A Heavy Heart

For my last blog I was going to write about how amazing my senior year was or maybe even my last prom or how I'm stressed about the research paper because I don't think I'll get it done in time. Or about how four years of high school really just seem like one long year. But then something happened, something so unspeakable that I honestly don't know if I can write about it. This Tuesday a little girl was murdered. This little girls name was Ashlynne Mike. Ashlynne was picked up from her yard with her little brother, the man that picked them up promised a ride to the movies. That is not what happened, this man, if you can even call him that, drove these children two hours away from their home then decided that he was done with the brother, pulled over, let the brother out and drove off. He then decided that it was appropriate to attempt to have sexual relations with an eleven year old girl and when she screamed and cried because of how bad it hurt, he got upset and hit her with a tire iron. He then proceeded to leave her body and go to a prayer sweat log where they were prying for the safe return of Ashlynne. Because of this MONSTER  a family is celebrating Mother's Day with one less child, a family is going to have to adjust to missing a piece of them because this monster couldn't keep it in his pants. This is one on of the only things that can truly make me hate a person and wish to kill them. Taking that little girls life and innocents was not within his right. Yet he was somehow able to. This also why I have difficulty believing in god. They say believe in god and he will protect you and keep you safe, that he will send angles to watch over you. Even if Ashlynne didn't believe in god she had multiple people praying for her, sending "angles to protect her". All I can think about is how alone and helpless she felt, how unsafe and scared, that she may have been praying for god or anyone to save her. And no one or nothing did. I've been told by people when other instances happen such as, the terrorist attacks or school shootings, that it is all god's plan, that he can not control what people do and has to let them use their free will. But I say that is complete bull. It was an infringement of free will when Ashlynne was assaulted and murdered, it was an infringement of free will when a terrorist decided to crash a plane into a building because it was for their god. But while I am outraged by this god everyone seems so fond of, I hope that for Ashlynne's sake their is a god and that this god will make sure she has a happy after life and brings healing to her friends and family. And if their is a god I hope he lets someone else use their free will to hurt this man in ways he hasn't even dreamed of yet.

A Little Thanks

At the start of my personal musical journey the only thing I sang were hymnals. I can remember sitting in church listening to my father preach and instead of opening my bible to psalms chapter four, opening the hymnal to one-twenty-four. I would sing the hymns in the melody I thought the words fit, usually I was wrong but sometimes I would get so close to it being right. I guess you could say this is the start of my musical journey. It wasn't until eight grade I had any musical training. Mrs. Debra Thomas was my first music teacher, I cannot thank her enough for the influence she had on me. She, and Samantha Edwards taught me how to read musical(I'm pretty rusty). Mrs. Thomas encouraged me to step out of my shell. But she is not the only people who have helped me on my musical journey so far, I have to thank Mr. Gardner and Mr. Obren as well. Mr. Gardner taught me to fake it till I make it. Which I think can be transferred into a 'real world' motto. And Mr. Obren taught me to prove people wrong, to not always except that what people say as a criticism but rather a nudge to better or as constructive criticism. Because of the opportunity Mr. Obren gave me I was given the confidence and passion to sing in front of a crowd. Mr. O noticed me in eight grade when I sang 'Hero' by Super chick. He approached me later asking if I was interested in a band like group called Fusion. I was so shocked that he thought I was good enough to be in Fusion. I had never really performed alone before and much less live. In choir it's easy to hide behind the other voices. My freshman year of Fusion was rough, I was really depressed and instead of letting the music help make me feel better I turned away, it wasn't until Obren said he would kick me out that I realized what I would lose if I gave this up. After that I was at every game  and show playing my heart out. And by some miracle he invited me back the following years. Mr. Obren is honestly one of the only people I want make proud. He doesn't know it but made an impact on me that I am very grateful for. He has not only got under my skin so deep I swear he were a termite but he has also been one of the people who inspired me to chase my dream and start a band. I want to change the world, and my life with my music. I want to make Obren, my mom, and myself proud. I want to 'make it' as a musician, but I also want to be a music teacher. I want to open a School of Rock of sorts and help inspire children the way Mr. Obren, Mrs. Thomas, and Mr. Gardner inspired me. I want to have my students performing at a major league baseball game or even at Disneyland. Because of these people I am grateful and would like to say thank you. Thank you for starting me on a journey I hope never comes to an end. Thank you for planting a seed of love for music in my soul. I'm happy that this is just the start of my journey and that there will be many more teachers. But I figured that because I am graduating and have never thanked them properly that I thought now would be a perfect opportunity.

