Goal # 10: Chapter One

Hello,

My name is Melissa Vitello, and I took a year off of school to write.

I was suppose to go to a film school, and when it didn’t work out; I decided, instead, to chase after dreams I had let sit dormant my entire life. I decided this after a very wise friend of mine encouraged me to let the pieces fall where they may, and not worry about it. He also had to reassure me that my life was not falling apart.

If you have been following my blog; you have journeyed with me through all my adventures this past year...

welcome to my life.

When I was a little girl there was this sort of ride they had at the local park. I can’t for the life of me think of what it’s called, or find a picture of it; but, it was something of a mini ferris wheel laid flat on the ground. It spun when you grabbed onto the handle bars and ran it around in circles. Once you had gained enough momentum, you would jump on and ride it around in circles until it died down again. I probably made my sisters push it around while I hung my head off the back and watched the world whirl by me in blurs of bright colors.

Because that’s what happens when you begin to spin so fast your eyes can no longer process shapes.... everything just blurs together.

That’s kind of how I feel about this past year; like a child trying to process all these blurs of color.

How do I sum up everything I have, and have not accomplished this year? Well, I can’t. There are too many blurs to try to separate. There were too many great experiences, and trying to put words to them would do them a great dishonor.
There were too many awful experiences that are not even worth mentioning.
Such is life.

So, this time I have a good excuse for this entry being late. As I’m sure you can tell by now - this will be my last entry for this blog.

Will I stop writing? Well, that’s like asking Seattle if it will stop raining.

I have taken my time getting to this entry because of obvious reasons... it has been a huge part of my year - and surviving it - and it is hard to part with. It is hard to think of the perfect words to leave you with and, of course, I will be critical of everything I try to write.

Did I make it to Europe as I had planned by the end of my year? Well, obviously not since there is no burly, bearded Irish man by my side right now. But, there is plenty of time to set more goals...Ireland isn’t going anywhere last time I checked.

So, what have I accomplished this month? I may not have made it to Europe, or done many of the other things I intended to. But, I did manage to accomplish one of my biggest goals. I have traveled to the distant, and exotic lands of La Canada ... my new living quarters which is now located, oh, ten minutes away from my prior home.
Now, though it may only be ten minutes away - it feels light years beyond my maturity. There is this little kid inside me that is terrified of trying to make it on my own, but also this bratty fifteen-year-old who is breathing in this great sense of independence!
The first thing I’ve learned; there is no one there to cook me dinner at night.... I tried pawning that duty off on my roommates... they almost put me on probation.

But really...

This year I have learned to lose my dreams with grace, and accept the unknown.

I have learned to take something labeled as filthy, and disgraceful and let it change me into something graceful and confidently empowered. My dance company I think owns the phrase “beauty from ashes”.

When I was first getting ready to move away from my home up north my dad told me that this was going to change the relationships between me, and my sisters. I was twenty, so naturally I didn’t believe him.
Needless to say . .. I’ve learned the value of family.

I’ve learned dreams do not happen via money and a degree... but rather with drive, and passion, and a few talented people who will stand by you. I have made two, going on three films now with empty pockets and I am confident now that I just might not have to be a waitress the rest of my life.... Maybe.

I have sifted through the sea of toads, been patient and impatient with love only to learn that my particular story is still being written... and whether I want to accept it or not, I have to. No good story can be rushed, and love sort of chooses you when it likes - not the other way around.


I’ve learned that everyone has a voice worth listening to, and a story to tell. Whether they are screaming it into a microphone, or speech impaired, and wheel chair bound. There are just too many different ways to express that voice of passion, that sometimes we don’t always know how to identify it.

I have learned the value of humanity.

I’ve learned that, in the words of one of my guru’s Miranda Lambert, “Jesus, he drank wine and I bet we’d get along just fine, cause if he can calm a storm and heal the blind I bet he’d understand a heart like mine”. I’ll just leave it at that... Yes, it’s country.

