How Writing Saved My Identity Despite Crippling Introversion

When I was young, I took after my dad; I was loud, witty, and very funny for a toddler. I would crack jokes to whole groups of strangers, and the crowd would roar with pleasantly surprised laughter. I fed off of others' positive attention, and I thoroughly believed that it was my calling to become a comedian. Then, something happened. As I grew up, crowds began to scare me. I would bite my tongue when I had something to say. I began to shun the spotlight. What was happening to me? Oh, great. I was becoming an introvert.

This gradual change in behavior began when I was about 6 or 7 years old (ironically right about when school started), but even then, I saw the disappointing side effects, and I had a seemingly life-long identity crisis. I began to see that this new crippling shyness was like a gray, expressionless cloak that masked my true personality and made me appear uninteresting to the average passerby, and therefore unworthy of their time. I had become a walking false advertisement, and it infuriated me.

Making friends became a real challenge, especially in middle school. I was always very nice to people, but I never made friends with people I truly related to on a personal level, and I found it increasingly impossible to do so. I had a very off sense of humor, an almost obsessive passion for old music, and even though I appeared like a decent student, I was really a terrible procrastinator and was flunking nearly all of my classes. Of course, there was no way anyone could have known that, because I preferred to hide who I really was for fear of attention, and moreover, negative judgement. I spent a vast majority of my school days feeling tremendously misunderstood, and very out of place within my little group of academically-minded girls with Taylor Swift overflowing their iPods. I came to accept the fact that I would probably always be a little off, and that maybe I was destined to never have human friends and that I was just supposed to play Jimi Hendrix alone in my apartment full of cats. I embraced this image of my supposed destiny and I almost grew content with it.

I learned early on that I wouldn't ever be a social butterfly, and that I needed to find another way to express myself. Thus began my journey into the vast world of the arts. I tried almost everything- painting, singing, photography, guitar, drama- and although I found an amount of pleasure in each of these, (except drama- trust me, my acting is worse than William Shatner)

...none of them seemed to allow enough room for me to express every element of my personality. I wanted for people to understand that I was a complex individual that was not only shy, but also ironic and sentimental and poetic and psychotic and paranoid and strange and self-conscious and cultured. For some reason, it was always very important for me to be known and understood by other humans. Still, I was unfortunately cursed with a mouth that would never open if my life depended on it. My life had become an intense battle between my longing to be known and my fear of attention.

Sometime in 6th grade, however, after being bullied relentlessly by just about every social group, I found a form of expression that finally did me justice. It was my saving grace that enabled me to express my true personality without having to socialize- writing. Ever since I was little, I loved telling stories. My dream job was to be an author, dating back to around 1st grade. It's safe to say that I was no stranger to writing.

Coming soon to bookstores near you

It wasn't until middle school, however, that I learned that all my eccentric thoughts and feelings and beliefs could be articulated on paper well in advance, and people could read it and genuinely understand me. In the social realm, I could barely scratch the surface of my opinions to people. On paper, I could write whole monologues and actually catch people's attention. People didn't have to comb through my verbal fumblings to get to the core message. I could say exactly what I mean with zero eye contact, first impressions, or misjudgements. I had the epiphany that writing didn't have to just a be a fun pass-time; it could actually be used as a tool to get people to understand who the real Amelia was. And this was the most power I had ever had.

All throughout my school days, I kept journals that dripped with sarcastic observations, lame puns, and passionate philosophies about the future. I'd use these mostly to burn excess angst, but I found that they began to help me tremendously when school called for writing assignments. I poured my heart and soul in any assignment that allowed room for such pursuits. I could get by with essays, but I found that my specialty was in story telling.

In my freshman year of high school, I had the strangest notion that acting was my calling (WHAT were you THINKING Amelia?) and I took drama. The class intimidated me on a level I didn't know was possible, but one day, I saw a grand opportunity that made it all worth it. I decided to write a play. This wasn't at all an assignment- no one asked me to expend this amount of energy on writing something. What compelled me to perform this classic act of nerdery was not for any praise- I had just developed the desire to write a comedy to see how well it would turn out. I spent about a week putting it together, and I humbly showed it to my drama teacher for overall feedback. Much to my chagrin and overall horror, she decided to make copied for the whole class to read this amateur musical I had whipped up in my spare time. I was mortified by the attention, and I was consumed with fear over what these students were thinking of me as they read it.

