I have straight up decided that when I get married, I am walking down the aisle to Stolen by Dashboard Confessional. :)

I am nothing more than the sum of my conflictions. I am young, and i forget that sometimes. I am happy to stay home and read but with every night comes the dread that I'm missing out. I should be out late, scaring my parents, getting shit-faced and kissing strangers. But instead i'm safe, responsible, trust-worthy. I want to travel and see and experience everything I can get my hands on. But I'm too much of a homebody to do it. I want to marry, have babies and start my life. But I want to be single, and go out and meet people. I want new people in my life but I don't want to open myself up for disaster.
I want it all.
Yet I do nothing but compromise.
Instead of working my ass off to do and experience everything, I am too tired and do nothing.
Tired physically. Emotionally exhausted. Spiritually drained.
I'm too tired to fight, too tired to do everything for everybody. After giving it my best shot to please everybody, i'm too tired to please myself.
I think I am destined to always be discontent.
I will always want more, new, different.
I will never rest.

"God Don't Like Ugly"

God don't like ugly.
God don't like bad grammar.
God doesn't like me then.


I will be the first one to tell you that I don't believe in the same God I did a year ago. Ha.
And even so.
My God loves ugly people.
My God does not discriminate.
My God loves gay people, straight people, purple people, dangerous people, lost people, people who have turned their back, hurting people, strange people, drug addicts, abortion doctors, activists, lawyers, and ugly people. Especially ugly people.

I don't have the same ideals as a lot of "christians" per say...

I'm all for Gay rights.
I'm a strong proponent for Sex Ed, not abstinence based reproductive health education.
Prop 8 is joke.
What I believe is my business, I don't "evangelize"
I think most christians are snobs.
I hate going to church.
I think being an ugly person is okay.

God knows I'm not pretty.
I have a bad attitude when I'm forced to work with idiots on a power trip.
I have a past that won't stay in the past.
I have a short temper with the people I love the most.
I have a split personality. I'm shy and quiet until you get to know me. Then I'm no different than you.

My hair sticks up in the morning, my morning breath is awful. I cuss when I'm frustrated. I have a hard time telling the truth when it might hurt someone. I can't say no.

Yep.

I'm pretty damn ugly.

But guess what?
God still loves me.
Suck it.

You. Are. Loved.

So, here is the deal...
I wish with all my heart that I could ensure that every girl I come in contact with feels beautiful. Beyond that, every person I see on a regular basis needs to feel special and loved. Working with these kids everyday is just cementing the idea that when no one seems to care, kids will do ANYTHING to get attention.

It is so frustrating to see and hear these little girls talk about how "fat"and how "ugly" they are. These girls, these beautiful perfect works of art, sit for hours and argue about who is the fattest. No one calls them pretty. No one says that they are beautiful inside and out. No one tells them how much potential they have.

I see so many kids that are the product of divorced families. Most of these kids are so incredibly lost that parents drag them off to a doctor to diagnose them with a mental illness. I've got five kids that are diagnosed with OCD. They call it OCD because they compulsively worry. I would fucking worry too if everything I know gets ripped away from me and Mommy and Daddy are arguing and pitting me against one another. No fucking way they are lost.

And still, no one listens to them.

There is a quote that Marilyn Manson gave in an interview. While he was being blamed somehow,someway for the Columbine shootings, a reporter asked him what he would say to the victims, families, shooters, and survivors of the shootings. He replied that he would not say anything at all. He would purely listen, and that's what no one did.

That's what we are coming to now. No one is listening to these kids. Some of these kids have never seen anything other than how to collect welfare and college is absolutely unheard of. They see no potential in themselves because their parents failed to see it in their own lives. I have one kid, I see so much in this kid. He is one of the kindest, sweetest kids I have ever met. His parents are divorced and he's living kind of rough. I drove him home from camp one day that he got hurt and we talked about futures. No one has ever talked to him about maybe doing vo-tech, looking for scholarships, or even mentioned college to him. In the words of the guidance counselor of years past, "Every town needs a ditch digger."

