I have noticed there are many personal tumblr accounts that ask “why” questions in life. These why questions are fine, interesting, intriguing  But what about the “how” questions? Are they essentially the same thing? Or is there a difference between them? 

What do “why” questions ask? They ask the reasoning behind something. The intentions of an action, for an example. They demand an answer.

What do “how” questions ask? They ask for the process behind an action. The steps that were taken that were able to create said result. They demand an explanation.

The huge difference that is often overlooked. Many people ask “why” questions where “how” questions should have been asked. Is this why people receive mixed signals? Don’t interpret something completely? Don’t understand someone or who they are? When trying to find a solution to this “why” question, I find myself asking a “how” question in order to understand a possibility. The “why” transforms into the “how” evolution of media. If we look at the progress media has made in our lives (not the reasoning behind it) but the facts, media focuses solely on tragedy. Has the media focused on the “why” questions for so long because they produce more intriguing answers and stories? Yes, of course they have. Can we put the blame on them? If not, what else do we blame? Society? The answer to the possibility of society being the cause would require the question transformation into “how” as we look at the processes of society’s evolution that could have resulted in this outcome. For now, however, lets revert back to the media possibility  For example, which story would you rather read:

A man discovered how to fly. When he was a little kid, his twin sister died on an airplane. If he had been able to fly, who knows. He could have had the ability to save her. Or perhaps his sister wouldn’t have been on that airplane at all, but flying to her destination herself. Now he dedicates his time to delivering materials to isolated parts of the world, saving children from mountain tops, and reduced airplane crashes by 90%.

OR the process behind his discovery

A man first tested multiple experiments on rats. He bought 20 of them at Petco. They were all brown with black eyes. They had 6 1/2 cm long tails on average. Each one had two ears, four legs, two eyes, and one tail. The man had them undergo many tests that resulted in mutation, death, or disease for the first 15 years. Daily, he would soak them in chemicals that would result in the changing of fur color, size reduction or increase, and weight loss or weight gain  He would soak them for every other two hours. He tried to mix in different ingredients as well. He outlines the steps of procedure by emphasizing the tools utilized: measuring cups, beakers, plastic tubs, weighing machine, thermometer, ……………………….

Which requires less thinking to comprehend? Which is more exciting to read about in a newspaper? The measurements of salt and the amount of furs on a rat, or the tragic death of a twin and the invention to defy gravity. 

Do we, as a human race, only care about people’s feelings and traumatic stories? If this is the case, how come I feel as if we are all selfish…. Is caring only about the interesting personal backgrounds of a person selfish? Is the act of caring selfish as a whole? Have we completely eliminated the “how” questions when going on in life? Is this why we make mistakes, regrets, and bad decisions? Because we were so focused on the “why” aspects and reasons of people? Or are “why” and “how” questions asking for the same thing? Or are they the same thing? Does every question require looking at the intentions of an action AND the process that was taken to achieve the action/create the situation? Is every form of question essentially the same, since in order to comprehend and resolve a question, both an explanation and answer is required?

We enter blindly in life. We seek the “why” from society. But is blindness a birth right which we are all born into, or do we choose its path? 

If I am being honest, I am scared to have a cell phone again. The thought terrifies me. I don’t know if I am strong enough to turn away from my temptations and cravings. I still crave some of the experiences I had from last year. 

I dream of taking ecstasy. Of rolling. Of feeling each pump of adrenaline. Of eating Shrooms. Of my vision changing. Of my perception transforming. Or of drinking so much that you don’t feel a single thing in the world. Drinking so much that you feel invincible at the fact that you still are alive. I loved smoking to the point that all I could do was laugh. To the point where every inch of movement was hilarious. To the point where even the most scary piece of news made me smile.

