Happy. I wish I had the motivation to count how many times I use that word in a day.
Sad. I wish I had the motivation to count the times I feel that word in a day.
Parents love their children so very much. Good parents always have a child's best interest in mind. They imagine their little 7 year-old going off to Yale, getting his doctrine, living a posh life in the city. Parents just want their kids to be happy and healthy and learning. Happy.
It's a common trait with all parents: They don't want their children to grow up. No matter if you're 13 or 28, our parents will always see the little toddler in us. I know that my own parents tried to shield me from of the harder things in life, maybe thinking it would make me stay young for a little bit longer.
Our moms and dads just want us to stay carefree, light, young and happy. Even if it means hiding things like, depression, deep sadness and anger from us for as long as possible. And whether we want to feel them or not, those are all real feelings. Real, real, real.
My friends and I have a lot in common, really. We all love to laugh, we love thrills, and we love having a good time. Some of them like the same movies and music I do, same sports team, and some do not. It doesn't mean we can't be friends. We all try to accept our differences and just focus on the bigger picture: Each other's company. I mean, we do try. The thing that angers me most is when one of my friends wrinkles his or her nose at the music I listen to and says, "Look up those lyrics, they are so dark. Ew!" Or shies away from poems I love, because they talk about maybe some of those things our parents put up their iron shield from.
I was trying to put my finger on it the other day, why this makes me so mad. I figured it was because they were discriminating things I liked. As I write this, I realize it wasn't about me after all. It was how they shunned those dark feelings, feelings that seem to drag you down. Suffocate you. Frustration, anger, melancholy. And even though we don't want to accept it, those dreaded feelings are just as real, just as present as happiness, blissfulness, and freedom.
When I was younger, I used to be overwhelmed with these not so pleasant feelings every once in awhile, just as I'm sure many of us do. Except maybe then it was over not being able to have a second bowl of ice cream instead of things that we deal with now like grades, relationships, religion and peer pressure.
My mom used to call these "yucky feelings" I usually wouldn't get angry, just weighed down, sad. Yucky feelings. She'd pat my back and have me talk about it. Mom wouldn't judge. She wouldn't tell me that I shouldn't feel like this. She'd say that she understood and everyone gets these yucky feelings, whether they express them or not.
Can any of you think of memories like this? I am sure that we have all had these fits. We still have them now, as a matter of fact. As we grow older, we realize kicking and screaming on the floor aren't good options. Sometimes, instead of venting these "yucky feelings" we keep them bottled up. Maybe we forget those long ago conversations with our parents. Maybe we forget that it's okay to feel these. Many teens turn to drugs, alcohol, and even taking ones life to try to escape.
Our parents, they don't want us to grow up. Maybe for once they are right. As we grow up, we forget what it was like to cry and let everything out. And even as we duck out of our parents' shield, it's always okay to show the world your tears.
Glistygrl