My First Tattoo

It started at around six o-clock on a mid-August day. I had just gotten out of school when my friend, whose child I had babysat the other weekend, messaged me telling me she had the money for me. When I went to pick the money up I had a genius idea: I can get a tattoo. So I messaged my friend Layton, who does tattoos, and asked him if he would give me a tattoo. To which he said yes because he had to buy diapers. I told him I would be there in a bit and sent him a picture of what I wanted so that he could draw it up. My mind and heart was racing. How do I hide it from my mom? Will it hurt? What if I don’t like it? On the way home I was thinking of ways to get to Layton without my mom being suspicious, and that is when I thought of Emerson. Not only will he take me, but he will make sure everything goes the way it’s supposed too. The phone rang for a couple seconds before he picked up, I told him what I was planning and asked if he was in, after a couple seconds of thought he said he would pick me up at eight. I walked through my front door to find my mother and tell her that I would be out, and when asked how long I would be I told her no later than ten. But when I looked up at the clock and mentally kicked myself, That gives me roughly two hours to get the tattoo, and that is if Emerson picks me up on time. It was eight- thirty when I got the text from Emerson telling me he was outside. I skipped down my drive way and into Emerson’s black BMW. He then bombarded me with a million and two questions on if I was going to be okay and apologizing because he couldn’t stay.  He is always worried about me. But I guess someone has to be.  As we pulled up to the he tells me that if Layton tries again to call him so that he can beat him up. I just laughed and thanked him. Turning around I got a better look of the motel; I noticed that it is a rundown white and blue motel that probably hasn’t had maintenance called since the 90’s. I walked up the unstable stairs and knocked on the room number he gave me. A couple seconds later a woman with a baby answered the door and behind her I see Layton cleaning his tattoo gun. The woman who answered the door introduces herself as his girlfriend and the baby she was holding as their baby. I tell Layton that I have limited time to which he responds to by pointing me to the bathroom so I can get ready. After I get ready, I sit backwards in the car and he starts the outline on my shoulder. I heard the buzzing of his gun, and could feel his cold hands on my back. From there it’s a blur of him asking if it was my first tattoo repeatedly because he could not believe how still I was for it being my first time, shark week on discovery channel and crying baby. It felt as if I were getting a massage where the masseuse scratched me. It felt like it had only taken at most thirty minutes when he told me it was time to look and see if I liked it. Looking in the mirror I gasped, it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I had him take a picture of it and when he handed me back my phone I realized that it was nine-fort. I had roughly fifteen minutes to be home. I got dressed as fast as I could leaving my bra straps down in fear it would harm the tattoo. I thanked Layton for his time and energy as I paid him and left. I rushed down the stairs while I called Emerson to see if he was picking me up. No answer. I tried again and again and still no answer. I looked down to check the time and it was nine forty-five, slipping my phone into my pocket I began to run. I knew it was pointless but I had to give it a shot. I had to make it home by ten. So I ran through the streets of Holbrook. I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t stop to see if I were being followed, as I usually do, I didn’t look behind me, I didn’t even stop to tie my shoe, I just ran. I ran even faster when my house came into view, I ran up the steps and to the door, as soon as I opened the door I took out my phone and looked at the time. And in front of my eyes the times changed from nine-fifty-nine, to ten o-clock sharp. I had made it. Filled with adrenaline I rushed to the bathroom to take off my shirt and get a better look. My tattoo looked better the more I looked at it. After I pulled myself away from the mirror, I walked to my room with a feeling I had never felt before, mischievous. I walked into my room and started getting ready for bed when my little sister woke up and asked my why my shirt was off and why I had the lights on, at first she thought I was lying about getting a tattoo until I showed her to which he immediate reaction was to tell my how pretty it was and how screwed I was if mom found out. I told her she wouldn’t have to worry about it because mom wouldn’t find out. I climbed into bed with a smile on my face, and fell asleep to the image of my tattoo in my mind. 