To my surprise, however, the class enjoyed it thoroughly. They laughed at all the right spots and afterwards expressed genuine desire to see it performed. What amused me the most about this, however, was that when the were told who wrote the play, the average reaction was "Who?" This thing I wrote had made me go from a quiet, uninteresting nobody to a clever, talented Amelia. The experience proved to me how amazingly special this whole 'writing' thing was for me in my life, and that I could use it to flaunt the kind of person I was in the way I did best.

Of course, being an introvert still provides its fair amount of frustrations. I can't just write a letter to everyone I want to get to know. I still have constant internal battles regarding my cripplingly lame social skills. It's a bitter truth that I'll always have to put up with. Still though, I can't emphasize enough how thankful I am that writing exists. The amount of words floating in my head is endless, and one day, I may even be able to make a decent occupation out of it. My biggest weakness had introduced me to my biggest strength, and if that's not personal growth, I don't know what is.

Comfort For Seniors With One Week To Go

Today, the Moving Up rally occurred, and I figured that this was the kind of quality material that I should be writing and reflecting about.

In a nutshell, I'm not sad about leaving high school. It isn't bittersweet. It's strictly the sweet stuff. My eyes glazed over as I watched the digital photographs pop up to a rhythm on that projector. I felt no personal connection to any of the people represented within them. They were all just models. They were wax statues of people with vague personalities and social lives I was never apart of. These people don't know who I am. They couldn't describe me if they tried. I'll leave high school and only two people will miss me.

And on top of it all, I'm stressed beyond belief. I have more projects to get done than I ever had to do this whole school year and I have to get them all done within the course of a week.

Wait Amelia. Stop. Think about this. You have one. Week. Really. That's it. You have one week of unbelievable stress left. You have one more miserable little week of getting up at 6:30 and getting in the car and listening to KFOG and going to PE in the cold. You have one more week of being stared at in each class. One more week of presentations, grades, assignments, Sparknotes, waving awkwardly to people in the halls, listening to music between each class, mundane lunches, going to the bathroom to kill time, tests, changing out, and running. Has it hit you hard enough yet? You are ALMOST DONE. And it isn't just a temporary done like all the others. This is the biggest done of all. This is the ultimate. You have entered hell and you can see the gate. You have the key. And it's only one week away. Can you taste it? Can you taste the freedom on your lips? All these summers have only been appetizers- they don't even compare to the real thing. Back then, it was always temporary. There was always knowledge of an inevitable return. But not this time. This time, the curse will be lifted. The title "student" will no longer apply to you. College Park won't be anything to you but an ironic repressed memory. You'll be free to live your life without grade-induced obligations. You could move to Canada. You cold write a novel on your own terms. This man-made childhood phase will come to its glorious end, and you will raise your golden diploma victoriously to the sky.

Just picture it now. You're putting on your robe. This is simultaneously the ugliest and most wonderful article of clothing you will ever wear in your life. You place your cap smugly atop your head. A smirk rests on your face. And only one week from now.

Now picture yourself waltzing down the steps in a proud little line of fellow seniors. You see your parents. Your heart beats a million miles per hour. You see the stage. And just a week away.

Now picture an amplified voice calling your name as you walk across the windy stage. You reach for the single most important piece of paper of your teenage life. You decisively shake a teacher's hand. They snap a picture of you. Your family cheers wildly off in the distance.

And all just a week away.

Eccentrics

A girl of few words
may be living in the clouds, for
eccentrics don't
live quite comfortably
in the real world;
a world of chaos.

However, when needed,
eccentrics can
return to reality and pretend to be
normal, but not well, for in the end,
eccentrics will always
yearn for their spot in the clouds.

"What Are You Doing After High School?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Ahem* My apologies... *Hyperventilates*  As a senior in high school, I have found that this delightful question comes up on a far too regular basis. It could be my dentist, or a visiting relative, or a friend at school, or the photographer of my senior photo- as soon as they find out how old I am, this is the question first on their minds. Now, I get that it's mostly an impulse question. It's only natural to wonder about a teenager's first steps into adulthood. However, I don't think they're enough aware of the weight of the question they're asking.

