the demise of a teenage girl

Sometimes, it takes everything in me to write here.

To make my words seen on a website and not a private document, where there’s no pressure, no people.

Just me and my words in my own little tide pool of self-depreciation and egotistical boosts.

Sometimes, it takes nothing in me to write here.

Because putting something on here either feels like a shout into the void or an amplified ramble into the ears of hundreds of unwanting bodies and souls.

hanging by a thread

Lately, I have been feeling not so stellar.

I feel wasted and empty and absolutely scraped down to the bone of all possible potential and energy I may have had previously available.

Nothing much has changed to promote this. Sure, I’m working a few more hours a week. Sure, I’m working a few more hours on the blog as well. But I’ve always been someone that has worked myself weary, without ever growing tired.

And I am so, so tired.

In the fall I start school, and a new job. I got a transfer to a better-paying department at work, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. Partially, because I love learning new things and meeting new people. But mostly, because the uniforms are much cuter than my current ones and for once I’d like to feel good about the way that I look while doing my job.

I’m excited for the prospect of school again, too. I’m a nerd, and as I said, I love learning new things and meeting new people. I’m heading to a community college and plan on majoring in screenwriting, because, surprise, I want to go into something in entertainment.

I’ve decided now, what my major is going to be, but I went back and forth on it for a while.

Should I do theatre since I loved singing and acting and dancing my little heart out on a big old stage for a good part of my life? Should I do communications in media so that, even if the film and tv thing didn’t work out, I could still do something that entertained people? Should I just do English since I’m decent enough at writing to make school a little bit more of a breeze and a little bit less of a tornado? Or should I just say f*ck it and major in film like I want to, even though I have no real idea of what that would even entail or if I’m ready to commit to just film and not publishing or journalism?

In the end, or, at least, what I thought was the end, I had decided to go with English. I had decided that writing books or obtaining a publishing career could be enough for me.

But then I realized that I had thought “could be enough for me,” and not “would be a dream come true,” and I was back to square one.

the detriment of raising children with creative ambition

I was blessed with amazing parents. Parents who, despite the hardships they had faced as young parents, always believed that our number one goal should be to live the life we dreamed of.

To live in the world we do and believe that dreams are important, especially when it comes to the way that you’re going to be able to put food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back is, understandably, considered insane.

And they knew that. And they made and make sure that we knew and know that as well.

But they drilled it into our heads from the minute we could form full sentences that finding our passions and turning them into lifelong careers and ways of life was essential to living a life with not a moment wasted.

So whenever I take the stage or write a new story, whenever my brother takes the stage or writes a new song, they remind us that even though it’s an incredible path to journey down, if taking up something in the entertainment industry is something that would make us happy, we not only should pursue it, but needed to.

I’ve stated many times that my parents are the reason that I started this blog. But they are the reason for much more of my moves toward my goals than just that.

They pumped me full of the mentality that hard work is worth more than talent, no matter the field. They made sure I knew that money was hard to come by and even harder to manage. They gave me every opportunity to make choices that changed the course of my life, and continue to support my dreams, even when it means taking me to a medical magnet middle school a couple towns over, only for me to eventually decide that I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore, and sending me on an expensive trip to theatre camp in New York, just for me to find out that I was more meant for film and tv.

I have a lot to thank my parents for, but the biggest thing I have to thank them for is worrying about the food on our table, the roof over our heads, and the clothes on my back so that I could pursue my dreams without having to. At least, for the next couple of years.

dreaming and living are, unfortunately, two different things.

Like I said, the thought that I could or would be settling for anything less than a dream was frightening.

Because settling is almost always synonymous with stuck. And, well, you guys all know how terrified I am of getting stuck.

So I sat on my major for a while. I had already fed the English major to my counselor and had classes lined up for the fall semester, but they were all gen ed courses anyways so I still had time. I was not stuck yet.

But, if I didn’t make up my damn mind, I would be.

So I talked to everyone I possibly could. Coworkers, friends, and a select group of family members listened to me and then told me to major in what I already knew I wanted to: writing.

But not books and not articles, and hell, not even the blog posts and short stories that I’m writing now. But something that could be taken out of my head and plastered onto screens. Films and tv shows that could make people laugh or cry or feel anything other than what they wanted to be feeling just at that moment. To help people who felt small feel big, to help people who felt big feel small, to take them away for just a moment and bring them into a world where they could be anxious or scared or excited or sad about anything else but what was happening in the real world around them.

That’s also why I started Little Green Notebook.

I wanted something that could help me bridge the gap between my writing; the one I liked doing, for now, building up my abilities and connecting with all of you. And the one I love to do and want to do for the rest of my life.

Pumping out content like this every week is killing me, partially because I’m a perfectionist and a procrastinator, but mostly because the worry that people will hate it is eating me alive.

So far, so good.

But I’m always worried for when that other shoe is gonna drop.

Be it the thud of my success, or the beginning of my demise.

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