Apologies

Apologies have always been really difficult for me to say or even write.  For a long time I didn’t know why I felt so anxious and scared when I even thought about having to apologize. For everyone else, apologies meant a chance to start anew and cleanse mistakes. I don’t feel that way.  When I apologize it causes me a lot of stress so I avoid apologies as often as I can.  Similarly, I avoid situations where I might make a mistake that needs an apology. I am what is called a non-apologist, though it’s more commonly known as being stuck up. It really sucks because I feel just as much remorse for a mistake as anyone else.  I honestly don’t mean to withhold apologies, they are just so scary to me and they cause me a lot of distress.  Even after I give an apology I have to focus on calming myself down so no one notices how uncomfortable I am.

I usually spend most of my energy wondering whether or not the recipient actually accepted my apology or just said they did because that is what we have been told to say.  Like when someone asks “how are you?” and you respond with “good” or “fine” because saying that you aren’t okay isn’t widely acceptable.

Sometimes I feel bad for things that I didn’t choose, like my sexuality and my childhood.  When I talk to some of my friends who are everything but straight I feel the urge to apologize for my own heterosexuality and the things that other straight people have done to them.  When people confide in me (which happens a lot, strangely) I feel like I have to apologize because I didn’t have as hard of a life as they did growing up and I’m not sure how to help them.  In fact, my life was pretty great considering what ghosts most people are walking around with. A lot of times I have to stop myself from feeling that way and remind myself that those things are out of my control. 

About Erethess

I created this blog for my creative writing class. Our teacher asked the whole class to make a blog where we would post our work to be graded, but I also made the blog so I could continue using it after I graduated high school. So I call my blog "Goddess: Error" and went by my alias, Erethess, which I use to hide my personal writing from my family and friends. Here is a little about me:

I may divulge my real first name one day, if I can keep up with this. (I’m not very good at commitment.)  For now, I am Erethess. I graduated from high school last June and I will be attending my first day of college a month from today. I like to draw, write, sing, and spend time outside with my friends.  I also play the ocarina and I practice karate.  My favorite creature is a dragon but if I had to only choose things that exist, I couldn’t.  Maybe my favorite would be a fox or a crow but I like everything else, too. My favorite food is Phở but I like food in general.  I also love anime and live action role playing (neither of which is dirty! Get your mind out of the gutter. Gosh.) I am 18, making a lot of big decisions that will affect the rest of my life- the pressure is on. Especially since I have no clue what is going on most of the time.

I was raised as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (aka “LDS”/“Mormon”) but right now, my religious views are difficult to pinpoint.  I identify as an agnostic theist. I’ll say it out loud. I don’t know if God exists. I can’t prove it to even myself whether or not there is a god, therefore I am agnostic.  But I do believe there is something larger than ourselves in this life and that, to me, is powerful and magnificent enough to be considered Divine. There is something out there. Theism. It might even be more than one thing, but I think the existence of any of this is inherently unknowable. We can’t prove there is a Divine entity in our lives nor can we prove there is not. Agnostic theism.

God or no God, I like to put myself to the test so I plan on serving an LDS mission after I get my Associate degree in Arts. Growing up in the LDS church, I didn’t get to see much what other religions believed.  Frankly, I didn’t care; but now that I’m in a good spot to try new things, I have been attending other churches and exploring other religions. My hope is to eventually study Buddhism, which is very different from the religion I was raised in. I think Buddhists have life figured out in a very different way Christians do. I find religion to be a very fascinating way of making sense of a person’s surroundings and I think all religions (or lack thereof) have somehow captured the beauty of personal fulfillment. I admire people who have their faith figured out. They are great and their religion is beautiful. I don’t even care what it is because every religion is beautiful.