There is nothing wrong with being a ditch digger. There is nothing wrong with working retail for your whole life. Whatever makes you happen. But don't pidgeon-hole the damn kid. Give him all the options. Listen to him. Find out what he wants to do and where he wants to be and then give him the resources to do it. Don't count him out as a lost cause just because his grades are not stellar (nobody pushing him to succeed), or because his family isn't financially well off (completely out of his control) or because he gets in trouble for fighting(defending a friend and proving himself to be loyal).

It makes me physically ill to watch these kids slip thru the cracks. These kids are wonderful. Absolutely beautiful kids. Every single one of them. But small town school districts see nothing but their last name, their family history and their PSSA scores. Fuck that.

I know nobody reads this, but if for whatever reason you have stumbled across this, this is for you. You are beautiful. You have more potential than you will ever know what to do with. If you are bored, you are not trying hard enough. Quit forgetting that you are loved. Even if it's just by your damn dog. You are important to someone. Please find someone to listen to you. You will make a difference in this world. You are loved.

How do you get that lonely?

Why is it that our generation has the highest rate of depression? We are the world's most privileged youth, but many of us can't find the courage to face another day. It breaks my heart to see young lives so desperate. What makes a person so desperate? What convinces them that the only hope left in their short life is to end it?

Life is hard. It will bring you to your knees, wait for you to get back up and then kick you in the stomach. Everyone has faced a hopeless situation, or two or three for that matter. Why can some of us stomach up the guts to continue on?

The news today showed a young girl, teased to the point of desperation. She took her own life because of bullies. Are you kidding me? Where were the teachers? Or other students for that matter. All it could have taken was one person, one child to reach out and befriend this girl. A gorgeous girl at that. A few days ago, a 15 year old boy took his own life locally. This past summer, a young lady does the same.

How do you get that lonely?

Nearly 18 million United State's citizens are suffering with depression. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for young people. The death of one child does not just affect the family. It affects the community. Schools are afraid to acknowledge the death of a student as to to "hero-ize" them and contribute to other's deaths.

Death is such a touchy topic. Americans are more than open to discuss the birth of a child as a part of the life cycle. It's described as a beautiful event in which a new life begins and starts the cycle of life. But death is a bit trickier. No one quite knows what to say. Especially in the event of a self taken death.

I see little girls at the mall with familiar scars on their wrists. They don't even try to cover them. They are proud of their self inflicted wounds. And these are only the scars we can see. Some blame the music they listen to. Some blame their parents. I blame us. We allow this to happen. We allowed people to feel so ostracized from the pack that they feel relief in the blade of a knife.

It's not cool to be depressed. It's not trendy to wear bracelets to cover scars. It's a sad and scary thing. Look for hope. Remember laughter. Smile in the face of everything. Fuck the people who don't agree. Fuck those who try to belittle you. You are a child of hope. You have the world's best at your fingertips. You always have tomorrow. You are not the sum of your flaws. You are all that is good about a sunrise. The blood coursing through your veins is a reminder of the strength held beneath your skin. You are light and dark. You are the breath on a cold day. You are hope. <3

Art Student

see more Funny Graphs


Reason why i'm not majoring in art. :(

"May Angels Lead You In."

:"Grandma, Help me!" I squealed in my seven year old sing song voice. I reached my chubby hands skyward as the worn flannel paint shirt sleeve drooped lazily over my wrist. Paint covered the newspaper in giant glops, decorating the black and white print with swirls of red, yellow and blue. More color made it onto my small hands than made it onto the magnificent canvas, a cardboard box. "Hold on a minute!" Grandma's voice replied, smooth as the coffee clutched in her hand. She bent down and gently rolled the sleeve up past my elbows. After settling down into the chair next to me, she picked up a brush and began smoothing out the globs of paint. She worked intently until I sandwiched my body between her and the table and crawled into her lap. My globs slowly smoothed into flowers, hearts and balloons with a few swipes of a brush held in the experienced hands of grandma. I twisted my small body around to face her while still remaining seated. As I gazed up into her eyes blue as the paint on my fingers, I tried desperately to catch her attention. "Hey Grandma, Grandma, Hey!" In my most determined attempt, I snaked my arms around her neck, bringing her face close to mine. "Grandma, I love you!". She set the brush down on the newspaper and wrapped her arms around me. "I love you too, Erin."

