The Last Good Day.

“There’s no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.”  That line in itself from TFiOS is something I’ve pondered on the past week since I’ve driven almost twenty-four hours in just a few days. I spent time with my best friends in Albuquerque, enjoyed the New Mexican atmosphere where I gave my last words to my grandmother in a chapel over the phone. I received the news that she passed away that next morning, then drove to Odessa where our family home is, drove onto many other locations for the burial, then my brothers home in Dallas, then onto my hometown. Its been a whirlwind of events, and family which led me thinking about this one quote.

My first night in Odessa consisted of taking down our family home, and dividing out little things before the lawyers come in to appraise the estate, or whatever. I just sat there, and didn’t know how my mom remained so calm (she had been living there since she was five) and this was merely a home we came to for the holidays and summers as grandchildren. Many exciting Christmas’s, Easters, dress up parties, historical story telling, and family gatherings happened in this home for me. We were always moving as kids, but this home remained the exact same since nineteen sixty-four. Now the green carpet will be torn up, the vintage furniture will be hauled out, and all the family pictures removed from the walls. I tried to think of the last time I spent with my grandma, but even then the house was in the process of being packed up, and there were home nurses invading privacy. But still while gathering her Christmas decor its like I could hear her rummaging through the house with us yelling at herself, and us. Its weird. You see, I can’t remember the last good day, or the good family event. Why? Cause at the time, it was just normal, it was like any other.

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I never thought about our family Christmas’s, or my brother moving to a different city until it stopped. Now its an act of hoarding any little time I get with my brother, who I now have to drop off at the airport a couple of days later; He used to live right across town. Christmas’s are complicated, and an act of making appearances on each side of the family. Getting everyone together for the holiday feels like trying to schedule a meeting for the United Nations Council. It’s not tradition always, its ever-changing life now.

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Christmas’s that were large, and together? They are merely memories on a videotape. My brother living in town? Now its just stories exchanged between he and I before he leaves. The last good day; the lasting memories. Why do you choose to live a miserable life? Why do you choose to make decisions that don’t empower you, but hold you back? What will you have to look back on and cherish when you are too old to barely remember? People wonder why I’ve developed such a chase for adventure, to want to DO things, and create things, because of this! You can’t just pause life and say, “Wait, I’m collecting memories here!” No. It’s your job to create them, making them wonderful, and remember them because of that simply and beautiful line. You never know when life ends, or the opportunity. Put your phone down, your barriers, and try to remember the good days before they become your last.

-haley.

Instagram@haleyann92

Song of the week is “Christmas Time is Here” from Vince Guaraldi. Enjoy.

Thanks for All the Hateful Words. No, Seriously.

Today was a horrible day; the kind that makes you feel like a horrible life. I had a friend who committed suicide, and everyone’s (including myself) first reaction was, “Why would anyone ever do that?” I find myself quite frequently thinking after days like this, or just simple conversations with horrible human beings that this is why it would be nice to be dead. Maybe one day he just foresaw these horrible events, or was experiencing them secretly and had enough. I don’t blame him sometimes, which sounds like a “terrible” thing to say. It’s just a human thing actually. Then I snap back into reality and remember the sadness of him being gone, and how suicide is just not an answer. But I really do get the frustration, and hopelessness he might’ve felt.

People…I can honestly say are horrible. We all have a horrible streak in us, and some flow more abundantly in some than others. I am not free of this guilt, but am aware of it. As I look back on today’s unfortunate events I think, “What could I have done? Did I do something?” No. I got attacked, repeatedly. I put myself out like bait, and had teeth sunk into me by a bunch of wild animals.

“What a tacky thing to say!” No, it’s not. Because when you attack someone, that’s basically what you are; an animal. There are people who go about their business, who tend to distribute their patience, kindness, generosity and love to other beings throughout the day. Then there are those who load their imaginary guns with religious rules, their beliefs, opinions, words, theories and whatever else can be used to take someone else down. I’m not trying to openly say they are terrible people, but yea, actually I am. There is so much more to do in this world…so much more that can be uplifting and make a difference.

Paint something.

Give someone a compliment.

Smile.

Say nothing when you are expected to say everything.

Dance.

Download a new song.

Talk to someone about the new song.

Buy makeup.

Watch a movie.

Do anything except attacking someone else, rating someone else, judging someone else, talking about someone else, putting someone else down, hating on them, destroying them, and giving them a reason to turn YOUR imaginary gun on themselves. We wonder why we live in such a generation of hate, anger, destruction, and suicide. Take a long hard look in the mirror of what you have said, or done to another human being. Your actions, and words are powerful. They can uplift, or they can destroy. There is nothing more beautiful, and artistic than to be open-minded, listen and to love people. Seriously.

So thank you to the people who have told me I’m out of shape, reminded me of health issues, put me down, and exhausted me.

Okay?

-angry and dramatic haley. judge me i guess.

The Book.

