Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (My Drug)

I’m addicted. My drug keeps me up at night. I sometimes take it instead of doing what I am supposed to. I buy as much of it as I can afford. Once I pick it up, I can’t put it down.

My drug isn’t dealt in the alleys or by underhanded people in love with money. My drug makes me smarter and keeps me entertained. My drug isn’t unhealthy and it won’t kill me. My drug is reading.

I pick up a book and it sucks me in. It isn’t just the character’s adventure, but it becomes my own. I can experience it all, but from the safety of my room.

I have fought off evil governments or solved a multitude of crimes. I have discovered new abilities and used them to my enjoyment and survival. I have fallen in love. I’ve make mistakes and fixed them. I’ve learned a lesson or two or four or a million.

I can become someone else. I can be the adventurer that will jump headlong into trouble or the shy girl who discovers a way to make her mark in the world. I can be the silly and clumsy one who always speaks before thinking or the calculating villain who manipulates every situation. I can be anyone I want to.

Books give me stories I dive into, but they are all so beautiful. Conflicts are resolved with the turning of pages. Fun and fantasy become reality within those lines. Imagination runs rampant and I can’t get enough.

I’m addicted to reading. Give me a book and I will be satisfied for hours.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Love Unashamed)

My heart fluttered like butterfly wings. A cold sweat broke across my palms and my mouth dried like the desert. Electricity sizzled in my veins. My stomach summersaulted in excitement. Joy blossomed in my chest and my lips couldn’t help but upturn in response.

Love. That’s what I’ve read it to be like…

Never having felt its breadth firsthand, I soak in all the description from the multitude of novels I read. I dream of coming down with its disease.

But I’ve been told reality is cold and hard. It won’t allow for the fluttery feelings the love of fiction brings. They say it’s not a picture perfect as in the stories. They say that love is just a romanticized fantasy.

I don’t want to believe them. I want excitement. I want joy. I want my heart to race like the carefree galloping mustangs. I want fireworks to explode when I’m kissed. I want my skin to sizzle with electricity when he holds my hand. I want the love I’ve read.

Sure, I understand life can’t be exactly like fiction, relationships do take tons of work, but I don’t want the dead and boring. I don’t want to believe love is so stanch and strict. Why is it unrealistic to dream of being swept off my feet? And I don’t mean that has to mean I have a knight in shining armor that rescues me from disaster, but a man who brings me flowers because he thought of me or he buys me a book he knew I would love or any other small romantic gesture.

I don’t want to believe in this realistic love that I have been told about recently. If that’s all love truly is, then I want no part of it. I would rather be forever alone than have to experience the terrible sounding love they are claiming is the real deal.

I just can’t accept that’s all it is.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Release)

Heat sears my heart. My blood is bubbling in my veins, spreading my disease. Acid rolls in my stomach. My lungs shrivel and my throat collapses. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them free.

My hands shake as if I was dying from thirst and shivers attack my bones, at war with my boiling blood. Fog settles into my mind. My vision fills with black emptiness.

A silent scream lodges in my throat. Pain begins to pound in my head and I fight to gain control. My body betrays me and I collapse.

Fear and Anger fight for dominance. They are choking me with their weapons of destruction. Fear makes me cold and empty, but Anger fills the void with fire. My body is torn between freezing and burning.

The world seems to shatter around me and I’m left in the debilitating darkness. There’s no sun to caress my chilled skin, nor breeze to still the frenzied beating of my heart. The silence presses in to further distress me.

In panic, I reach out for anything to distract me from this horror. My frantic fingers brush against the cool metal of a pen. I clench onto it like a lifeline. The tip presses against the floor next to my broken body and I begin to write.

All my ailments rush down my arm and out of me. My mind clears and forms the words now appearing beneath me. Every unpleasant emotion escapes my chest and my lungs fill with sweet air. A weight is lifted from my stooped shoulders and I’m freed from the burdens of life.