Sure, for most kids my age, the answer is fairly second nature. "I'm going to [such-and-such-a] college to study [whatever]." And whatever adult that asked this will beam with pride over their prestigious choice, and the overall success they will have in life. To all the kids out there that are this on top of things, I applaud you, even envy you. Because I do not have the foggiest notion of what I'm doing once I get that diploma. Other than panicking, struggling to appear normal, and ultimately death, the rest of my life is left pretty much unplanned.

It's not that I haven't thought about it- trust me, 98% of my life is spent pondering over my inevitable future. In my spare time, I daydream about the various countries I want to travel to, the people I'll meet, and the development of me as an individual. The idea of my life within the next 10 years absolutely enthralls me. What I plan on doing in the next 7 months, however, scares the living hell out of me.

Let me just establish something- I do not want to go to college. I even wrote a whole other post in a tangent against the idea. It's just not my thing. In an English assignment earlier this year, I wrote, "So, you may be reading this figuring that because my first plan after high school is getting a job, I'm either slacking off and not going to a 4 year college, or I have some plan to do it later. Well, actually, no. The more I learned about college- all the money, time and energy required to even get into one- and after pondering over the concept of 4 more years of optional school- all the nauseating tests and partying with kids I don't like just to get a degree for a future career that I may not even want to follow through on- sounded like a colossally, monumentally expensive waste of time, and I am perfectly content with skipping all the hassle and just getting a job, which is the ultimate goal of college anyway. A job is a job. I get paid, the money gets flushed back into the system, it's all good. A career does the same thing." Alright, this isn't to persuade you all to think that you shouldn't go to college. I suck at persuasion. I'm simply defending my lack of desire for it. You want to go to college? Go for it. There are plenty of people who don't despise school with every fiber of their being like I do, and they are all college students, starting a new generation of doctors, lawyers, and everything in between. But will I ever become a doctor or a lawyer? OH GOD NO.

And relax. If you think I'm going to be broke at the age of 26 and I'll get that desperate, I can go to a community college no problem. You can do that at any age. Why there is so much crippling pressure for teens to make important life decisions immediately after high school is beyond me.

THAT'S ANOTHER THING. I want to develop myself as a human being before I leap into a career that I'll regret for years to come. I'm one of those people that wants to "see the world" (corny, I know). I want to meet people outside of my own age group for once. Do you know how miserable it is to be surrounded by this generation of teenagers? I don't understand any of them. I want to experience new things without having an assignment due every week. I want to focus on my spirituality and on my wholeness as a person. I don't want my job to define me in that regard. I want to get paid, sure, but I want to LIVE primarily, work secondarily. I've spent my entire life so far living the demanding, lifeless routine of schooling- don't you think it's time I moved on?

And my interests have never been all that worthy of hardcore education, anyway. I live for the arts. If I were to choose my majors in college, I would be vacillating between music, writing, photography, and drawing- all classic majors with minimal benefit in the real world. You know what I would end up with in the end? 4 more years of my life with nothing really to show for it except for slightly improved art skills. Don't get me wrong, here- I see the benefit too. More job opportunities would definitely come my way. But the life of an artist is one of the most difficult to receive consistent paychecks. That's fine- I've never been much of a cheerleader for consistence, anyway. I just would rather do it independently. One thing I know about me is that when I make something I love required, I start to hate it. I'd rather keep my work and my passions divided to a certain degree. Ya feel me?

I realize this makes me appear to be one of those hippie-dippie chicks that'll struggle to pay rent the rest of my life. Sure, but I'll remind you that I'm just a stupid kid right now, and I have no idea what my future will look like. I'm not even 18 yet, and I'm supposed to be applying to colleges and plotting my whole life based on a career? Um... no thanks. At least not yet. I can't commit to something that huge yet.

