"Everyone has their tribulations."

I can already tell, at least for right now, I am going to be a horrible blogger. I talk to myself all day long in my head, and by the time I decide to write a blog about what I am talking to myself about I think, But I've already had this discussion. But here's what has been in my head today, ready or not:

I have had depression and anxiety my whole life. It manifests itself in different ways and those ways often change from year to year. As a child I was intensely angry, and that nearly uncontrollable anger continued until I was 19 years old. Some of you may have seen recent posts by a young boy on youtube.com showcasing his 16-year-old brother's rage. I watched all five that have been posted so far, not for the entertainment value, but because I could empathize with this extremely angry teenager. When I was in 5th grade, my mother sent me to my room. I do not recall what my offense was, but I do remember slamming my bedroom door, turning on my stereo to the loudest notch, and burying my head under my pillow. The sounds erupting from the speakers were absolutely ear-splitting and it was physically painful to be in that room surrounded by those sounds. But I did not care. I wanted to punish my mom for punishing me. I wanted to annoy her, make her angry, by playing music as loud as I could. It was the only weapon I had, and I did not care if it hurt me to hurt her.

That is only one of many similar incidents that occurred in my young life. I am not sure what changed, but when I edged toward 20 years old I finally snapped out of it. Anger makes me anxious now. Just a few weeks ago I was on the phone with my mother and she erupted into a verbal assault. Within moments I was in tears, shaking, anxious, and I needed the anger to stop. I managed to utter over her yelling, "Mom, I have to go. I have to go. I can't listen to this. I have to go. I will talk to you later when we've both calmed down. Goodbye." I hung up, and I cried for the next hour.

When I watch this 16-year-old "freak out" (that is how his brother defines these actions), I am almost unable to think. Or at least I would rather not. It reminds me of how I felt during the middle of my "freak outs." It was a temporary release. It felt just as good as it felt awful. This feeling inside me would build and build and I would just wait, yearn, for something to happen so I could let it all out. Any excuse to "freak out" was a good one. "How would you like it if your teachers saw you act like this right now?" Mom would say. I felt ashamed, I felt awful, but "freaking out" was part of my survival. It was the only way I knew how to deal with all of the negative emotions with which our house was absolutely inundated, saturated. During one of my therapy sessions I was asked by my therapist, "If I were a mouse in your house, what would I hear?" I am not sure how I even responded to that, but it is something I have never forgotten. I have a feeling my face probably burned in shame as I stumbled for something to say.

Can I just tell you how happy I am that I am not a child anymore? It sounds so sad. Many people look back on their childhoods and think fond thoughts. Oh, childhood was so carefree! Honestly, I have never felt as carefree as I have in my 20s. These have been the best years of my life. Not because I am not depressed. I will always have to work on my depression. Not because I am not anxious. That will wax and wane. No, these have been the best years because I am no longer a child and I am no longer angry.

As one of my friends told me recently, "Everyone has their tribulations." I warned you. I have no idea what I will end up blogging, but this is what I thought about today.

"Sometimes I see me dead in the rain."

I want to begin by saying that I feel extraordinarily embarrassed for even having started a blog. Assuming anyone wants to read anything I have to write feels rather pompous, first of all. Secondly, but perhaps more importantly, I am not sure I even have anything to write. But the facts are these: I need to practice writing in general but also for people. While I may end up looking back on this blog and become overwhelmed with shame for the way I write or the content I have decided to explore, we do what we must to overcome our fears. I have one request, however: Please never make me hold a spider.

I think it would be appropriate to provide context for the postings to come. While I have written a pithy "About Me" section, I think most of us would agree that our lives often feel anything but pithy. Also, it is always interesting to see what aspects of our lives we feel take priority when we begin to talk about it. What comes first? The aspect of our life about which we feel the most proud. I am a student. I am a graduate student in English at California State University, Long Beach. It is my second home, and sometimes it even feels like my first. I have never known a place that can make me love me as much as it makes me hate me. With this said, there may be blogs regarding learning, literature, grammar, professors, students, essays, struggles, epiphanies, broken pens, grades, highlighters, clock watching, table tapping, inferiority, superiority, and so on.

I am a dairy-consuming vegetarian. I am also working hard to live a healthy lifestyle (though I refuse to live without occasional indulgences). I do not want to fool you into thinking that this has always been the case. I became a vegetarian on February 1, 2009 and I started getting serious about living a more healthy lifestyle as recently as June 1, 2009. No, no, I am not on a diet, though I am losing weight. I am merely taking a serious look at how I decide to fuel my body. Incidentally, there may be blogs regarding weight loss, health, fitness, vegetarianism, diet, and so on. I believe it is important to proclaim I am a vegetarian and I am healthy and active. I do not desire to redefine those aspects of myself.

I am a reader, a painter, and a writer. I do not read nearly as much as I should, I paint the worst art you have ever seen, and, well, you can officially make your own judgments regarding my writing. But all of these things make me happy. Death Cab for Cutie and J.D. Salinger also make me happy. The fact that my cat, Donny, is sleeping on my feet right now makes me happy. My fish, Walt, makes me happy. That said, I will probably also write blogs about various aspects of my life that make me happy. And sad. And mad. Disappointed. Depressed. Frustrated. Excited.

Honestly, I could write about anything here. It is hard to say what will eventually be included or excluded. Poems. Narrations. Gripes.

Your guess is as good as mine.