I have been set free from my cage and allowed to soar simply because I put my pen to the awaiting paper.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Screaming Out)

Voices ring out in enjoyment. I am on the outside just listening. Their laughter mocks me and I wish I could scream until they would leave. I am so sick of them being around.

My ears feel close to bleeding. I can’t stand it.

They are all in the next room, oblivious to my hatred. I just want to be alone in a quiet house, but that is too much to ask. The noise is suffocating me and I need an escape.

Sometimes I wish I could claw off my ears, so I could have the silence I desire. Or I want to scream until my lungs pop. Sometimes I even wish I could bang on the wall until my hands break.

I just want them to go. 

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (My Plea)

Stop holding me to standards I once could meet. I’m not myself and the more you push me to do the things I once could, the more I will shut down. I hate myself for disappointing people, but I can’t meet your good-intentioned expectations. I’m sick and until I’m better, you are just making me worse.

I’m suffocating under the burden you have placed on me. The more you push me, the less air I have to breathe. The pressure is getting to me and I feel as if I am dying inside because of you.

I know you want to help. You want to fix me, so you give me your unwanted advice. I know your intentions are pure, but it just hurts me. I can’t help how I am. It’s a medical condition that I can change, but you act like there is a simple fix. There’s not.

So, please, just stop. I’m begging you.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Something's Wrong With Me)

Something happened to me.

I was diagnosed with a disease that messed with my hormones. This forced me to plummet into depression and it doused me with apathy. I wanted nothing more than to sleep the days away. A dark cloud clung to my back and I couldn’t get through the fog.

They gave me medication to normalize it, but I still feel its menacing claws digging into my spine. I try to be what people want me to be; what they know I can be, but it just weighs me down more. I can’t seem to overcome the monster devouring my life.

Something is very wrong with me and I don’t know what to do to prevent this trend of destruction. I feel like I can’t make myself be who I once was and it’s killing me.

The longer I stay like this, the more I will disappoint others and that hurts most of all.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (She Admitted It)

She admitted it.

He has been interested in her for so long. I hoped he would overcome those feelings and finally see that I stood by waiting for him.

I had left for the summer, only to come back and see she had changed her mind again. She decided she wanted him, even after I informed her of my feelings and we both knew he would choose her.

Late into the night, we were talking about relationships. She found out that I am the type of girl who will probably only be in one relationship in my whole life and she admitted she couldn’t see herself as the same. She unintentionally admitted she most likely won’t stick with him.

I, so badly, want to warn him. He is plunging head-first into disaster and opening his heart to this friend of mine that says she’ll hurt him. I want to save him the trouble, but I can’t do such a wretched thing to a girl I called friend.

Now, I will just sit by and watch the sparks and explosions. By the time she is done with him, I shall have hopefully moved on. Poor love-struck boy: he never stood a chance.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Tonight)

Tonight’s the night. Our friendship will come down to the few hours we spend together this evening. It could either break apart completely, or mend.

Tonight I will see them together. Hopefully it won’t break my heart once more.

They will send each other secret looks and timid glances. They may hold hands, or sit close. They just might rip me apart without even trying.

Tonight, I will sit by my single self and long for what they have. They are beginning the long journey into love and all I can do is stand by to watch what I wanted so dearly.

She is the victor of a game she didn’t know she played. She couldn’t be happier with the prize that felt into her hands, as I feel the knife of betrayal sink into the soft skin of my neck.

Tonight will be the night when I find out if I can live with their budding relationship.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hail and High Heels (Near Collision)

Sometimes life can be like a near car crash.

You want to turn right. The light in front of you is a bright red and you check to see if the coast is clear. You glance left and scan the surrounding lanes of traffic. It appears to be clear. You push the gas.

As your car accelerates, you see a truck appear out of thin air, coming straight for you. It’s too late. You are already in the intersection and you just have to go. You pray the other car notices you in your blunder and slams on the breaks.

Your heart is racing, palms sweating. A crash could have just occurred. Your mind races through all the horrible possibilities and you slowly exhale.