I chose Goddess: Error as the name of my blog but I couldn’t use the colon so I had to do without it.  If I had my way, it would look like this at the top of the page.
Goddess: ERROR

But it can’t and it doesn’t, so I have to deal with the mediocrity that is plain, old “Goddess Error”. The reason I chose this name is because I am, technically, LDS.  Why does that matter? Well, it’s a basic teaching within Mormonism to know that there is a Heavenly Father and a Heavenly Mother and every human past, present, and future, is a spirit child of God. (“God” is usually referring to the Father, as the Mother is often never talked about out of respect. Not really my idea of respectful but whatever.) As a child of the Divine every single person has the potential to become as holy and powerful as God.  Basically- people on Earth are like Gods and Goddesses in training.  Wow, that sounds really strange when I write it down but I’m also not the best at explaining things so please take my word for it when I say Mormons are not any crazier than the rest of the world.  They are just more Republican…do with that what you will. ANYWAY! I am a child of God, therefore, I can be as divine as God, making me a potential goddess. Only, I’m a very confused young adult and I doubt my abilities to reach my full potential, therefore I am an error in whatever system is in place to help me succeed. Boom, Goddess: Error.

Religion aside, this blog will hopefully become like a second journal to me where readers can look into my life. I’m starting college with no idea what I want to do (or even what I would be moderately okay with doing for the rest of my life). I’m also working through a major faith crisis pretty much all the time. Like I said before, if I can keep up with this; this should get interesting.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.



This is my favorite poem because it caught me off guard.  In the beginning, everything seems so hopeless.  By the end of the poem, I feel like I can conquer the world on the back of a giant Alaskan Malamute.  Its just great.

Conscience

I am simmering rage which dwells in a man’s heart
the one that steals their souls for my own.
I am the sinking grief that must be a big part
of what you feel for me to take hold.
I am the hatred that is foul acts start
and no one dear do I know.

I am fear that must be so strong
for a person to do my will.
I am the whispers that you have heard all along
ones that mighty men shy away from.
I am the thing that you will become before long
for I am the need for revenge.

4-9-15 Update

Over the last month or so I've been working on a collection of work in Creative Writing class.  Most of it was poetry, there were two short stories, and I'm pretty proud of a couple of them.  My favorite is a piece called "Conscience" based off of The Count of Mote Cristo but it can stand alone, too.  Id like to share it soon.  I would also like to share my favorite poem, Invictus by William Ernest Henley For now, I'm just going to bask in the fact that I created a collection in high school.  Oh, writing that feels so good.

Wine Tasting

     I swirled the ruby red poison in my glass. I don't know why this man was trying to kill me but I've spiked enough women's drinks over the years to know what that look in his eye entails; though, usually I'm the one handing the drugged drinks off. I've never been on the receiving end before. For some reason, I thought I would be more scared but it’s exhilarating, staring death in the face. I want to do it more often, too bad these encounters usually end in death being victorious. So I sit and swirl, knowing this wine tasting will be my last.

Candles

Candles
They can beautiful if the right person is watching
but often times they go unnoticed, unappreciated.
Their flames are small but still people sometimes shy away.
They never get close enough to feel the warmth that the candle has to offer
but if one gets too close they will get burned like any other fire.
They can endure for longer than one would expect.
Even when their solid foundation slips into liquid they can go on.
When someone softly blows on the wick the flame can sputter back to life
and continue like nothing ever happened but
it is a fire.
Out of control it has the potential to destroy all one holds dear
but allow a candle to burn and it will eventually destroy itself.
Despite all this, they offer light to those who choose to see
and those who choose not to.
Someone once said that people should be like candles
because no matter how many other candles are lit by one
its flame never gets smaller.
But being a candle sounds lonely.
They have to keep people away at all times
whoever sticks around gets burned.
Their flame has to stay the right size
if it gets too big people get scared of what it might do.
They have to avoid bad conditions because if they try to brave them
their flames will surely go out.
Then there will be nothing left
except a small stream of smoke as if the candle is fighting to hang on.
But that, too, will eventually fade away.

Empty Prayers

Empty prayers
laced with doubt
grasp my soul and hold me back.