I’ve come to understand that passion, and me... we need each other. It’s something I must be apart of in everything I chase. Whether it be in writing, or friendships, romantically, or career chasing... it must be with passion that I seek it. It must involve something I can turn into a story, or a film. Yes, some may call it drama, but every good story thrives on a little drama...

All these things and more I’ve journeyed through, and thought through, and processed, and written down and learned from.... and here I sit feeling like I’ve barely even scratched the surface of life...

Everything is still spinning, and I can hardly set apart the purples from the blues as they whirl by me.

When I started this blog I was sitting on my couch, in the house I recently moved out of. Thinking about how my life was ending.
It was over a cup of coffee and few wise words from George the wise that I realized maybe things don’t end, maybe each new chapter is just a set up to another first chapter.
Because, if you think about it... stories don’t really “End”. They just get ready to start again. The guy catches the girl at the airport right before she boards the plane, and she sees him at the very last second, she runs and jumps into his arms, and they kiss.... the credits roll, the actors go home, they hope for an oscar nod, but the story.... the story has just begun. They get to BEGIN a life together... There is so much left after that.

Here I sit now over a cup of coffee, and a whoopie chocolate pie that I can now feel glueing itself to my hips, understanding why this blog must come to an “End”. Here I am now ready, and excited for the end of this chapter, and a new first chapter to begin.

What am I up to? Well.... You’ll be hearing from me again. If you really can’t handle the suspense... let’s grab a cup of coffee...

Everything starts with coffee.

All of you in some way, shape, or form have been an inspiration to some part of this blog. If I know you - I have probably written about you, or taken something you have said or done and made it an example in my learning process...

Thank you.... So much.

Now, for you....I challenge you to go out into the world today, and do something out of the ordinary. Surprise yourself. Let all the colors of life whirl by, and don’t care about separating them, but rather look at how they compliment each other in swirls.
Sometimes life is not meant to be color coded, or understood. It is just suppose to be taken as it comes in blurs, and enjoyed. So, go... take advantage of life.

Sit at a coffee shop and read something ridiculous, and fun just because.

Drive without knowing where you’re going.

Take a pole dancing class.

Go to a concert, close your eyes, and just let the music tell a story inside your head.

Pick someone out in a crowd that you would normally never give a second thought to... and try to imagine what their life is like.

Find the passion deep down inside of you and let it out... even if that means throwing some glass bottles against a brick wall if that’s where you’re at...

Find some cute guy or girl and dig up the guts to say hi to them, or if you’re not single go do something completely cheesy, and storybook romantic together this Valentine season...

Live.



With grace, and gratefulness....
Pepper

Ireland, I will come for you one day.

The End....... for now.

“Throw myself back into the ocean.... and I’ve lived to tell the tail”
- Quietdrive

Goal # 9 The Man In The Wheel Chair

There is a terrible, terrible place on this earth created to cause humans to suffer from the core of their being to the very surface of their skin. This place is a concrete cell, cold and dry. It smells of old shoes, and rotting flesh. The flickering of yellow lights one is forced to be exposed to for drastic amounts of time are used to damage your sense of direction, thus trapping you there forever. The noises and screeches of young children would send Satan himself running, and the tinting of the lighting could make even Angelina Jolie look like a withered up, old hag...

This place is called the DMV, and it is life taking, not giving.

So, after four hours of my soul screaming, and throwing a tantrum, four hours of my life I will never get back I managed to escape this awful hell with God only knows what kinds of diseases. My new license picture, if you look close enough, you can actually see daggers forming behind my eyes. A few young, innocent teens trying to get their licenses might have lost their lives to my eyes... casualties.

Death. The opposite of life. Everything in my life this past month has been the opposite of, and this is where I end up. This is how my month begins... So, what have I been up to prior to this month you ask?

Oh where to begin....

I’ve only just begun to structure my next goal, it is actually still quite a baby in it’s development, but of course... I never arrive to my goals without a learning process that got me there...