In life, we make mistakes. We are rich in mistakes and, most of the time, we harm people when we make those failures. All we can ask for is forgiveness and all we need is to learn from our blunders.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Nowhere To Go)

Every time I look in her eyes, all I think of is how she carelessly hurt me.

She is happy with her choices and unaware she did any wrong. I don’t want to be the person to ruin that, I was her friend. I just let the anger and pain simmer below the surface. It bubbles underneath my skin and I fear that it will one day burn into hate.

She is so ignorant, but I can’t bring her up to speed without needlessly hurting her, as she did to me. I have to be the better person, but that means my pain just grows in the dark places where I hide it.

There’s no easy fix. There’s no easy stream to glide down. No traffic-free highway.

All that’s left is for me so sit back and watch her joy. The joy she stole.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Conundrum)

Look at my face. Do you think you can really see anything? You are only looking at what I choose to show you.

I don’t want you to care about me. I don’t want you to take an interest. I don’t want to care about you or your life. I just want to be blissfully alone.

Now, look into my eyes. Do you glimpse the girl crying behind those pupils? Do you see the broken human being screaming out for you to care?

I want you to care about me. I want you to take an interest, so much so that you see past the mask I’ve plastered to my face.

Notice my absence from your gatherings. Do you take a note?

I hate you people. I just loathe my kind for our selfishness. I hate how your needs will always be put before mine, even at the expense of harming me.

Take a look at how I stick to the outskirts of conversation. Do you imagine what is going on in my head?

I just want to escape. I want to leave all of y’all behind and run away. I just want to escape the suffocation of companionship.

Look once more at me. Do you even see anything?

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Breaking Down)

Can a heart break even more, once it has been shattered? And when it finally does, can the pieces ever be salvaged?

Is there any hope for those who have had so many knocks that they just want to give into the evil? Can they be redeemed before they choose the wrong path? Do they want to?

Anger burns deep inside me. I know I have to forgive, but the fury wraps me in its warm embrace and beckons me to stay. I hear the whispers of hate and they are tempting me to never forgive.

My rational sense tries to feebly remind me that forgiveness will set me free. Once before, it saved me from an eternity of pain, but I can’t seem to get past the hurt that was carelessly inflicted.

The damage is done. A friendship may crumble and one day possibly be rebuilt, but it could never again rise to the glory it once had been. 

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Hopelessly Entangled)

My thoughts are consumed by him.

I enter a room and always look for him. Our eyes meet and I see a flash of something almost magical light his eyes. That spark only remains for mere seconds, but I notice it every time before it is smothered. And every time, that single look warms me to the core.

In the past, he would always drift my way. I loved the way he looked at me. I felt for the first time that I could be cherished. It was the first time I didn’t feel just like the ugly duckling drifting alone on the edge of the pond.

Time has passed and I still think of him constantly. But those special looks he would sometimes throw in my direction are coming fewer and fewer. He hasn’t drifted my way.

Doubts are overrunning my mind. I want so badly to hold on to my dreams of us, but they’re slipping. I’ve held onto this hope so long, only to be disappointed again.

Have I been crazy this whole time? Where those looks just a coincidental catch of light in his eyes? Did he ever think me pretty? Did he ever have thoughts of me when we weren’t in the same room?

It seems, once again, I may have overanalyzed and overreached. I picked up on nonexistent clues and more of them than I should have.

Even though the truth I thought I had known for so long is turning out to be a lie, I can’t keep myself from pretending that I'm not so completely wrong. I keep hoping he’ll look at me how he used to, or how I thought he used to.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Senselessness)

Her death was so out of the blue. She was so young, so how could she have had enough time? How is it fair that she should die so young?

She had so much more life to live. I am guessing the burning fire in her heart, with the passion to live, couldn’t withstand the betrayal of her body.

What is the plan in all of this? I know there is one, but why let her die so young?