The IV tower beeped continuously, signaling an empty bag. Grandma looked tiny in the hospital bed with her legs drawn up close to her and her arms clutching a stuffed animal. The stuffed puppy was an afterthought, a last ditch effort to feel like I was doing something that was important. Her small hands no longer held a paint brush but were painted with the black bruises characteristic of a hospital stay. Two days left until my nineteenth birthday, and she was oblivious. Years before, plans would have been in place for sleepovers the night before my birthday. Cardboard castles would be constructed for the Beauty and the Beast characters on top of my cake. Years before I would have taken for granted a flash of recognition, the calling of my name, the correct structure of a sentence. And yet today, I was content to lay with her, watching whatever show flashing bright colors and catchy oldies songs. “Hey grandma, my boyfriend is coming to visit today, remember him? And I think that the cute nurse is on call tonight. Grandma? Hey there pretty girl.” I ramble. Desperate for eye contact, thirsting for something, anything to signal she knows what I’m talking about. I refused to be put off by the awkward silence. I promised myself I wouldn’t be like most family member and talk around her. I would talk with her, not above her head. Finally, I just stay quiet. I lay closer to her, my head on her shoulder. “Grandma, I love you.” I say in a shaky voice. Her small frame stirred and rolled slightly towards me. “I love you too.”

There are few things in life that “are worth it”. Worth the struggle, worth the aggravation, worth the effort. And then there comes a moment, one single moment in time, when you realize everything wasn’t in vain.
Rest in peace, Grandma. It was worth it all. I am forever indebted to you memory.

:/

I'm in an awful mood, and if i don't get it out of me i'm never going to fall asleep so here it goes.

WTF? Are you that desperate to not let your son get anywhere with his life? Are you determined to make sure that he turns out to be the low life loser you make him out to sound? Get off your lazy ass and help him find the paperwork. He is trying to make the best out of his life. School wasn't for him. Get over it. It wasn't my doing or anyone else's. He just does not like it. This is the first opportunity he's had at snagging a job, and by misplacing that damn folder, you're making him risk that job. You are fifty some odd years old, grow up.

And you. Quit messing with him. He may not see it. But I am a girl, and I know how girls work. So I sure as hell see it.

Mr. Hiring Person- Not hiring Tory will be one of the biggest mistakes you have ever made for your company. You will never find a more committed worker that will strive as hard as Tory will. He is not only willing to work the overtime, he WANTS to work the overtime. Stupidity isn't cute. Hire him.

And you. I could not care less about you or what you do or where you live. It's your business not mine. Stay out of mine and quit making crap up.

And please. Just go tomorrow. Just try. Please?

Looking ahead terrifies me. I'm still living at home and I already worry about money constantly. I don't want a lot of money. I want enough to live in my little house, with a little yard, comfortably. To be able to pay all the bills, on time. To live in the present and not worry about the huge debt cloud following from years past. I want to be married with a decent job, making decent money and living a decent and comfortable life.

Everything is two steps forward, two steps back. As soon as I gain some momentum, I slip in the mud.

And you, go ahead and judge me on your loaded questions. I may hate where I am in life, but i'm obviously happier than you.

Am I ever going to not feel over whelmed? I can't even remember what complacency feels like.

I don' t ask you for much. It wouldn't kill you to give me a hand.

And I'd like to pretty much give the world a big "Screw you" tonight.
:..exceptforafew..:

Somebody told me this week that writing was a cathartic experience. Writing down one's emotions, takes power away from the emotion itself. Sadness doesn't seem nearly as desperate. Anger doesn't seem quite as consuming. So dear pen, take it away.

At nineteen, I am nowhere near where I want to be. I for whatever reason can't seem to finish anything I start.
I quit at a four year school, going after my bachelor's degree in sociology/social work with hopes to continue on to get my masters. I traded all of that for an associates degree at a no name community college. Not for me. I could fill an entire page with how unhappy I am there. But I WILL stick it out there, get my degree, and move on.

I observed for the first time today. God, I know now that this is what I was made to do. Those wide eyed kids want nothing more than to please you. My first class called me Mrs. Wires or Miss Aguire. Apparently my last name was a little too tricky! So the next class called me Miss Erin. Which was pretty cool. One little guy told me that I was pretty and asked if he could make me a plastic pineapple smoothie. He was a real sweetheart.