This scares me. I miss dreaming of the future, of the world, or of discovering new possibilities. I haven’t had a dream like this for two years. Not one. Instead my dreams have become tainted. They are ugly and filled with temptations. My skin itches and burns at the thought of rolling again or snorting another line or xanax. I want to scream at everyone I interacted with last year, at my best friend of 14 years who forced me to smoke my first blunt, spliff, cigarette, at one of my ex-boyfriend’s who forced me to take my first shot. I want to scream at everyone who thought that was okay. I was fine with who I was until last year. I liked who I was. And now I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror on some days. I can’t make eye contact with certain people in the hallways. 

Everything in the world is different now. It will never be the same. I guess I wasn’t strong enough last year. I have always been gullible, but I never knew how stupid I was. How ignorant I was. Yes, there is always a choice. But why did I feel like I had none?

I haven’t had a phone for four months. You read this right. At first I absolutely hated it. I needed twitter, instagram, and facebook at my fingertips. I craved to tweet funny and witty things. But after the first two months went by, as I slowly became distant from social networking, I realized how completely fucked up my school is. 

Our school is addicted to twitter. No other school in Washington state is as obsessed with social networking as we are. I have discussed this with people from two schools over to people who are near the Canadian border. How did my school develop this unhealthy addiction?

We, or I should now say they, have no identity. No privacy. They tweet every single thought. The average amount of time I would spend on twitter was three hours. At least. Each day. I would tweet from 10-25 tweets daily. The second I lost my phone and stopped tweeting as much, I lost 20 followers. Granted, I still have the majority of my followers (for some weird reason) but the fact that just because I stopped tweeting as much, since I now maybe tweet once or twice every couple of days, is still shocking to me.

Why does my school like being so connected to everyone on this level? At least 200 people in each grade (from freshman to seniors) have a twitter account. Is this supposed to be considered a good thing? Are we supposed to be proud of this fact? Why did I used to enjoy it so much?

Now looking back on my past tweets, I feel so embarressed. I put literally everything out in the open. The drugs I was going to do that night. Drunken party photos. I would announce to my entire school when I was horny…! Or went through a breakup. Why!? Not having a cell phone woke me up to this horrid realization. And this was the norm to do so. As I read through the twitter timeline now, I have read 6 tweets from different people about how attractive someone is. Why feel the need to announce that to the entire school? Why feel the need to instagram and tweet a picture of your lunch? Why feel the need to tweet where and what party you are going to tonight? Or that it was snowing earlier? Or that you hope the weather changes?

….why are we supposed to care so much?

It almost pains me how much girls crave guys attention. I myself included. And then in those moments where we are able to step back from being boy-crazy, all we do is judge the girls who are still in infatuation. We as an entire gender have developed this vindictive cycle of judging. It is ridiculous. You don’t like someone for their actions? Understandable. You don’t like someone for their opinions? Alright. You don’t like someone for their words? Sweet. But you choosing to hate someone based on their taste in men? NO. That is NOT okay. That does not define who a person is. You cannot help who you like. I myself have done this in the past, and looking back on it now I realize how revolting and wrong I was.

What is even worse is when a guy likes a girl, and girls choose to hate on the girl for the guy doing so. Did the girl choose for the guy to like her? No. Did she intentionally force him to like her? No. Was he “tricked” into asking her out? …Are you serious?

Isn’t it strange how we all seek approval in some form from someone? Whether it be our peers, our parents, our family, or our teachers? Isn’t it strange how this is what drives us, that this is what pushes us to preform in a certain way?

I wonder, is this a good thing or a bad thing? Is it natural, or have we as humans evolved down the wrong path?

For me personally, my Dad is what pushes me. He constantly disapproves of everything I do, of my very existence. I am thankful for this though. I now have so much drive and motivation to achieve things, that I wonder when it will run out. I am thankful for all of this determination and goals that I established through him. I do not think I would have accomplished as much if it weren’t for him.

But when the day comes, if the day comes, where he finally shows approval, will my source of drive run out? Will I be left with nothing? Or will I need to find a new figure of disapproval to focus on?

