What Doesn't Kill You Makes You... Smaller?

link

I especially like it when he talks about apologizing after crying because you made the other person uncomfortable. But all I care about is the stuff before the first bold print.

The only point of this post was to remind myself, when I'm older and looking back, of how the younger generations are capable of feeling (all right, nearly) every emotion adults do. I don't want to be one of those people who look down on children and teens, simply because I think their lack of experience in life rends them incapable of anything other than blissful childhood happiness.

***EDIT (1/3/15): I checked the link, and it's gone. Sorry. The title was, "Do Your Emotions Make You Weak," if that sheds any context.

Bleed It Out

I once heard or read somewhere that when you encounter a problem that seems to smother your entire world, you take a step back and ask yourself what I dub (since the Internet is refusing to find me the name regardless of any keyword I put in - ) The Five 5 Questions.

1. Will I care in five minutes?
2. Will I care in five days?
3. Will I care in five weeks?
4. Will I care in five months?
5. Will I care in five years?

I was/am going through huge social crises for (mockingly typed) poor, shy, introverted me this week, and there were multiple times where, to a stranger's vision, I would sit cross-legged on my bed and, at random intervals in time, close my eyes and make faces or grab the hair at my temples and rock back and forth.

But I only answered yes to the first two questions, as I don't care enough to do the math so I will approximate that I will be out of high school in five weeks, and likely never see these problematic people again.

So why do I still obsess over them? I hardly have the power to go back and change what's happened, and I severely dislike people who complain about what they should have done, much more than I dislike people who complain about what they can do now. Sure, they're complaining, but at least it's about something potentially useful. Sadly, I see myself in the former. I'm not angsty enough (anymore, haha) to say I despise myself, but I do despise my cowardice, especially since nothing good has come of it.

And something out there should get off their behind and grant me some serenity to not be so defensive all. The. Time. Teenagers are invincible, I am invincible, but I am not always right. My precise and exact sense of justice is not the same as everyone else's. Forgiveness comes slowly, but it's hard to know if you're forgiven when you can't tell if the person is being sarcastic to you in a good-natured teasing way, or if they are purposefully aiming to wound. I fully and openly admit I use sarcasm as if it were a constant dialect of mine, but I would never, ever be sarcastic if I were in a serious conversation, where wrongly chosen words can leave permanent rifts. Unlike others, apparently.

No. I will absolutely not judge them for what I think is a misplaced use of sarcasm. I won't be bitter.

I will not. I will not. I will not. Sure. I'll just keep telling myself that. Let's see all the good it does.

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For the first time in two years, high school is my hellhole. While my problems may not exceed any great period of time to be considered "serious," I'll consume my time with "what if"s and "if only"s anyway until a week later, when enough time has lapsed. And all this at the end of my great career too. I have such a sense of timing.

Haha, see? My dialect is bleeding through.

That phrase gives me an idea for my ending song.

"Bleed It Out" by Linkin Park. Explicit.

Nearly perfect song. I heavily dislike the screamo-ish thing in the middle, but as for the rest, angry music calms an angry heart.