I think it’s already pretty clear; I live my life pretty compulsively, and love to feel alive. Why places like the DMV don’t make sense in my head. I breathe to feel alive, not just keep my body in motion. I am always excited for the next leg of life, for the next adventure I can chase, for more trouble I can get into. This is me, and anything that hinders me, or ties me down my spirit absolutely rejects and hates. My independent nature hates me when I entertain the thought of one day getting married, and having a nice little family ... ‘does that mean I can’t be wild anymore?’ She asks with a quivering lip.

Hmmm .... this could be a problem.

I don’t know where to start because I feel as though my emotions have been thrown violently all over the place this month. I’m up, I’m down, I’m angry, I’m over joyed, I hate the world, I wanna dance in a field of daisy’s. Ok probably not the last one, but you get the picture.
I’m emotionally aggressive to begin with, and I have been given so much to process lately, I don’t know that I can even make sense of all the chaos that is still spinning around my head. Some good, some bad, some great and some sad. Ok, I’m done I swear.

A few nights ago one of my friends who sings in a cover band had a show at a little venue in Pasadena. So, of course I went to support my friend and the art of music.
I walked into the claustrophobic little restaurant/bar with my friend and began scoping out the area for a seat. Of course finding a seat was impossible. I thought about awkwardly standing over someone until they felt uncomfortable and left, but then I reminded myself that I’m not a stalker.

As I began to scope out the audience, and of course pin the location of all the attractive strangers; I noticed a man across the room. Perhaps in his later thirties, early forties. He was wheel chair bound, and it was clear he was either mentally challenged, or in someway brain damaged. He couldn’t hold his head very well on his own, and had a lot of contraptions attached to his chair that lead me to believe he needed assistance with almost any kind of function.
As the band covered everything from Britney Spears songs to Journey, and Def Leopard though, there was one thing I noticed he was completely in control of...

His smile.

I couldn’t stop watching him as his smile literally overwhelmed his face when the band got loud, and crazy. It was almost as if something inside him was thrashing around, trying to break out of his skin as he tried so hard to move to the rhythm of the music. There was this joy inside of him that was radiating through his eyes, and that smile that leapt from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but wonder to myself ‘how often does this guy get the chance to get out and have fun like this?’. Maybe i’ll just blame my recent, fragile state; but my throat got tight, and I almost couldn’t stop myself from crying. It made me so happy that he was happy. I wanted everyone to notice him! I didn't understand my connection with this guy at this moment. He was so precious.

I couldn’t even put a finger on what it was that made my throat all tight, and my eyes water. It was something contagious about him that touched me. Maybe it was his joy, or his passion. It was so beautiful. I wanted to know about him, I wanted to make him better so that he could go to concerts every day, and live without needing someone to help him move through each moment. But then, no that wasn't it either.

Sometimes I think passion locks itself deep inside of us, and it stays trapped there at the mercy of our own decision to let it be set free. I think so many of us take advantage of the fact that we are so capable of living, but we let things tie us down, and get in the way of fully embracing those things we were created to FULLY be, then we call it “being responsible”.
Maybe this guy in the wheelchair already knew what it felt like to have no control of his emotions, or that passion burning from his eyes and writhing through his body. People who express themselves that loosely we have a term for in this culture. We call them “crazy”.
What if we’re all the crazy ones, and he’s normal? He can let truth emanate through his body, and we restrict it then call it “normal”. Crazy people can tell you the truth underneath the truth, and we lie on top of lies... then call it human. Suddenly I am jealous of what he is feeling. I want to be crazy too! Yes, maybe this is it...


Don’t anyone comment on that last thought.


Have you ever been to a concert and watched the musician play a song that set something on fire inside of you? Have you ever met, and fell head over heels into reckless attraction with someone in one moment? Have you ever read a book, or watched a movie where you found yourself connecting a character so deeply it made you want to scream bloody murder just so someone will get it? Or been so broken that you cry, not just any cry, but cry so deep you can feel your sanity cascading from your eyes with your tears?