Emma Grace visited today. She is one of the only things that can make me forget all the crap. It's impossible to be grumpy when she's around. She left me a note on my bed that says, "Dear Erin, I love you. Love, Emma." :)

Tory and I keep having conversations lately about how I can finally become happy with where I am. He thinks I need to make a list. Honestly, I don't think I know how to make a short term list. All of my list consist of long term goals, jobs, marriage, kids, the works. I probably should work on that list... It's a valid way of going about it. It would be nice however to know what exactly it is that I'd like to accomplish.

I'm not sure where I expected myself to be at 19. I see people I graduated with getting married and having babies, and more than anything, that is what I want. But unfortunately, it's not the time for that. At least for now.

Fight for me.

Fight for me, damn it. Prove it to me. I've never once had someone fight for me. Tell me i'm being over dramatic so I can tell you that your being insensitive. Grab me by the shoulders and tell me that I will never find someone who cares as much as you. Just fight for me. Just prove it to me. Words are meaningless until you attach an action to them. Stand in front of a crowded room and fight. Don't back down. Yell, scream, throw a fit until I get it. If my skull is that freakin thick, use a surgical drill. Just fight for me. Grab me and kiss me until I believe you. Don't let go until you can tell that I understand. Don't listen to my words, i'll just push you away. Wait until you can feel it in my bones, the very core of every vessel. Fight for me, damn it. Do not walk away like a coward. If you say I'm worth it, prove it. Prove it, damn it. Fight. Ingrain it in my DNA. Make sure that I never forget that I am worth, for even only a moment, fighting for. Tell me that being lied to before is not an excuse. Tell me that if I don't let go of the past, I am going to drown in it. Be honest. Don't sugar coat the blow with flowery words and promises of perfection. Tell me that the only certain thing is love and that of which you are certain. Fight for me, damn it. Damn it. Just fight.

Fae

Happy 20th birthday sweetheart.



Photography Graphics


"So let's drink to memories we shared
Down one for all the hopes and cares
Here's too for being unaware that you're gone
Because before too long you'll be a memory."

RIP Fae..: you are terribly missed.

Photography Graphics


I don't think you'll ever get it.

Golden Cracks

“When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.”

Barbara Bloom

A crack in the foundation can weaken a structure. A nick in the glass can break a windshield. A catch in the wool can unravel a scarf. But when the damage is repaired, leaving but a scar, it will leave the fracture stronger than before. Think of a family heirloom. Passed down from generation to generation, each scratch and mark a physical memory. Each fault adding to the history and beauty of the heirloom.

Everything, not matter the significance impacts us in some way. From something as large as moving to a new state to as little as skipping class. My cousin and I skipped class today to go for a three hour car ride. I couldn’t have asked for a better Monday. Point being, it impacted me. Talking with him made me look at things differently. My past has impacted me. It has affected how I look at my future. If it wasn’t for what happened the past few years, I would have never started making my own decisions. For 18 years, I had worried so much what people think. I only have one person to thank for making me live my own life. And that person happens to be the same person who ruined it. I owe my happiness to the one who took it away from me. It’s hard to say, but I’m thankful for him. He cracked me to the core but my fissures have been filled with gold.

Everything, everything is significant. Nothing is random. You are only given the life you lead because you were the only one strong enough to. Somebody had to carry the burden that you carry. And for whatever reason, God chose you. You impact the people around you by the life you lead.

I feel lost anymore, but I think that I’m beginning to find my way. I’m still struggling to find pure happiness. I keep feeling like I somehow missed out while I was too busy being unhappy. I’m trying so hard not to regret any aspect of my life. There are a lot of things I wish I would have done and many more I wish I hadn’t. But to regret, to dwell on the negative hurts no one but myself. Lamenting the past years doesn’t change anything. What I did and didn’t do has made me the way I am. Whether or not I like it, it’s me. Acceptance is the most difficult part of learning not to regret. Slowly but surely, I believe that one day I can truly accept and love myself. Eventually.

I hope you didn't read this last night.... This is what I really want you to know.

We will make it. I promise.