one.

One final day of high school and then I will be free. One last day to call myself a high school senior.

I am both terrified and excited all at once. In three short months I will be packing up my room and moving in to my college dorm with my future roomie. I will be saying my farewells and “i’ll see you soon”s. I will be shedding tears as I watch my best friend depart to a campus a state away. I will be looking back at everything I did do and everything I didn’t. Perhaps things will be like you see in movies, where the main character gets flashbacks as they watch their hometown grow smaller and smaller in their rearview mirror. 

I have learned more than I could ever write about these past four years of high school. I can’t sum it all up even if I tried. I’ve seen so much and experienced so more than I could ever tell you, dear reader. People have left and things have changed and life has moved on in ways I never thought it would. But others have come into my life, and I’ve learned that change happens for reasons I can’t comprehend. Life does move on, but always because of progress. 

I suppose I shall tell you the greatest lesson I have learned. I have learned that no matter what you do or where you go, life never stops. It never stops changing and spinning and going on and on and on. You cannot resist that change. Some people will go through many of life’s changes with you and others will no, but no matter what happens… you must press on. 

the tulips // summer song

all the kids, they want today,

all they ever think about’s

about summer.

It’s about summer.

I’m sitting by the window listening to the soundtrack of the movie The Music Never Stopped. The hum of multiple lawn mowers fill my ears, and there’s a steady breeze coming in. It’s hot, really hot for a May day, but I’m not complaining. I’ve missed the sunshine and the bare legs and the suntanned skin. The start of summer always has felt magical to me, as it signifies the end of the school year and the beginning of summertime adventures.

All the kids, they want today

the world’s problems to go away

it’s about summer,

it’s about summer.

Summertime has always felt wildly carefree to me, with no schoolwork to worry about and no grades or due dates or what not. It felt as though all my problems faded away. As a child, summer meant days at the pool, sleepovers with my best friend, going barefoot, and eating more ice-cream than usual. It was a wondrous, free of worry and stress. As I grew older, summer became busier. I got summer jobs, volunteered at camps, and seemed to have little time to myself. (But it was all fun nonetheless!) this summer I seem to be doing much less, so maybe it will return to it’s carefree state.

thoughtful, impassioned they easily open their minds,

through the eyes of a child,

this world is truly divine

Thoughtful, impassioned they easily open…

Is summer still magical for you?

coffee shop observations.

I sit here writing, not daring to stop,

For fear of seeing what’s outside my head.

– Bob Kaufman, a surrealist poet belonging to the beat generation.

 

Kaufman penned these lines in form of a 34 part poem called, “Jail Poems”. Kaufman belonged to the Beat Generation of poets, one of my most recent of interests. When Kaufman came up with these lines, he was in fact a prisoner in a physical jail. Trapped by metal bars and watchful eyes, he was quite literally a prisoner. 

Unlike Kaufman, I am writing in the comfort of a mellow coffee shop, with a cup of tea by my side. I am trapped by my thoughts and by the watchful eyes of curious souls. I am held captive, but not necessarily in a terrible way. You know? that made a lot more sense in my head, I promise. I’m typing away at my laptop, as the steady hum of casual conversation drifts about me. My friends often tease me and say that I’m always holed up in a coffee shop somewhere, scribbling away or typing away. I shrug, because it is true. My words are so jumbled and congested in my head that I absolutely have to let them out in some way or another. I’m afraid that I cannot do much other than write and write and write. I write because I must.

Writing gives me a clear picture of my thoughts and helps me to actually see my thoughts. It’s very therapeutic in a way. 

There are many interesting people in the coffee shop at the moment, many pouring over books or homework. A group sits in the corner, conversing and laughing hardy laughs. The kind of laughs that make me think they’ve not see eachother in a very long while. An elderly man sits across from me in an armchair, reading a J.K. Rowling book. I smile quietly, as people come and go and I continue to sit at my lonely table with my laptop in front of me. I find that I like to observe and I like to understand. That may be largely due to the fact that I am a wildly introverted person, but I think it comes from my passion for understanding other humans. We aren’t much different than we think. 

I adore my days writing in the coffee shop.

 

an uncontrollable mind.

I am very much a night person. My brain is most active when it is dark and the hours are growing later. Often I find myself milling about my house while the rest of my family sleeps, recording songs or painting or reading books – whatever settles my busy mind really. 

So often I’ve thought about how I could leave for a good six hours without anyone realizing it. I’ve often thought about sneaking out, but not to do anything crazy or ridiculous. Rather, I would just sneak out to walk around and have some open space to myself. I’ve considered doing this many a time, but fear always wins. (and probably intuition. My neighborhood isn’t bad at all, but the people who walk down my street are a bit sketchy at best.) 

Anyhow. I’m not really sure what my mind is up to right now. I have a billion thoughts swarming around my head. Today was a day of sinking, sinking back into muddled feelings and miserable thoughts. But tomorrow will be better, I am sure of it.

release (an original) // lyric thursday… sort of.

release by Estherlyn. (that’s me!) A quick little post before lyric thursday is over even though it technically is already.

I was yours like a bird in a cage,

The only thing I knew was flying 

but you took that away.

 

I was yours like a monarch in a jar,

you crushed my wings 

I could not escape.

I’ve written quite a few times about how I was held captive to a nasty addiction. But with that addiction came the monster of depression. You may write me off as a normal teenager, going through a rough time and blaming it on depression. But that is not the case. For me, it is believed to be genetic, probably inherited from a birthmother who abused drugs and alcohol before she gave birth to me. (my adoptive mother is great, please don’t confuse the two!) My doctors were incredibly worried once they were told it was probably genetic. But before I actually went to the doctors, I struggled alone. I couldn’t comprehend why I felt so lifeless. I did not want to do anything but sleep and eat occasionally and sleep some more. I began to loathe any human interaction. When I absolutely had to be around others, I put on a fake face and smiled until it hurt. My true self was becoming a ghost to the girl who could fool near everyone.