This is the beauty, and the danger of passion. This is life begging us to set it free from the chains we bind it to so deep inside ourselves. This is where we have been told to quiet our passion. This is the edge of the cliff we come to before we tell ourselves to get real, and back away from that dangerous edge. “Be responsible”, “be careful”, “don’t be silly.” Because we have been lead to believe there is nothing but rocks at the bottom that will kill us.

But why? What if there's a pool of water at the bottom for us to swim in?

Every time I listen to “Flyleaf” (yes, it’s my angry girl music) I get mad at myself. I get mad because I want to be her! I have wanted to be in a band since I was twelve, and I told myself that was a dumb idea that would go no where for .... ok let’s not think about how many years it’s been.

But what if we just decided to be reckless?! What if we jumped? Let the fire consume us, be reckless with the stranger just for once .... scream .... go. absolutely. nuts.

What would happen?

So, yes I’m already one step ahead of myself and have already been in hot pursuit of my dreams this year .. but alas, I have so many dreams. Why not pursue them all at once?

I decided the time is now. Now that Dark Heart Picture Films is well established and on its way to winning an oscar... It’s time to start a band.

Hey, I need my Grammy too.

“But, Melissa, don’t you have enough on your plate?”
“Nonsense Melissa”.

So, after a few text messages, and bribing a musician here and there to show up to practice. Holding them at gun point and such. I started a band.

I always get what I want.

So, of course I show up to our first practice with chords to Paramore and Flyleaf songs, not knowing exactly what we’re going to get out of this. After my amazing musicians picked up Paramore with ease.... my drummer got frustrated. *sigh* Artists are so moody.

“Didn’t you write anything!?” He burst out.

“Well, uhm, yeah but it’s not done, or good, I dunno, I mean...” I blurted out insecurely.

With a less than gentle nudge he forced me to pull out my notebook full of songs I lied about writing.

“Taylor, play something. Any little lick you’ve been working on” he then instructed my guitarist.

After about two hours of going over about a quarter of one song with Taylor’s little ditty, and my drummer, Kyle’s, beyond talented drumming.... the most amazing thing happened....

We made music.

That man in the wheel chair who was about to explode with passion ... that’s what I was feeling. This is what I was relating to him that night, it was a deep appreciation and understanding of passion. And what I learned that night is that ... sometimes that understanding is a wordless exchange. I got it. It’s not just living, it’s life on steroids, it’s igniting that fire inside that’s gone wild, and allowing it to burn.

I am unable to believe that we had just created, more or less, our own original song.
Ok, it needs a lot of work, and it sounds a little weird right now, but it’s MINE.

“We did it!!” I’m screaming like an excited little kid on christmas morning.
To which my drummer replies in a very monotone voice:
“Yeah, it’s our generations Freebird. What’s next?”

Like I said; my emotions are a little aggressive this month. We’ll leave it at that.


Perhaps sometimes in order to achieve our dreams, or live fully alive we need to lose our minds a little bit. After all, the best artists are either completely insane or dead via suicide.
Don’t worry - I’m not slitting my wrists yet.
But, I have tasted this new experience with passion. This recklessness, this jumping ahead without thinking, this insanity... and guess what?? I found water at the bottom of the cliff. So, I invite you... come swim with me...

There is something very real, and honest, and raw about passion. Something that screams truth before there is a second to twist it or exaggerate it even a tiny bit. Like jumping off that cliff and only feeling the butterflies in your stomach before even thinking about what’s at the bottom ... and just holding onto that feeling. Trapping it in time, and soaking it in. It's vulnerability at it's most frightening level, it's breathless, and loud at the same time. It's inside of you too...

As I walked out of the DMV today, my skin now aged about ten years, and cancer swimming in my veins, I realized something; It’s the moments, or hours, like these that make me truly realize how much life I live. If there weren’t places like the DMV that completely entrapped the feeling of death, maybe we wouldn’t be able to fully soak in the moments we get to be fully alive. And we should be taking advantage of that freedom! Maybe not everything in life can be jumping off of cliffs. And maybe this is the natural structure to life. The moments of being forced to feel dead, to feel nothing to remind us that there is a life beckoning us to inhale it. This is the process of heart ache and moving on, the process of failing but continuing to fight, going to the DMV and then to band practice.... Not that I’m planning any future trips to the DMV - I think I should be good another ten years. But, there’s something to be said for fighting to live through the moments our soul detests.... there would be no reward of passion to come home to.