*Phew* Okay. It's been said. Of course, none of what I've said here would be simple or concise enough to explain to anyone who casually asks me what I'm doing after high school. I've thought about it extensively, but the best answer I can come up with on the spot is spinelessly stating "probably DVC." And that's still very possible. "Are you planning on transferring anywhere after that?" they'll often ask. No. I see no need to. I don't want my experiences in my budding youth to be molded by peers of the same status as me. That's so boring. I want to travel to islands I've never been to. Make friends with 80 year olds. Maybe write a memoir. You know? That is the lifestyle I want. I've never been into the idea of sorority sisters, school spirit, hanging around people that are into exactly the same things as everyone else, tests, GPA's, and all that jazz. I have a burning, irrational hatred for the whole concept. But whenever I explain this to people, I find that as usual, I'm the odd one out.

But, if all else fails, I could just say this and be on my merry way:

My Speech For English Disses Public Speaking Hardcore

Just this past week, I was assigned in my English class to give a speech on whatever topic I wanted. I couldn't think of any normal topics, so I decided to address how unhappy I was about doing the gig in general. Here's the document I read from:

*Greet audience*

Hi, I'm Amelia, and for my speech I'm going to talk about how much public speaking sucks, because... it felt relevant.

First of all, I'd like to point out that for the most part, everyone hates it. I honestly can't think of a single person I know who actually enjoys public speaking, except for my one friend who's really gregarious and actually loves attention, but she's the one exception I can think of. When I got this assignment, I went up to her and told her I had to do this, and she actually said it sounded fun. And maybe it would be for some people, but honestly I have been dreading this speech since the moment I was assigned it. Even with it being weeks in the future, I had brief panic attacks over the past few weeks just envisioning me standing in front of the classroom and talking for 5
minutes straight.

Especially considering that I don't talk that much even casually with my friends. I seriously never have that much to say consecutively unless I'm writing it down and people aren't watching me say it verbally, so this'll be interesting. If it weren't for this paper in front of me, I'd probably be lying dead on the floor right now.

But pretty much 75% of people generally hate public speaking with a burning passion.

Which is a legitimate statistic, actually. I looked it up. So the odds are really good that most of the people in the room have been dreading this speech as well, and are really thankful that it's me talking up here and not them.

I think we've all heard that fact that 'most people would rather die than speak publicly'- I hear it a lot from teachers who are about to make you do a presentation or something, and they just felt like acknowledging their awareness before they torture you anyway. It's really messed up, but it's still really true- If I happened to get in a serious accident before I got up here, I think I would've been completely fine with that. And there's got to be some psychological problem with that.

This fear is, according to Google, called glossophobia, which is basically a fancy name for stage fright. Experts say it's a subset of social phobia, or fear of social situations, which is definitely true of me.

I'm gonna tell a story- The only other time I had to entertain a whole class by myself was freshman year in drama- I honestly have no idea why I took drama if the whole purpose is to entertain people on stage, but the deed is done, I guess. Maybe I thought it would help me be more comfortable in front of people, but, that didn't really work at all. Anyway, so at the end of the year- it may have been for the final, or something- we had to all go up and do stand up comedy. And that may sound pretty standard for a performing arts class, but it was the most mortifying thing I ever had to do in my life. Because not only did you have to stand up on stage solo with a literal spotlight on you, but you had to actually be funny. We were never taught specifically how to be funny. We just went up there, and hoped that the audience would throw us a bone. And obviously, the more popular kids got a lot of laughs simply because they had a lot of friends in the class. So loud people, as usual, had a leg-up with this assignment, just like they do in every presentation at school. But unfortunately, all the awkward dorks with no friends would have to go up there too, and they'd say something ironic, and hope for the best. And as you might have assumed, I'm in that category. ...Somehow, I went up last in the whole class, and impressively, I think I got the least laughs, other than a few pity laughs from Ms. Lopate. The dead silence that followed all my jokes still haunts me...

I think the reason it's so intimidating to stand and talk in front of your peers is because there's so much pressure nowadays to be accepted. It's really stupid, but the main goal in every teenager's life is to just get through school with their reputations reasonably in tact. So getting up in front of the class with everybody looking at you makes you a public spectacle, and their whole opinion of you can be blown out of proportions by something you say, how nervous you look, what you're wearing or how weird your laugh is... It's all just a social game. And I hate playing it. And honestly, do people really ever learn anything from student presentations? Whenever I'm in the audience, I usually just pity the poor kid presenting, and I daydream about a song stuck in my head or something. And whenever I'm the one presenting, like now, I'm basically just panicking and hoping I get a decent grade in the end. Whether you guys learn anything from what I say is immaterial to me. I mean, I see why teachers would say it teaches you to talk to people in group settings and all that jazz, but I think all it's done for me is crippled me with fear.