So release me, I was never yours to keep locked away.

So release me, I am my own, I am my own today.

So release me, take the shackles off this heart of mine

So release me, I was never yours, I was never yours to keep.

A couple years later, I still struggle with depression. I am so much better now, with help from therapists and a change in diet. I still feel a bit embarrassed admitted my struggle to others, but I’m learning that it’s okay. I’m channeling my energy and feelings into expressing myself in ways for others to relate and be able to feel like someone understands. Because I do understand.

I am my own, I have been made new.

No longer bound by the shame and regrets,

I am made new.

3 words.

talking all night,

sleeping away our mornings

anonymous, fleeting feelings 

between two torn up hearts

in the least, our lives matched up

for a greater reason.

I’m still trying to understand why.

woodchips and sandpaper

Ah, that smell. It takes me back in time to walking into my father’s woodshop as he worked on his latest project. The sharp whir of the bandsaw and sight of woodchips flying like sparks were a normal picture. Sometimes he would produce beautifully craft birdhouses. Another time he made a gorgeously stained nightstand for my brother. When I was a child, he made furniture for my dolls and a desk for me. His hands are rough and cracked, proof of his years of hardwork and labor. I always looked up to him for his talent to be able to create wonderful things out of wonderfully ordinary pieces of wood. It astounded me as to how one was able to turn something so beautiful from the ordinary. I wanted to be able to do that.

But try as I might, I never did have the knack for woodworking as he. Things always came out a little lopsided or uneven or ugly. My hands did not understand. I’ve always wished I had the talent my father possesses. He never ridiculed me for not having his talent, rather he told me that my talent for turning the regular into the extraordinary lies in other things. We all have the ability to create beauty, but each in our own, individual way.

she’s out to start a fire in this barcode, plastic world.

(switchfoot)

I want to achieve greatness. I want to impact people and say things that will help them.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not want to be other people’s savior. No, I believe that in order to really be saved, you must learn to save yourself. It sounds harsh, but it is the honest truth. Relying on other people to save me personally got me no where. It wasn’t until I figured out that I have the strength to fight for my own redemption. That is when I truly was rescued, but by my own will and courage.

I have a friend who believes in me. He would believe until the world ends. He would probably go his grave with the words, “I believe in Erin Estherlyn” on his lips. He refused to be my savior. He was the one who taught me that I needed to find strength in myself, not other people. (Don’t get me wrong though! Now that I’ve found my own courage, I do find love, hope, and encouragement in others. But they’re not the sole reason I am where I am today.) He always knew I would do something great, perhaps even change the world. He laughed at me when I blurted out the jumbled sentences that formed in my head. But laughed in an accepting, ‘i love you for who you are’ sort of way. He never yelled at me when I relapsed or shamed me when I told him about the deep dark demons of the past. Rather he looked at me with hope in his eyes and said, “You’re going to make it. I believe in you, Erin.”

And it is his faith in me that makes me want to achieve great things. It makes me feel like I could conquer the world with love and compassion tomorrow if I set my mind to it. His words makes me want to set the world on fire. (in a good way. It sounded better inmy head, believe me.)

So here I am, running this little blog of sorts. I don’t think of it as a blog anymore, rather as a collection of my “word vomit”, where I spew anything and everything that comes to my mind. I hope to God that one day, the words I write or say or sing will impact someone. I want to be that friend I just told you about to other people, one who inspires others and makes them feel like they could set their own world on fire. I want to live a life of significance. No, I do not ask for fame or fortune or recognition… I just want people to remember me as the girl who set her own world ablaze, leaving nothing and no one the same.

Isn’t it strange how much of an impact one single person can have on you?

where do we go from here?

I won’t lie. This past week or two has felt like I walked through hell and back. I think I’ve shed more tears in the last ten days than I have my whole life. (That’s probably a wee bit over dramatic.)

Although I won’t bore you with the mundane details of it all, I will say that I’ve got a lot of things to sort out with myself. I find that no matter what I do or what happens to me, I always blame myself – even when it couldn’t possibly be my fault. My brain always jumps to the conclusion that it is something I did to make someone leave, or it’s my fault that some things happen the way they did. It’s very dangerous to live like this. I often find myself sinking lower and lower when I get into this mindset. It’s like I’m living every day wading through quick sand, trying my best to trudge on. It gets harder and harder, especially when I feel as though there is no one I can lean on. 

I am a fiercely independent person. I do not like to have to rely on other people. Blame it on my pride or stubborn ways, but that’s how I’ve always been. I absolutely detest having to ask for help. But sometimes … I have to. I’m learning more and more everyday that I cannot carry on just by myself. Rather, I need the love, support, and encouragement of others. In fact, I have many people who would do almost anything to help me. I just need to take the first step – to admit that sometimes, I do need help.

Sure, you can try to tape up your broken heart, bind up your own wounds, and attempt to limp on by yourself. But how far will you get? You might very well be the strongest person in the world, but even then…. you are going to need other people. I could try to form my closing words and sentences in a way that you might understand, but I think Jamie Tworkowski of TWLOHA will do a much better job.

You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs, but people more than anything else. You will need other people and you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living breathing screaming invitation to believe better things.

poets know best

“He has made me a friend of your soul –

ah, He keeps for another your heart.”

-w.b. yeats

Sometimes poetry speaks louder than even I, a wildly outspoken type of person, can. Yeats singlehandedly captures my feelings and emotions in one simple sentence.