“Have you ever told a lie and enjoyed it? Or wished you could be a child forever? Crazy is not being broken, or swallowing a dark secret... it is simply me, or you AMPLIFIED.” - Girl, Interrupted

Learning: Goal #8

Here I sit, a month away from when I first sat down on my couch after a counseling session with “George the wise” for advise on my failing life, and wrote a list of goals.

These goals were filled with adventure, and passion, and wild journeys I had always dreamed of going on. I sat so filled with determination. This was going to be the year things changed!

As I looked back over the list, and the blogs I wrote I began to realize; there was some change, but in most of it there was learning. Learning that meant even more than the changes.

One of the things I noticed that I had written on my list was “Learn something new about yourself”. Needless to say; I think I learned something new about myself each time I sat down to update this blog. I learned I could accomplish something, I learned about my family heritage, I learned that I was strong, that I could create things without the help of a degree... That’s a lot of learning.

I am sitting here trying to think of what great thing I accomplished this month that I can speak specifically about, and the truth is; I did a lot of things this month. But, I can’t put my finger on one specific thing. I can’t grab very tightly onto one thing and own it.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, perhaps it is writers block, or maybe this weather has got me in a tired funk.... and yet... I still feel like I have learned a lot. So, in review of, not only my month, but my blogging journey; here is what I have discovered anew about myself.

I made one of my goals this year to travel more, and I made it about as far as Humboldt County to see my family.... Never fear there is still two months left to the year!
Ok, that was cheesy.
Anyways, what I learned. I wasn’t necessarily excited to see the sights of Humboldt. Going home is usually only exciting as I get to see my family. Yet, what I walked away with managed to take me off guard...

Have you ever stood so much in awe of something, whether it be a view, or a piece of music, or a painting, that even the mere touch of another human being could cause you to fall to pieces? Have you ever been so filled that you feel you might burst open and cease to exist all together?
I learned that I will never find so much fulfilling beauty in any other location then when I am standing on top of the cliffs of Centerville Beach in Ferndale. I will never find a place that enlivens my mind with story, and creativity more than when I am looking out over that cliff, and watching the waves crash against the jagged rocks that seem miles below my feet as the cold wind tousles my hair. I will never need anything else on that cliff.
I learned that cold weather is my favorite, but I much prefer the sun to accompany the cold than the rain. Perhaps that is the result of my new adapted acceptance to country music.

I learned that my sisters aren’t nine years old anymore, and they are growing up into women without me...

I learned that twelve hours driving in a car is far to much time for my mind to wander, and dangerous things happen when caffeine is involved.

I learned that as much fun as blondes may have ... I am much more suited to be a brunette, and far more comfortable with myself in darker shades. I don’t quite think I have the personality to live up to being blonde. I was born with dark hair, in the dark month of December. That should say enough.

I’ve realized that changing ones look goes far beyond just changing a hair color. It means a change in lifestyle, a change in attitude, a change in wardrobe. People expect different reactions from you, different levels of intelligence... based on your hair color. You think I’m kidding? We loosely use the terms “Dumb blonde”, “Crazy red head”, and “Incredibly sexy brunette” ... ok I’m sort of kidding about the last one. But, as much as we may joke; there is really a part of people that believe those terms are real!
As much as I may go through my little fits of trying I know that I can never pretend to be anyone else but me. Something I have learned about honesty; I like it a lot. I can’t even pretend to like someone I don’t like. I’ve tried, it’s a really awkward experience.
Out with the blonde and in with the brown.