For this speech, I went to this website about phobias and did a little research, and on the page talking about glossophobia, it had a subheading for complications of the disorder. And basically, it said that despite the fact that a majority of people have stage fright, an overwhelming majority of careers still require some level of public speaking in one form or another. Because life sucks. But if you think about it, it's really true. If you're working at an office, you're bound to be forced to do some kind of presentation, which is why I've made a vow to myself that I would never work at an office, among a million other reasons... But on the same website, it mentions more symptoms of glossophobia, including the irrational fear of just small-talk. Apparently, some people with this fear have the mind-set that life is a performance, and even the thought of socializing with anyone casually sounds terrifying, which sucks because pretty much every job out there involves some kind of communication. This social anxiety often leads to the desire to isolate one's self, which, unfortunately, can lead to depression.

So, what do you do if you have this problem? Do you just sit around at home and live in fear? Well, you can, but a common treatment is called cognitive-behavioral therapy, where you learn relaxation techniques, and gradually confront your fear in a safe and controlled environment. So, I would assume there are clinics somewhere that do this, but I'm not an expert. There's also some various kinds of medications I'm sure you can take, but unfortunately, no matter how awkward or filled with fear you are, teachers and future employers will continue forcing you to be in charge of an audience for the rest of your life, and there's nothing you can do to stop them.

So, on that note- I'm really glad this is over.

These Songs Are Important to Me

If there's anything you need to know about me, it's that music is one of my biggest passions. It's often my only outlet for my complex emotions, and the lyrics say more about me than I could ever express verbally. So, I thought I would make a list of songs that have touched me with their meaning and/or sentimentality throughout the years, and let you listen to them for your own pleasure and insight into the mystery of Amelia.

Mr. Brightside by The Killers
This is one of my all-time favorite songs ever in the history of my existence. Click the link above for why, but primarily, do yourself a favor and press play on the video.

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
Same for this one. The link says it all. Quite a change of mood, here, but it's still beautiful.

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police
This band has always been playing since I was a little girl, and this song always seemed like the most beautiful love song a band could write. It's a tribute to how wonderful 'every little thing' a girl does is. I swear, if some guy were to sing this about me, I'd never leave them.

1979 by Smashing Pumpkins
This song was popular back when I sat in a car-seat, and for that reason, it's always been a song filled with a lot of childhood nostalgia for me. But, when I started listening to the actual lyrics of the song, I came to realize that the whole meaning of it is about longing for the good old days when they were younger; back in 1979. I was born in 1997. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. There's just too much awesomeness going on in this song.

Float On by Modest Mouse
I first heard this song on a family vacation up in a place called Gualala. Never heard of it? I thought so. It's basically a small cloudy town by a beach in California. The house we were staying in was located right on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and as an ocean lover, it really was a beautiful place to stay. Well, as is typical of my family, we brought the video game Rock Band along with us for this trip (music, man, I'm telling you...) and late at night as all the kids had attempted to fall asleep, one of my cousins played this song in the living room, and as I laid there in the dark, it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard. Images of the ocean and mermaids and an overwhelming sense of calm overcame me. Now whenever I listen to that song, memories of the sea come to mind, and the peaceful night falling asleep in Gualala.

Help I'm Alive by Metric
I heard this song more recently, but the lyrics caught my attention immediately. I interpreted it to mean that just the mere act of living can be more frightening than even death, and I can't tell you how much I relate to it. And the song is just really well done.

Father and Daughter by Paul Simon
Oh, this song... This song makes me cry every time I listen to it. It really is the most perfect song about a father loving his daughter. The lyrics. The guitar lick. It radiates awesomeness.

Heroes by David Bowie
OH GOOD LORD DAVID NOW YOU'VE DONE IT. As if David Bowie wasn't already awesome in every way, he had to sing this song too. You've probably heard it before, because it's on the radio all the time and it's a classic, but it really is taken for granted. If you were to turn this song on just before you go to sleep, you would escape to a dreamland only David Bowie could take you to, and all you'd ever want is to be a hero with him, "just for one day". Honestly, do you know how many times I've imagined him actually serenading me with this song? SWOON.