In the scope of life, she was just a baby. She was innocent and just trying to find herself like the rest of us.

She wanted to become a doctor. Why couldn’t she have lived, so she could save lives? She would have made a difference in this world and left a great legacy.

She loved music. She played her violin all the time, but she was also accomplished at playing the piano. Why cut that short? Music always touches people’s lives.

It was said at the funeral that she had come and done what she had needed to do. She had completed all she could and it was her time to go home.

I miss her.

But I can’t find comfort. I prayed so hard for Jesus to save her. To let her live to make the decision for heaven or to welcome he in his warm and healing embrace, but I don’t know what was in her heart. I want so badly to say she is living in joy and peace now, but I can’t say that because I don’t know.

Everyone is comforted by the fact she is in heaven, but I am so worried we could be wrong. But, what a cruel world it would be if one as great as her couldn’t be welcomed into the kingdom. If she couldn’t have just had one more chance…

Where is she?

Why did she have to die?

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Taylor, I Miss You)

It happened so suddenly.

Some platelets piled up in the wrong vein. She fell down to her knees and no one could possibly predict what horror would encompass the next few days.

She lay peacefully on the ground, but things were seriously wrong.

They rushed her to the hospital. She never fully woke up again.

There was a blood clot in her brain. They operated… And operated… And operated again.

The bleeding wouldn’t stop.

News traveled to me. I prayed for so long.

The prognosis was bleak.

My prayer morphed into a cry for the guardian to save her. To either save her for another day to make the choice for eternal life, or to just be welcomed in His arms.

It was just twenty days before she would turn nineteen. She let her last breath escape and she slipped away. I pray she was welcomed into loving arms.

Our days are numbered and you never know when an accident will happen or simply your body could betray you.

Don’t make a mistake in what you believe.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (How, or Should it be Why?)

How do you grieve when your mind won’t even grasp that it’s true?

How do you remember when all your memories are trapped in tiny compartments locked away in places in your mind you never visit?

How do you trust others when you can only see your selfishness and know everyone else acts in the same way?

How can you not go insane when you know the truth, but you are too good at denying it, for coping reasons?

How can you let yourself cry when you have worked for years to be strong?

How can you let go when you hold onto everything so tightly?

How can you not be apathetic when you hate hoping for things because you have been disappointed so many times?

How can you be so wrong about something you have held so dear for years?

How can you hope again when you realize how ignorant you have been?

How can you find answers when you only keep the deep questions to yourself?

How can you ask the questions when, in the right moment to inquire, your mind always goes blank?

How do you cope when all you can do is lock everything in a little box and set it aside with the wish it would just go away on its own?

How can you survive when all your plans have been for nothing?

How do you dream when you realize what you have wanted for so long and worked so hard to achieve is just a piece of dust?

How can you find answers when you aren’t willing to listen?

How can you slow down and try to listen when you don’t really want to make time for it?

How can you forgive yourself when you know your selfishness always leads to hurting people?

How can you meet everyone’s expectations when you are rebellious by nature?

How can you live as a rebel, but still have the desire to please people?

How can you be selfless without losing yourself?

How can life be so cruel…?

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Blood)

I have blood on my hands.

The red sticky fluid drips from my fingers. It saturates my skin.

My tears drip and mingle with the blood.

I start rubbing my hands. I can’t get it off. I scratch and scour. I scrub and smear.

Nothing works.

Dred pumps in my veins. Panic floods my mind. Grief freezes my heart.

What have I done?

My face is drenched with fallen tears. My hands covered in another’s blood.

I frantically try to wipe my hands. I have to get this thick liquid off!

What else can I do? How can I redeem myself? How can I get my hands clean?

Numb realization invades. What’s done is done. The past can’t be fixed. A life can’t be saved once lost.

My vision clears. I glance down at my hands. They are clean.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Taking a Breather)

Time to breathe.

My schedule has become jam-packed as if I was trying to stuff my whole closet into an overnight bag. Not everything will fit. Like every person in this world, I am wishing for more hours in the day.