This month I was also greatly blessed to have the chance to see one of my greatest role models speak at a seminar... Sheila Kelley, the woman who created SFactor, the company I have now been dancing at for nearly a year, and am proud to say; I have roped my aunt into the ways of S as well (evil laughter).
I learned that this company is so much more than pole dancing. In fact, five minutes into her talk I forgot we were talking about a pole dancing class... because I was distracted by this woman’s passion, and dedication to make a change in this world. I suddenly found myself, again, so filled... Filled with pride for this company I support through the art of dance, and burning a hole in my wallet.
I learned about the destruction of sexuality throughout history, and cultures and why it is still allowed to happen. It is through this dance company She has set out to scream for attention, and demand a change.
I learned that years ago one woman, THIS woman, was brave enough to walk into a strip club and choose to see with untainted eyes. To find the beauty and light in something that has been labeled disgusting, and unworthy - that ‘thing’ being a woman’s body... Which has gotten us to where we are in our disrespect for sexuality. Because of her bravery, and passion she created a company that has given sexuality an identity... a name. A name that now thousands of women everywhere have found a deep respect for, and need to protect.
I’ve learned that great changes can, in fact, happen through acts of bravery and even crazy leaps of faith.
What if everyone found something they are most appalled by ... and found a way to call it beautiful?

I learned that I am capable of falling out of love. That I can lose love, and for the first time in a long time I can honestly say .... I think I’ll be ok. Hey, I don’t even need another rabbit to chase ... not that I wouldn’t mind one ... But, like I learned standing on top of that cliff side ... my life is full.
My heart is alive with so much more than any man I have ever dated has ever sparked in me. Perhaps it’s better off that way. Perhaps I am too much even for myself to take care of. The poor man who dares to date me....
One thing George the wise always told me (and I’ve failed to listen to it yet) was that when you’ve found the person you want to be with; they should think that you’re the one who “hung the moon”, and vice versa.
To be honest, I don’t know what it is like to be with someone who thinks I’ve hung the moon. But, that sure sounds nice, and I am learning - still - that I think I want to wait for that.... Unfortunately I’m still learning patience too.


I have recently been reading (slowly, but surely) a book entitled “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. In one segment Elizabeth talks about how her, and her italian friends spoke about how each person, and place has a word. A word that defines them, that defines that place. For example New York’s word would be “Success”. Rome’s word would be “Sex”. It is a word that thrives in every breath of that person or places being.

It got me thinking... of course... what is my word?

For years I can tell you what words I would have liked to associate myself with. Among them were words like; “Strong”, or “Dark”, or “Powerful”, or “Goddess”, or “Badass” ... depending on the current Angelina Jolie hit movie it varied. Those were words I would have loved to strut proudly.

I think I have been words I wouldn’t have liked to admit, or would have been ashamed to admit. I think I have been words like “Lost”, “Scared”, “Self Centered”, and “Broken”. I think I have tried to hide behind words like “Strong” or “Powerful” in times I have honestly been the “Lost” or the “Scared”.

I think life is a constant journey of words. I'm not so sure we are one solid word. Some words we are proud to claim and write on our foreheads, and some we’d like to lock up inside a treasure chest and throw into the depths of the sea. I don’t think it’s bad to be proud OR ashamed of certain words... as long as we own them. Like I said, I like honesty - whether it is pretty or ugly. I think the key to figuring out myself, my needs, my desires, my being has been a journey of embracing openly, and honestly my word of the season... or sometimes word of the five minutes.

Needless to say; I think my word this year is “Learning”. I think there will be a part of me that will always be learning, but this year especially I think I have allowed myself to learn.
I have been willing to look at places in my life that were ugly and embrace them. I’ve been willing to admit I actually like things I’ve claimed to detest my whole life. I’ve learned the more honest I am with myself and everyone around me ... get this ... I’m a happier person. And I don’t even have to be blonde!!


What if we all grasped onto our words without shame? Whatever our word may be at the moment. What if it’s a word we really don’t want to be, but we hold onto it proudly despite what it is going to tell us about ourselves? Knowing that; if we just hold onto that word a little while it will lead us to a better word. What if we learned to accept the hard lessons? To look around at what we hate to admit we love... and just love it? What if we all thrived and lived and breathed what we were created to be? How full can life be?