A misty hand
reaches out.
I fear that I cannot reach now.

Trust is difficult to give but
 I can hope.
Oh, can I not hope

That someone’s there to
hear the prayers
laced with doubt and spilling out?

Why can’t I know
I’m not alone
crying for somewhere to go?

Inside my mind
it’s all numb
but if I’m wrong, I might feel some.

Some of what I locked inside
lost the key
and tried to hide.

I would stop
if not for
the calm I feel from hoping.

Yes, I would stop
if not for
the fear that something’s coming.

Am I a fool?
Are They real?
These empty prayers will never tell.

What is the harm
in wanting
just one little thing to hold?

Can I have just a little thing
that will not
leave me feeling cold?

Mixed messages
surround me.
I don’t know where to turn.

“Your empty prayers
can’t save you.

Oh, will you ever learn?”

“Your prayers will clear your troubled mind.
He’ll help you
and what you need, you’ll find.”

As I think, I understand
I’m so scared
of what might not be.

But, in my heart, I always knew
what it was
that I should do.

With empty prayers I make a stand.
Clasped in my hand
I hold His plan.

At least for now, I will not waver
at the feet
of Him I trust.

For no harm can be done in

not knowing

where empty prayers fall.

Kid, Goodbye, and Breaking Free

KID

What did I hear?
My mind,
My eyes,
Betray me.
I can’t recall the importance of what I saw
I can’t remember what I heard
Screaming
Screaming
“Help me!”

GOODBYE

I’m  reaching too slow
I’m draining too fast
I don’t love you anymore
Because I’ve grown up too fast
and you keep up too slow.

BREAKING FREE

No, Convict Among Society,
you mistake your bondage for others
while you await a savior that,
I can see, will never come.

Leaves

When a leaf falls do the other leaves notice?
Gravity takes hold and its ties to the tree break.
So it floats on the breath of the earth
and rests on its bosom never to return.
It gradually becomes brown
and as crisp as the breeze that knocked it down.
Meanwhile the other leaves continue to be nourished,
fed by the sun and their strong bonds to the tree.
When a leaf falls will the tree notice?
Thousands of green fingers stroke the sky.
One will not matter.
But nature comes closer every day
to stretching the trees limits.
Eventually, she will wrap her tendrils
along the earth and the battle commences
between the tree and the freeze.
Once the last leaf has fallen
the tree finally sees
the first leaf mattered.

Will I Ever?

I have never kissed a boy
but I have accidentally kissed a girl.
She was my partner, a famous mud pie baker
though we never tested our pastries.
I’ve never cheated on anyone,
but I’ve cheated on tests.
Still, I’ve never gotten straight A’s,
and I’ve yet to yell at anyone who claims I have.
I’ve never shaved my head
or gotten a speeding ticket
and I’ve never gotten anything stuck in my nose.

I have never tried parkour
or been on the news.
I’ve never written a song
or gone on a cruise with my family.
They always left me behind.
Thank goodness I’ve never been hospitalized for stupidity
but I’ve been there for other things.

I’ve never had a girlfriend so I can’t cut my ear off and mail it to her.
I’ve never had much authority so I’ve never declared a war.
Never have I caused a genocide
or eaten cyanide
or taken part in a lynching mob.
I’ve never starved a nation,
changed the world,
or given the order to drop the atomic bomb.

I never liked alcohol
it tastes the way urine smells
and I will never figure out why people drink it.
I’ve never licked a door knob
(but I’ve thought about it.)
I’ve never put an ice cream cone in my back pocket
or walked the streets with a violin in a paper lunch bag.
I've never done graffiti
and I’ve never done drugs –the recreational kind.