As many of you (might) know, yes, I am working on my Novel. It is complete (I won NaNoWriMo 2013) but I am in the process of editing, and re-writing. “Because all writing is re-writing”, as John Green would say. Anyways, I warned y’all that you would be a part of this process since I want y’alls opinions! You have a chance to read passages (NOT Chapters – so you kind of wont actually know whats going on, these are simply small previews), and vote whether you you enjoyed it or not. Thank you for being such awesome readers, and I hope y’all enjoy and participate! It means a lot seeing as how these are very intense, and private emotions put to paper in hopes to be made public. If you steal my work, I have a lovely team that will find you. 🙂 Thank you! Dont re-post or quote anything without giving credit because stealing is mean.

“Have you been taking your pills?” he stood there starring at me. I existed in silence, with no words to say because I knew that Dad already had the answer, and was just seeking out my guilty confession to confirm. “Everly, this is not a joke. You need those pills.” He said firmly. “I know!” I replied, slighting raising my voice. “You will die without those pills. You are lucky that you even get to take them instead of receiving a transplant!” he yelled. A smile formed across my face, as I began to laugh. I crunched over continuously chuckling, having no idea how else to react to such ridiculousness. I stood up, catching my breath to see Dad frowning, and he replied, “I’m serious.” I knew my actions were hurting my dad, and yet I still ran right towards them, turning away all sane possibilities. I had a friend who decided to shoot himself in high school, and when in attendance at his funeral, I got to see everything that he didn’t plan for. I saw how utterly distraught his parents were yet held themselves together. I saw how his friends spread a line of gossip through schools, and shared his pictures claiming to “love him so incredibly much.” And I felt the deep sickness walking into the funeral with his senior picture displayed at the front, him smiling when for all we know was just a pose rather than reality for him. I was hurting my father because he saw my funeral, more clearly than I did, and I stood here laughing running straight into death as my dad suddenly realized he had no control. “I’m serious too.” I replied, turning around to walk back to my room. I hurt dad, but the continuation of the numbness that covered my body prevented me from caring. -Haley Ann

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Its the Kind of Tired Sleep Can’t Fix.

Well, Its November. I’m kind of in shock because yesterday it was July. Well that’s what it felt like. Anyways, November brings not only Native American Heritage month, but Pulmonary Hypertension Awareness month as well. I guess I will be speaking my mind quite a bit on these topics. 😉

Judgmental; having or displaying an excessively critical point of view.

Each time I’ve been a tad heated this week, I’ve realized it all falls back to this main source. Judgement; my biggest pet peeve. I hate being judged for obvious reasons. Its crude, insensible, it leads to bigger problems, and it really does show the most truest quality in that person. Most of the time people get to the point of blowing it off, but I’m Haley, and I want to make a fuss.

Eleven years ago, I stumbled around a middle school gym in the worst pain of my very short life. The girls, being middle school girls, glared at me along with the gym teacher who loved her “basketball” girls. She would glare across at me as if I was refusing to keep up out of laziness, but I was literally gasping. I felt it; those uncomfortable vibes itching down my back, and into my nerves. She, along with everyone else in that hour of school were judging me. I felt fat, out-of-place, stupid, and that was the first year I’ve ever encountered suicidal thoughts. I told myself right there that I, and my body were not enough. I was eleven years old.

In high school I would stumble up stairs, and again clutch my chest to endure the worst pain my body could evoke. Girls I was attempting to keep up with would stand there, roll their eyes and say, “hurry up.” They would mock that they had to wait on Haley, “Haley’s dying” and again I was not enough. I could not comprehend why the stairs tired me, and that they freely ran up them. People didn’t understand why my hair was long, why I didn’t wear makeup, why I didn’t listen to music of this era, and really they just didn’t know me at all. They didn’t bother to understand me, they just wanted to make remarks. You see, we all think this ends in high school, but it doesn’t. I was a seventeen year old, more dead than I had ever been alive. My mind, along with my body wanted to be dead.

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At eighteen when they told me I was on death’s doorstep, I literally felt nothing. For seven years people told me, “She’s fat, lazy, its exercise-induced asthma, she’s weird, it’s just asthma, you have a chest infection…” blah blah blah. It was judgement; the literal definition. People’s doubts, critical thinking, lack of compassion, and stupidity had me almost dead at eighteen. My heart was killing itself.

I, by a miracle have made it to four years. Through surgeries, painful rehabilitation, excruciating treatments, body changes I thought I would never have to endure along with medical bills. When I make it to eight years I’ll be considered a long-term survivor. I still get glares; I try to power through dancing, something I actually love and people think I’m exaggerating when I mention that I could die. No, I actually can. My oxygen drops extremely low, and I’m in tachycardia at least once a day. I’m required to wear tubes up my nose which I try not to do because I feel as though I look stupid. I see your glares, I feel your vibes as I voice my opinons, and try to find my way through incredibly difficult emotions and self hate. I know I’m being judged as some dramatic college student, but if you laid on the surgery table awake, saw your own beating heart glowing on a screen, and endured the pain of this vital organ shutting the rest of your body down, you would think twice.

I hate judgement. Its caused death, discomfort, suicidal thoughts, actions, and it’s just not love. It’s the opposite of the religion you probably preach, and its unpleasant. I don’t care about mistakes people have made or continue to make. But is it too much to ask that we progress into the future with only love for people? Trying to understand, and comprehend them? Is that too much to ask for these days? I guess so. Thats all I have to say about that, because I’m tired; so tired of this subject.

Support Awareness, support learning about people, and support loving them as well. Thats all.

-haley.