Warped Tour

                                 

Walking up to the gates I feel a knot in my belly, my heart is surely going to beat out of my chest,  but for once it’s not a panic attack about to happen. I can feel the energy coming off of the other concert goers. At Warped you can be or do almost anything. It’s a day and place where for once nobody is judging you for what you are wearing, what you listen too, or how you look. The wait in line is the worst part, it seems like it never ends, and the suspense of what is to come is so great that I cannot stop talking to Patrick about how excited I am. “Oh my god, Pat, what if we get to meet Fronz?! What if he thinks we are cool and invites us to hang out? Oh god I am going to die.” I exclaim to Pat, to which he responds his infamous side smile and a “That would be cool.” Pat is the type of person who will let me be excited enough for the both of us because he doesn’t really like to show his emotions. When we are done being searched and having our tickets checked we are finally granted entry. Walking through the gates of Warped Tour I would describe as entering a Alternative Wonderland. There are people

with hair the color of rainbows, people either cloaked in black or almost nothing at all, there are girls in short- shorts but also boys in even shorter shorts, there is music coming from almost every tent and there is always someone walking around trying to sell the band merch for a band that isn't very popular but is on the verge of fame. You can see tents everywhere, from the acoustic tent to the medical tent. They always have a free water station but the catch is that the free water will almost always be as warm as the outside air.

At Warped there seem to be no limits, this is confirmed with how easy it can be to meet your favorite bands members. You can meet them at a stand in line signing or sometimes they will be walking around. I can  vaguely remember at my first warped my friend Isaac coming up to Pat and I so excited that he met a band member in the crowd. I can remember even better the moment Pat and I met Ash Castello and Chris Fronzak. We sat, because I got tired of standing, in line to meet Ash. We went back and forth with “I wonder what she will be like?”, and Pat’s wishful thinking of; “What if she falls in love with me and then I get to date Ash!?” to which I will always respond with “Oh my freaking god heck yes! And what if Fronz thinks I’m a cool cat and, because I’m not underage anymore, wants to date me!!?” But sadly of course that is not how any of the meet and greets went. When we finally got up to the merch tent where they were doing the signing pretty much all Pat and I could do was smile and gush. I can remember having an ear to ear smile and my hands shaking as I shook all the band members hands, all the band members were pretty chill and normal until the last one, who kinda creeped me out because he wouldn’t let go of my hand. As much as that creeped me out, solely because I’m not used to people being affectionate, I wished Fronz would have held on to my hand. But sadly when I met Fronz I couldn’t even get words out of my mouth much less whip the cheesy fan girl smile off my face. I can vaguely remember him putting his hand on my shoulder and the glare from the girl that had been waiting in line with us because the meet and greet  line ended right behind me and Pat. I didn't care though. I was to happy. At Warped Tour, it seems nothing can go wrong even though everything can, you can pass out from the heat or even do the splits in the mud in front of the slip-n-slide and hurt yourself in front of everyone( a personal experience) or even get get punched in a mosh pit. All this is worth it in the end because the good things always out member the bad. Warped Tour will leave you near death but you will never be closer to living

Saving My Life

Slice, the blood dripping off my fingers in sync with the tear rolling down my face. Slice, another incision, this one deeper than the last. The pain inside me lessened. Slice, memories started to flash before my eyes. Pop, the pill bottle opened. Gulp. the world, the pain, and my life faded from existence.

It has been two years since my last suicide attempt. I have twenty-four visible scars, as well as countless emotional scars. I have been to a psych ward twice. I have been in counseling since I was in seventh grade. So to say no one tried to help me would be false. To say no one cared would also be false. To say I did not want help, and that I did not care would be true. I wanted to die, no, I needed to die. I was a waste of space and only caused problems. The only way I and everyone could be happy was if I were dead. I could not handle the pain anymore, the only release I had was on the edge of a razor blade, and that somehow was wrong. The one thing that made me feel better was somehow making things worse. The faces of those who seen my cuts would make me hate myself even more. I was sick, but not in the sense of, if I took an antibiotic I would be cured. Oh, how I wished it would be that easy.