The days when it was okay to waste time with boredom are over. There is an ever-growing list of things to do and I am being forced to pick which ones are allowed to hold my attention, but not all are pleasurable.

But try as I might, I can’t always stick to completing the tasks that need to be done. My mind strays to the novel I want to write or the book I would love to get lost in. The daydreams flood in and time ticks on. When my mind snaps back to reality, I see I have drifted off so long that I am out of time.

Why can’t I feel as excited about the work I have to do because it is required of my chosen major? Didn’t I choose this? Will this apathy fade as I delve deeper into the intricacies of my major?

Nonetheless, time is short and my free time is shrinking to oblivion.

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (I Remember)

Here’s how it happened for me:

I was seven years old. Being a good little second grader, I worked on whatever assignment that had been put in front of me. All around me voices droned on as other little second graders talked with their friends. The room was noisy, but not unpleasantly so.

Breaking through the clutter of chatter, a voice spoke through the intercom. It asked for all the staff leaders (or something like that) to meet. My teacher wasn’t included in that exclusive list, but there was a sudden hush that fell on the class like a heavy fog. Intuition told us something was the matter and all the squirmy second graders were getting anxious.

My teacher excused herself, telling us she would be right in the hall. With no supervision, the class drifted back to their normal activities. Their short attention spans wouldn’t allow them to dwell on the developing drama unfolding in another city. I think I went back to work, but I know there was a whisper of worry and wonder in the back of my mind.

Our teacher came back distraught. All the little second graders had to know what upset her. She told us a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers in New York.

Our little brains couldn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. It was a city away and we couldn’t see it, so we didn’t seem to care. We were slightly fueled by our teacher’s distress, so we couldn’t go back to class as normal, but we weren’t upset.

Later on, almost in a daze, our teacher told us a story about how she had eating her Thanksgiving dinner in the South tower (I think this was after it had gotten hit by the second plane). Her story got me to thinking of how my dad would sometimes go on flights. Irrationally, because of my underdeveloped brain, I started to worry that my dad could have been on one of those planes. How horrible would that have been? (Such a naïve second grader’s thoughts in light of the pain so many more were feeling because they had really just lost a loved one.)

I remember one girl in my class had gotten upset because her dad was actually traveling that day. I think everything turned out fine for her.

When I got home, I heard my mom’s version and I found out there were four planes: Two for the towers, one for the pentagon, and one for the white house (that was luckily thwarted).

That day, eleven years ago, will live on in all of our hearts. We will never be able to understand the twisted minds of those who planned those horrific events, but we won’t forget those we have lost. 

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Secrets)

She has a secret.
Her day begins. She dresses in her best and applies the makeup. She smiles at the reflection in the mirror and practices her acting skills.

People call her outgoing. They are attracted to her sweet attitude like hummingbirds to sugar-water. They buzz around her feeding off of her overflowing positive energy. Entranced, they can’t get enough of her.

She smiles constantly and her joy bubbles outward. Craving the attention, she keeps the conversation tumbling from topic to topic. All eyes are on her and she flourishes under the spotlight.

Little does everyone know, this is all an act.

At night, she takes her carefully crafted mask off and peers into the eyes in the mirror. A sheen of sorrow glistens in those depths and she can’t stop the overpowering emotions swarming her. Unable to block the flood, her mind begins to throb.

Feeling as if her head will burst, she picks up the razor. The metal gleams in the dim light. She slowly presses its hungry teeth against her scared skin. She presses down. A single trickle of blood drips. The cut widens. She thinks she feels release.

Can anyone save her from the pain she hides? Can no one see through her mask without her having to hint that something isn’t right? Can someone not see through her poor acting job?

Are we all so wrapped up in ourselves that we don’t see the obvious depression eating away at this poor creature? Will no one try to save her? Will no one lend her the hand she has been waiting for to pull her out of this hole? Can she be rescued before it is too late?