I’ve never hit a pedestrian with my car
or jumped in front of a car while walking down the street.
I’ve never forgiven myself since my dog died
even though he was old and it wasn’t my fault at all.
I’ve never spoken my mind to someone –not really.
If they knew what I really wanted to say, no one would ever be friends with me.
I’ve never written a suicide note, or learned to tie a noose…
and I haven’t really had to.
I didn’t cry at work
when the bosses told us to speed up, and I did
then I went to fast and broke the roller coaster and got yelled at.
I did cry when I got home, though.
I’ve never told my neighbor’s fiancé that I hate him
and that she deserves someone better.
But I can’t now, they moved to Hawaii to get married.
Though it crosses my mind all the time,
I’ve never just waked away from a boring conversation without a word.
I’ve never told my dad I hate him
because that’s not all the way true
even though I wish it was.
I’ve never jumped off a bridge
or used one of their hotlines.
I’ve never really wanted to change my past.
It’s a part of me
but I wonder;
will I ever get to make amends
for the things I wish I never said?

Where She Sat

I was twelve years old when I saw my mother cry for the first time.  I will only see her cry one other time, five years later, when she and her boss have a falling out at the job she devoted 6 years to, even though it didn't pay as much as the same job would somewhere else.  She came home sobbing that day.  She really loved that job. This time, she sits alone outside to keep others, especially her children, 15 and 12, from seeing her close-kept tears.  I knew she was out there only because the back door squeaked whenever it was opened and the blinds that draped over its window would clamor in protest of any secrecy. The impish back door was our only way outside unless we wanted to intrude on my grandparents living upstairs.  It was early springtime.  Mom took her cold cereal outside in hopes of the sun drying her face. I like to think that the last bits of snow from the melancholy wintertime jumped to her eyelashes as a desperate attack on the coming spring.  I know that’s not true, though.  The gleam on my mother’s face was not from melting snow falling from her eyelashes. For I could see it was raining where she sat.

Demons

I carry my demon on my back.  When I’m at school he sits nestled in my schoolbag between the black notebook and my folder with the lizard on it.  I don’t like retrieving anything from that side of the backpack.  He nips my hand every time I reach inside… just to remind me he’s still there.  

Christmas Eve

When I was little, all I wanted to be was bigger.  So I asked my dad to help me.  He would always lift me high above his head and rest me on his massive shoulders.  My sister and I used to both fit, one on each side, but she got bigger than me and we had to part.  The shoulders were all mine.  Eventually, I, too, got too big just to fit on one shoulder so I would sling one of my tiny legs over his head to the other side.  It was quite the accomplishment if I could manage to get that leg to my dad’s other shoulder without his help.  My muscles strained to lift it high enough but once I got there, I would wrap my hands around his forehead and clasp them tight, right on his thick eyebrows. Then, I could rest my chin on top of his head and enjoy the smell of his shampoo with half of my face buried in coarse, black hair.  When he was tired of being my stallion, my dad would walk to a soft place, a couch or a bed, and plop me down. I remember the anticipation I felt when I noted his path to the furniture. I knew what came next- tickles. Dad never grew his beard out too long and he could never completely shave the thick hairs for a smooth face.  I liked that. When I lay dazed on the couch he would grab my feet and rub his scruffy chin on them.  He made a great tickle monster. Only the best could entice the shrill squeals and innocent laughter that ensued.  Only he.

Who knew the same man could turn the special savory taste of Herbed Peasant Bread, left over in my mouth from Christmas Eve dinner, sour. Instead of being tossed on the bed with giggles and smiles I decide to lie underneath it, my quivering lip fighting back wretched sobs in vain.  Finally, I have stopped trying to fit on his shoulders.

Reality

One winter-spring morning as I walked along
this calm moonlit path of which I have trod
many, many times, my heart void of song,
praying, pondering, how life is a fraud.

Saddened images seep into my mind.
To trust is to hate, to trust is to hurt
for when we speak we string together lies
to force everyone else into the dirt.

Breaking my silence, riots snap the locks.
Throw me, cruel world, from my crumbling throne.
When I should have made a fort of boxes,
I, instead, made a fort of stone.

So starting now through immortality
I will not accept your reality.