Five years is how long it took me to care about my life. I look back and wish the me now could go back and tell myself, "Jena, none of this matters. You are loved and your mother would die inside if something happened to you. The scars will never go away but it is evidence of your survival. When people see your scars, yes they will judge you, but if they actually care to take notice they will see they are fading, that you were stronger than that need for release. Yes, you need to go to counseling and stay on your medication. Yes it will be hard, and you will possibly have relapses. I am not going to say it was easy because it was not. I cannot say that it gets better, because it did not, I did. It was me that decided to make it better. I cannot lie to you and say that I do not think about how easy it would be to just end my life. But I also think about how easy it would be for my mother, brothers and sisters, friends, Pat, and my teachers to get over my death? Would they think it was their fault? Would that cause one of them to follow the same path? Taking my life would be easiest, but I have never been the one to take the easy road, so I guess that is why I am still alive today. All I can really tell you  is; you have to look inside yourself and find a reason to stay strong, whether it is for something you love or for yourself. Because what I have found out is that ultimately I saved myself. And you can too"

Generous Strangers

I used to believe that people did not just do things because it was the right thing to do, that there was always an ulterior motive. I had a very pessimistic view of the world and the people around me. I was so caught up with seeing the bad in the world to notice the good. I was like this until a year and a half ago when my best friend and I were left in Phoenix by a 'friend'. I was left with my friend Pat at the mall and el Pollo Loco for over seven hours, and after fruitless attempts at calling her we decided to find a bus route to one of Pat's friends house. When we arrived at the bus station it was just us, a family of five carrying groceries, and a couple of other travelers. Pat and I tried to figure out how to read the bus route but due to the fact that we are from a small town that doesn't have buses we didn't know how to read them. I asked the father of the family of five when the next train to where we were going would be and how much it would all cost. He informed us that it would be coming soon and that we would actually have to take two buses and the total cost of the trip would be fifteen dollars. I pulled Pat aside to discuss our financial situation and what we were going to do. We didn't have enough to make it and my 'friend' was not answering her phone. The bus that was headed to our  destination pulled up and I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was the father of the family handing us ten dollars to pay for our bus fair. It was this action that gave me a little more faith in the world. It changed something in me that day to be a better more helpful and optimistic person. If this father could try and help me when it is also very clear he is struggling is well, what could I do for others? I would like to have a moment to thank this generous stranger for showing me that not every situation is all bad and restoring my faith in people.

Impossible Friendship?

I have never had a 'normal' friendship. They have always been weird and impossible, this is probably why none of them have worked out... Well all except one. Oddly enough this particular friendship was the one I thought was not going to work; I thought this because so much had happened. First I told him that if he ever tallied to me again I would punch him in the face, and the. When I did start talking to him again it was great right up until he would randomly decide to stop talking to me. We also had other challenges; such as, we would always fight (physically and verbally), we were very competitive, and could never just agree to disagree. There were many more issues but that list is to long too go into. Pretty much, our friendship should have been impossible. You may be thinking, "If there were so many issues then how did it work?" I'll tell you, one day I got tired of him deciding whether or not we would be friends and went to talk to him about it. When we talked we discussed  how we did things to make the other upset and how we kept doing them because we were unaware of the affect it had. After we had this conversation I took a couple days to look at my self as a friend and to think about what I could do to make me a better friend. Since we have had this dicussion our friendship has only grown. He hasn't randomly stopped talking to me and is actually disappointed if we don't get the chance to speak. We challenge each other but it's not to see who is better than the other, it's to encourage each other to be a better person. Being his friend and going through all other this with him has taught me many things; like, how to love someone who doesn't believe they deserve it, how to set aside my pride for the sake of friendship, and on a less serious note; how to mosh. Now I couldn't imagine not hugging him everyday or not being able to just talk all night. I guess you could say the point of this blog is to show you that friendships aren't easy and they are a bit like a marriage. It takes hardwork and compromise from both parties order for it to work

• Stay Golden