Love Your Abuser by Lymbyc Systym
I've written about this song in an earlier, and there's a reason. It's unlike any other song I've heard. There are no lyrics, but even so, the music is so influential in itself that it doesn't need any.

The Scientist by Coldplay
Want to make me cry? Turn this song on. Let me explain my history with Coldplay- when I was little, and we're talking 5th grade, I hated the band with a burning passion. I used to think that Coldplay was a spineless crybaby band and that they only produced musical crap. I was really annoying about the whole subject, until one night I found that I had the album Rush of Blood to the Head sitting on my iPod, and I decided to take a listen just for kicks. The first song I heard was The Scientist, and even though I had heard it before nonchalantly on the radio, I was completely naive to how amazingly beautiful it was. In the middle of the night as it poured rain out my window, this song hummed gently in my ear, and sentimental thoughts overwhelmed me to the point of tears. I can't explain why I love this song so much, or why it makes me cry, but it does.

The rest of these have no profound insight into my personality, but they're a few of my favorite songs EVER, and I'm feeling generous.

Kids by MGMT

D'yer Mak'er by Led Zeppelin

Island in the Sun by Weezer

Feel It All Around by Washed Out

She's Got You High by Mumm-Ra

Daydreaming by Paramore

Chocolate by The 1975

Amelia by Bell-X1

...You're welcome.

Excerpts From Various Notebooks #2

I'm dazzled that I'm alive, that I actually made it past all the unfathomable "what-ifs" prior to my birth. Still, though, I feel somewhat unwelcome. I feel inadequate and unimportant towards the precious purpose of existence. Like accidentally getting into Harvard without having put in the necessary effort; not being good enough. I feel like I belong to an inferior race of human beings- the accidents. Those just meekly meandering the planet, using oxygen, burning through supplies, and feeling guilty for it each and every day.

The girl was like a furnace. A fire churned inside her, roasting her insides, and when she spoke, out came fireworks.

I walked out of my bedroom, the soulless pit of lukewarm familiar...

The fact that I look different, I think different, I was raised different, and I want different things is scary,but it's also somehow beautiful. To think that I'm that special. No one on earth is the same as me. Not a single one. So from that angle, I guess that means there's less competition...

This is a world of "just do it" and "act first, think later" and "do what they're doing" and I just can't.

The fact that everyone that catches a glimpse of me immediately develops an opinion of me TERRIFIES ME.


I don't like feeling girly. I do enjoy feeling feminine from time to time.

I'm not pretty, but I think I can compensate for that by hiding in my hair and wearing the right jeans.

There's something really beautiful about swimming. It's not just 'fun'; it really is a spiritual experience for me. The act of dipping yourself into a body of water, putting yourself in an environment that completely defies the laws of gravity, and maneuvering your way through. You weave yourself in and out of the clear, sparkling liquid, and even though you have no air to sustain you, you're still alive and well, completely safe. I love observing things underwater. I love laying at the bottom of the pool and just watching the water swirl the sky. It's fantastic. But what's fantastic in another way is getting out, and comforting yourself with dry clothing. Drying off is one of the most comforting things in the world after a swim. I honestly don't know which part I enjoy the most. But when your clothing warms you up after a wonderful swim, it kind of cradles you into a sleepy state of being, and your body turns into jello.

'In the moment' lasts an eternity. But it's when you're pondering over your collections of memories and all the fantastic moments of your life that you realize that time goes by faster than any force in the universe. So, how can anyone possibly expect me to live in the thick, syrupy presence of the now when I have shattered pieces of time scattered precariously all over the floor around me? I must find where all these pieces connect! Really, where did all the time go?

I have a diamond sitting inside of me. It's brilliant and beautiful, but the longer it sits within me, the heavier it weighs, slowly ripping apart my insides. All I've ever wanted to do was to show it to somebody, but it's molded a home within me, a nest of its own, and if I were to rip it out, it would blind people to death, and I would bleed out more of my soul than I ever intended.