Without this disapproval, what am I?

I don’t know why writing this helps me feel better. I don’t know if its the fact that I put them up where the whole world can see and nothing bad happens, or the fact that writing can help sooth any mood. I wonder if I should get a diary and stop writing these posts. I wonder if bad things will start happening if I write these, like someone I know finds them. That would be horrid.

But then I think, do I care?

No.

I want to give up on the world, but something keeps pushing me. I still get flashbacks to last year often. Why can’t we erase moments of our past, the moments that absolutely do nothing for us other than harm?

I want to forget about getting so drunk that I couldn’t see, hear, or move. I want to forget about drinking on anti-depressants and waking up the next day and knowing nothing. I want to forget about the moments I was taken advantage of. I want to forget about the situations I put myself in. I want to forget each inch of last year and go back to being sheltered.

Being sheltered was the best gift anyone has ever given me. I liked living in a world where everyone was kind. Where everyone had good intentions, where everyone was fair, and where everyone was sane. But once you break that image of the sheltered world, you can never go back.

I feel so guilty for finally cutting her out of my life. But since I have, I have gone back to being the straight A student destined for a good college. I have reconnected with my old friends. I finally feel sane again.She still tries to contact me often… am I being a bad person? Do I still hold a responsibility to her, to help her recover? If two years of my life that were given to her weren’t enough, what would be? Am I not enough to help her recover? …Do I want to be?

I think about how corrupted I became last year and all I want to do is hide. I did so many things, so many drugs, so many experiences I wish I could take back. People that say bad influences aren’t real are kidding themselves. Bad influences are the most real thing on Earth. Mine came in the form of a childhood friend, someone who I had been friends with for 10 years, someone who I met in the 4th grade. This friend helped me through my parents divorce, through my parents fighting, through my brief moments of insanity. When she found out that her dad wasn’t her dad, but was her step dad, and that her mom had put a restraining order on her real dad, what was I supposed to do? Block her out while she went through one of the most traumatic experiences imaginable? But what she did to me was wrong. And I have to acknowledge that. I do not blame her anymore. She developed the bipolar disorder on top of everything else. Here was a girl who got scholarships to private schools because of her intelligence  a girl who was bound for ivy league colleges. Then she discovered too much too quickly about her family. She fell behind school by a year, then two years, and now no one knows when she will graduate high school. I had to be there for her, right? Even if she tried to drag me down with her? I had to stay with her. Even through all of the emotional abuse she put me through… Even through all of the peer pressure she involved me in. Even though she was the one who forced me to smoke my first cigarette, blunt, spliff, to drink my first shot, beer, and wine bottle. Can I blame her for using my parents divorce against me? Is it okay for me to hate her?

One of my few guy friends keeps calling me “angelic”. I always feel sick thinking about this. I really hope to God that he hasn’t started liking me. I really couldn’t stand to lose our relationship and how comfortable it is. I really can’t stand that people think I look “angelic”. This word alone is so stupid. No one is angelic. Everyone finds flaws in themselves. 

Yes, I am pale. Yes, I have blonde, long hair. Yes, I am tall. But I didn’t do anything to achieve these features. I was born with them. They were given to me. I shouldn’t appear “angelic” because of my looks. If I were to be called “angelic,” then it should be because of my actions or my behavior. 

I don’t deserve this word, or at least not yet. People who are “angelic” have changed the world for the better. It was earned. I shouldn’t be given the word so easily. I want to work for it. Is it wrong to find this unfair? I hope to help the world and change it in a positive way. I hope to one day live up to everyone’s opinions and expectations of me.

But as for now, I am by no means “angelic”. I know this. I have done my fair share of bad things to people. I still have to make up for my bad decisions. I have just as many regrets as everyone else. So please, don’t call me it. Don’t call me unfair phrases. Give them to someone who deserves them. It only makes me feel guilty and nauseous that I stole them from someone else.