With my loathing hatred for this class, one can only imagine the motivation, or rather the lack thereof, that I had concerning the assignments our teacher gave us. One such assignment was during a unit titled "Emotional Awareness." Determined to shun anything related to this class, and eager to return to using my new metallic gel pens to write notes to my friends, I was ALL SORTS of uninterested in this unit. And as such, I pretty much BS'd (it's a verb, I promise) all of the assignments-- including the worksheet titled "The Emotional Spectrum." This particular worksheet featured a line with an arrow on each end. On the left side of the spectrum, our teacher had listed negative emotions. On the right side of the spectrum, she had listed positive emotions. And in the middle, were the ones that fell between the two. The premise of the assignment was to list personal experiences that coincided with each emotion, in order to become more aware about what events make us feel what way. I know that there was a whole slew of emotions listed on the spectrum, but the only ones I remember are fear, sadness, and happiness. As alluded to earlier, I gave the assignment little to no thought, carelessly filling in the spectrum with diluted, fabricated experiences.
So, as you might know, I finished the eighth grade. (Applaud.) I then went on to finish junior high, as well as high school, without giving any further thought to "The Emotional Spectrum." However, this week I was driving in Sugarhouse, and while stuck in a traffic jam so typical to Sugarhouse's congested roadways, "The Emotional Spectrum" worksheet made a reappearance in my brain! Buried deep beneath countless connections, memories, and ideas, and for an unknown reason, resurfaced! Never eliminated, but merely lying latent, it experienced a rebirth in my mind. And long story short, I kind of started thinking about what my real answers would have been, had I actually taken the assignment seriously. So without further ado, I present to you, my answers to "The Emotional Spectrum" (Coach Melonas, if by some miracle you're reading this post, feel free to edit my grade on said assignment from a C to an A.) In order to get the full emotional experience, I suggest you listen to something touching while you read, like The Middle East's "Blood" or Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah". (A desperate plot in hopes of elevating the reaction to my writing. Mwahahahaha.)
EXPERIENCES IN WHICH I'VE FELT FEAR:
Hours had yielded days. Days had seeped into weeks. Weeks were dazing into months. Months, mostly spent alone in my room, curled in bed, with the shades drawn tightly. Mostly spent in a churning spiral of nihilism, indifference, and despair. Hatred tainted each breath I laboriously took. Doubt probed each thought I forcefully worked through. And worst of all, hopelessness had throttled my heart. I walked up the eroded steps, and my hand grasped the sour, metallic, copper door handle. I entered, about to pour it all out to someone I'd never met. Fear gripped my soul. Admitting it has seized you and seeking recovery means actually confronting the issues. I had to face myself in entirety, no longer able to indulgently cower. Depression is real, and sometimes the scariest part of it is getting help.
I remember the noise most of all. A gnashing, grisly dissonance, unjustly slapped against the thick quiet of the sky. And then the glass sprayed over me. Like when grey, foamy waves crash against obsidian jetties and spray mist far and wide. Jagged shards instead of water, but still drenching all in its path. My forehead collided with the steering wheel-- leaving a feathery mark of Light Beige #135 foundation against the wheel's acrylic finish. The jolting fear brought on by the collision's adrenaline soon took a more caustic state: fear of what was next, hardly ready to brace myself for the inevitable. Alive, but almost wishing I was dead.
EXPERIENCES IN WHICH I'VE FELT SADNESS:
Tried as I might to grasp and grip and hold, it had slipped away. Perhaps it slipped faster, as I held harder. I think somewhere deep down I knew it would happen, but even so, when the words hit, warm tears began to flood my eyes-- my rapid blinking doing nothing to halt their flow. What he said was final, allotting no more room for indulgent daydreams or the romantic faith that things would turn around. And so I drove away that night, sobs syncopating my breath all the way home. Shiny tears blurring my eyes while rain, in its solidarity with my angst, blurred my windshield.
The goodbyes never get easier, really. Even now, after years of sage practice as the youngest sibling, it still hurts. Against the backdrop of rhythmic the airport's announcements-- flights leaving, and passengers needed, and gates changed, a louder noise takes prominence-- the panicked beating of my heart. The time has come, but I'm still not ready. Our reunion has ended. That familiar, salty, acidic lump takes its place in my throat. The sporadic, gasping sobs begin, and sadness clutches me-- body and soul. This is the new normal, this is the new normal. Togetherness is the exception, and distance is the rule.
EXPERIENCES IN WHICH I'VE FELT HAPPINESS:
Jittery with the lush astonishment at what was about to take place, I stood on the front row. My sharp hipbones jutted against the rope, and my arms brushed against the ambiguous hundreds gathered beside me. All of them nameless and foreign to me. Except for him. My gaze fell upon him just as his fell upon me. Ebony eyes, meeting emerald ones. And there he was. Never before had I seen him, yet I knew him as I know the speckled constellations of freckles on my hands. A cosmic bond. I saw his grungy, flaxen hair. I saw the lush, sumptuous Foothill gardens. I saw the wise, pink sunset. And deep in my being I felt that I was right where I needed to be. Our surroundings bustled, and thrashed, and whirred around us, but our hearts stood still together. "Oh there you are, I have found you." said my soul. And I believe his said the same to me.
She sat, in the myrrh of nighttime, against a fountain. A fountain that so happened to be in memoriam of her life. For you see, her mortal life on this earth ended years ago. Yet there she was, as real and valid as the people whose presence I had just left. Without a body, yet wholly herself-- blond hair, steady smile, bold emotions. Without words, she told me of the nostalgic devotion and raw longing which encompassed her on this evening. Nostalgic devotion because her first daughter started college today. And raw longing because she achingly wished to be able to caress that daughter's moonshine hair, and tell her how vastly she loved her. I stood beside her without fear or startle, and in the answer to her request, promised I'd convey these feelings to her daughter dear. And then I said my goodbyes out loud, against the beaming crickets and echoing drip of her fountain. And so, if you, dear daughter, are reading: your mother loves you.
And there you have it. I finally completed the assignment. Although I know there were dozens of other emotions listed on the worksheet, these are the three that stayed ingrained in my mind. I think I finally realized the purpose of this seemingly-pointless eighth-grade project: to help us realize the beauty of feelings. Isn't it incredible how we are capable of feeling? How we are capable of feeling fear, and sadness, and happiness, and everything in between? The positive emotions are easy to love, but love the negative ones too, for they indicate your divine ability to feel a vast array. Whatever you're feeling right now, take mindful note of it, for it is valid. And it means you're alive.
After desperately searching for a photo to accompany this post, the sad realization came to me that the only fitting picture would be one of me from eighth grade. Begrudgingly, I comply to that realization, and present to you: me in all of my 13 year old glory.
