my job, I will work what connections I have until I have another one. I will work my butt off and be dedicated so that I will push beyond the crowd and be visible. I will sacrifice certain things in order to attain what I want (I won't sacrifice quite as much as Sydney did though! Definitely not.) . It takes a strong woman to do all these things, and though she was not perfect, I think the Mayflower Madam was strong, and I admire that. I also admire Mother Teresa (another strong lady), my own mother, Fanny Fern, Louisa May Alcott, Condoleezza Rice, Christiane Amanpour, Jillian Michaels, Harriet Jacobs etc... 

     Ever heard the song, "Run the World" by Beyonce'? Haha. 



     "The Birthmark" Nathanial Hawthorne 

      This is honestly a painful subject for me, because my struggle with perfection goes so deep. That is probably why it was one of the most memorable things I read this semester. What can I even say about this? You already know we are consumed with perfection. You've heard statistics on plastic surgery and eating disorders (Which I've had). I would not be surprised if the powerful dissatisfaction with ourselves and or others, was a key component in Suicide. It effects everything for me. 
"I  struggle with my complete, total lack of perfection, every single hour of every day. I am my own Aylmer. I'm obviously still breathing, unlike Georgianna, but I ruin so much of my life by always feeding my dis-satisfaction with myself. Sometimes I feel like their is a part of me that dies (just like Georgianna died) because I won't embrace and love how I have been made.

I battle with myself concerning whether or not my lust for perfection is right or not sometimes (Just like Georgianna tries to convince herself that Aylmer's obsession with perfection is genius and pure love). Is it admirable to be so consumed with being perfect that you're constantly sacrificing to become so? Or is it a shallow, un-fulfilling pursuit. I'm not entirely sure. All I know is I can't seem to stop myself. It's a drive I've always seemed to have engraved in me" -from blog five 

 

An interesting aspect of this story is symbolized in the fact that Georgianna believes that it is true love and passion that drive this desire for perfection. Unfortunately it is just humanity. I believe some people have a stronger desire for it than others. I believe some people can't deal with how short they come up in their OWN estimations as well as others, so they bury their attempts at perfection and instead let themselves go. I've been there. I see it first-hand from those close to me. I know a woman that used to be so beautiful and smart, but she broke down somewhere in her life. Mentally, emotionally, physically. She fell into a pit that she couldn't even crawl out of so she just went crazy and blindly started digging herself even deeper so she wouldn't have to face the light of where she used to be. 

I have this twisted sort of feeling in me that if I can't be perfect and have it my way, than I don't want anything. I talked about it some in my blog:

    "Georgianna says this in reference to whether or not she would rather live with imperfection or die: ' Were I weaker and blinder, it might be happiness. Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find myself, methinks I am of all mortals fit to die.'

In other words, if I were more of a weak-minded person, I could even be happy with imperfection. If I were stronger, I could live with it and be hopeful despite it. But neither I am of those things and would rather die then not be what I most desire to be. --- I wouldn't say that I might rather be dead, but I definitely have felt that way during the times when I'm most disappointed in myself." - From Blog five 

I wish I could be the person to stand up and say that I know this obsession with perfection is wrong, and give the appearance that I don't deal with it, and fight it.  I am not that person. I deal with it more than anyone I know, and while I acknowledge that it hurts me, and preach to other girls about slef- confidence and wholeness, I am not self confident myself, and am not completely whole. 

 
I don't want to end up like Georgianna, or Aylmer... 

     Wrapping it up 

     The three topics I just wrote about are the ones that as I read them, something in me clicked. Some of the things I began to think about as a result were beautiful, shaming, sad, and confusing. The fact that these works of literature stood through the years and made a 19 year old college student in 2012 feel something, and think about something, is a wonder and a testament to the power of writing. This course has reminded me of that.

I want to go read a book now... 

    

Blog Eight: Emily Dickinson

I am pretty darn excited about this blog, because I loved reading Emily Dickinson. Nerdy? Yeah.


Before I even get into some of what Emily wrote, im going to reflect on my impressions of her.

She was a recluse. She didn't get out much and probably didn't talk to people very much either. One thing I generally find to be true about most quiet people, is that if they aren't saying much, there is a high possibility that they are thinking and observing A LOT. That's why I love reading works from such people. It's so interesting seeing what they saw.

I can be really quiet.. I watch a lot though. In the most non- sketchy way possible. ---Well, sometimes it might be a little creepy ha, but I have innocent intentions!--- I notice things about people and human nature that I think Emily saw too so there were many things that she wrote that I identified with.

Article on Introverts that I read a few months ago.
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2105432,00.html



Ok. Now that I have psycho analyzed both Emily Dickinson and myself, I can move onto the actual writing.

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes –

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –

The stiff Heart questions ‘was   it He, that bore,’

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?" (from 372) 

                                                                        Emptiness

There should so be a song about that. This happens to me very frequently. When something hurts so bad, or you're terrified, and you lose it. Then, you just get really still and you can't feel anything. Kids today call it being numb, Emily described that feeling like this, "The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –".  You're just dead inside.

"The Heart asks Pleasure – first-
And then – excuse from Pain-
And then – those little Anodynes
That deaden suffering-" (from 588)

We really think we can have or do whatever we want and not be subjected to the consequences. We want all the pleasure, with no ill side effects. Ha. Ah, ignorance. We always end up trying to deaden the suffering we cause ourselves though.

