XTina (seeing_spots) wrote in nonfiction,

I love how I'm inspired by beauty all the time. I've been really depressed being surrounded by such animosity all the time. Everything in life is beautiful, though. I've started to write what some would call my life story. It's somewhat dismal, but it's my life. I've finally come to terms with everything going on, and I think that writing all of this down can slowly get myself out of this depression. I'd really love to get some feedback on what I have so far, so please please please...read what I've got so far...

It's funny how spending almost three hours in an empty movie theater on Christmas Day can bring such thoughts about, but it was just that that brought upon these ideas; the first forty five minutes of this time, of course, involved sitting beside my younger (and just as peculiar) sister trying to decode the various advertisements for plastic surgeons and automotive repair shops as if there was a hidden message to be found. The remaining time was spent watching Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events," a movie based on the first three books of an ever-growing series about three orphaned children who must learn the basic values of human life solely through their abnormal life experiences.

Before entering the movie theater, my sister and I had made it clear to the rest of my family that we would sit away from them, as they were not only an embarrassment to us, but also our mindsets greatly differed from theirs. You see, children are more understanding when it comes to hearing the stories of other children. No adult on earth would pay much attention to a detailed story, a series of events, if you will, if a child were to tell it, particularly because children are not expected to know much about the world. But for another child to hear the same story...well, things would be different.

The movie had run its two hour course and the credits began to roll in a rather unique fashion, in which I became rather intrigued. Though my sister and I wanted to watch various unknown names appear on screen, my mother urged us to leave.

The ten minutes it took to make our way home was undoubtedly one of the most saddening experiences of my life to date. The deep voice of my mother’s boyfriend bellowed to his brother over the phone about how terrible he found this movie to be, proclaiming something along the lines of, “It wasn’t even funny.” Just then, my eyes filled themselves with tears and I began to cry.

At first, I wasn’t quite sure why I would have such an emotional reaction to something I didn’t have any attachment to. But this small and seemingly meaningless statement began to violently turn the wheels within my head.
Of course I would have a problem with his half-witted comment. He had insulted all misfortunes ever to take place. He had spent two hours of his life expecting disaster to be amusing. Had he not experienced life himself? Had he completely disregarded the potential negativity of human emotions, assuming it would serve as his jester?

Despite all of my thinking, I don’t know the answers to these questions. All I’ve learned from those ten minutes in that car is that I recognize and welcome my emotions, both good and bad. Because without emotions, you can’t truly experience life as I know it.

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