"I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -" (from 340) 

Depression. It scrapes along your mind so much sometimes, that you feel like your sense is about to split. 

Wow. I feel a little emotionally spent after dwelling on all of this, haha. As sad as some of these things are, that's probably why they are so great. She writes about very powerful emotions.

Blog Seven: Song of Myself - Whitman

     I was a little disappointed with Walt Whitman, truthfully. There were many things that he said that were pretty, and even some things that I thought were good worldviews, but on the whole I think he was a little full of it. 

     From reading the intro I learned that there were several instances where he pushed his writing to be publicly recognized. Fame. That is a direct contradiction to the impressions he gives about worldly success and notoriety in "Song of Myself". He claims that he is who he is (which he states is absolutely dreamy) and that he is also a part of everyone else and vice versa. He is satisfied with simply lying in the field and no one ever choosing to recognize him (he says).  His actions speak otherwise. 

When I read his works I kinda get this feeling that as he was lying somewhere, he would just let himself feel as if he was melting into his surroundings, and becoming one with everything. I wonder if that was his way of coping with an identity crisis. I can't figure out who I am, so I'l just be part of everyone and everyone will be part of me. That way life seems fair. ---- Maybe that was a source of his worldview. That is all speculation of course. 

     I wonder if he was kinda like a hippie...? I'm inclined to think so. Peace and love, dude.

     He writes well, I think. Even when I didn't agree with what he was saying I felt like I could feel what he wanted me to feel as I read.

There have been many times when I feel that I need to give props to someone for being bold enough to introduce a different, controversial way of thinking, even if I  don't like a lot of it. I think there were probably quite a few other people that must have felt this way about Whitman during his lifetime. Quite possibly that's one reason that he is considered a classic. Another reason, of course has to that some of his words and ideas are so lovely, that they flow like music. 

"A child said What is grass? fetching it to me with full hands; how could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.... And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon          out of their mothers' laps,

And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,

Darker than the colorless beards of old men,

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,

And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for          nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
         women..." 

There's a reason he is classic. 

Blog Six: Harriet Jacobs

I was going to write about Fanny Fern and indulge in a little man-hating, but I changed my mind. I decided to write about how much I admire this lady instead. 

As I was reading her story, I was feeling shock at many of the things she experienced, but I was also learning every single life lesson I could glean. 

If I had been in her shoes, I'm afraid I might have turned out to be an absolute loony toon. Crazy. Can you imagine the amount of spiritual and mental stamina she had to possess to survive what she did? How could you get through having your family, whether blood or not, ripped away from you (family plays a hug part in most peoples identity)? Sexual slavery (which is how I viewed the positions she was put in)? You don't own yourself. You're not a person, you're property. Oh, and then you have to lay in a hole for seven years (approx.) and think about it. After your mental health has been strangled by all of that, you spend the next few years just surviving. 

She managed to preserve herself and not only survive, but make a free life for herself AND her children. Then had the courage to write it all out; the good and the bad parts of herself and everything that happened to her.

When you feel like your life is a massive train wreck, you just need to keep surviving like this dear lady did.  

 ^"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me." 

1 Corinthians 15:10

Blog Five: "The Birthmark" by Hawthorne

   

 

  Milan Borovička, From Woman series, 1979. S) Perfection

 I could not stop reading "The Birthmark". I went back and re-read multiple passages. They resounded. The undying quest for perfection will never cease to be a potentially devastating issue in our lives, especially in women's lives, in my opinion. 

    I  struggle with my complete, total lack of perfection, every single hour of every day. I am my own Aylmer. I'm obviously still breathing, unlike Georgianna, but I ruin so much of my life by always feeding my dis-satisfaction with myself. Sometimes I feel like their is a part of me that dies (just like Georgianna died) because I won't embrace and love how I have been made.

I battle with myself concerning whether or not my lust for perfection is right or not sometimes (Just like Georgianna tries to convince herself that Aylmer's obsession with perfection is genius and pure love). Is it admirable to be so consumed with being perfect that you're constantly sacrificing to become so? Or is it a shallow, un-fulfilling pursuit. I'm not entirely sure. All I know is I can't seem to stop myself. It's a drive I've always seemed to have engraved in me.

    Georgianna says this in reference to whether or not she would rather live with imperfection or die: " Were I weaker and blinder, it might be happiness. Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find myself, methinks I am of all mortals fit to die." 

In other words, if I were more of a weak-minded person, I could even be happy with imperfection. If I were stronger, I could live with it and be hopeful despite it. But neither I am of those things and would rather die then not be what I most desire to be. --- I wouldn't say that I might rather be dead, but I definitely have felt that way during the times when I'm most disappointed in myself.

I'm not my only Aylmer. People are constantly judging one another whether they're conscious of it or not. If you don't measure up to certain standards, most of the time you get shafted. That's just a fact of life. Aylmer loved Georgianna, but that didn't stop human nature from taking over. 

I really got the vibe that Hawthorne wasn't advocating perfection considering that Georgianna died because of the obsession. 

There's a fine line between trying to improve yourself as an individual and ruining your happiness, confidence and self-reliance;), by sacrificing too much for whats ultimately unattainable; Perfection.

.....I suspect I'm still going to attempt perfection anyway.

                                                 Strength in weakness. For some reason this portrait reminded me of everything I just wrote. Draw your own connection.