I've learned to be ok with learning.



"There are two kinds of people in this world; those who chase pleasure, and those who run from pain. Though pleasure helps us forget, pain forces us to hope" - Tenderness

Rejection: Goal #7

It was just like any other normal morning. I had my coffee, I had Sonya on my lap (Sonya is my laptop), I had to go to work in a couple hours and I was in a bad mood. Then I opened my email box....

“Thank you so much for querying us with your project. Unfortunately, we did not feel it was the right fit for our agency. Thanks for thinking of The Knight Agency and we wish you nothing but the best in your writing career.

Sincerely,
Jane Doe
Associate Agent/Submissions Coordinator”


My very first response letter from a publishing agency. I have been waiting for this day since I wrote “The Magic Key”.

Of course, the response I was expecting was something more along the lines of:

“Dear Melissa,
Please oh please send us your full manuscript, I just can’t wait another minute to finish your brilliant story. J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyers can both say goodbye to their careers once your novel hits the shelf of every major bookstore in the world. Enclosed is a check for one million dollars as a down payment, once we receive your full novel you will receive another ten million.

Sincerely,
your biggest fan
Scholastics publishing agency.”

Ok, so we can’t all have our way. But, to tell the truth - I was, in a way, sort of excited to receive my first rejection letter. It says so many things to me about who I am, and the goals I am trying to accomplish. All I can do is laugh. Ironically - it brightened my day.

When I decided to create a film company, I wanted it to be a place where artists could find solace in that inner tortured place that most artists go. I want to take those dark stories, those sad life experiences, those twisted minds that make most people wince and I want give them a new name. I want to shine a light on those things. I want to make the ugly beautiful.... No, not even that.... I want to show that the ugly was never ugly in the first place, I want to show that you’re just not looking at it the right way. I want to give a safe place for the “ugly” to go, and say “You’re not ugly, there is beauty in this situation no one has ever seen before, and I’m going to tell your story to the world because you deserve it!”.
I want Dark Heart Picture Films to be the light at the end of the tunnel for sadness. I am convinced there is freedom to be found, rather then an endless stream of hurt, and darkness. I have to believe this.

Now that is a lot to live up to, and, turns out, it’s not as easy as it sounds. What am I saying? It doesn’t even sound easy.


How do you take the story of, say, someone who has been murdered, and shine light on it? I asked myself this question, then ironically, I ended up getting a little kick in the pants when I caught a movie entitled “The Dead Girl”.

Directed by Karen Moncrieff (I just love finding successful, female directors), she tells the story of a girl who has been murdered, and how this girl’s death affects four different women; the stranger that finds her, the coroner that autopsies her, the wife of the murderer, and the mother of the dead girl.
All of these women actually begin major life transformations after this girl’s body has been discovered, and it is only because of her death that these transformations are made possible.

Ok, I know it’s a stretch, but what that speaks to me is that; when life gets shitty, and I don’t mean your football team just lost the super-bowl shitty, I mean your (person that’s really close to you) just died unnecessarily shitty.... Maybe.... JUST maybe there’s still a light somewhere that can be found. It’s not to say it’s not awful. It’s not to say you can’t cry your eyes out until your body is numb, and shaking. But, if there is any hope to be found... I want to find it. Even if it means trudging through a swamp to find it.

Now, how do I transition this talk of death back to a rejection letter? It seems so insignificant now...

One day I was having a conversation with my aunt about how this boy had just broken my heart.... not me, right?
While words of hatred, and anger, and swearing were bouncing off the walls, she stopped, and said something along the lines of; “I think you need to go through these experiences, and be able to feel things as deeply as you do, because it’s what fuels you to be able to write the way that you do.”
Way to turn the conversation around to slap me in the face... Use my writing against me. *sigh* Perhaps I should stop complaining.


A rejection letter, out of a hundred more I could receive. Whether they are negative or positive letters, it doesn’t matter. Little let downs in life, I think, might be little reminders to say “Why are you so upset? If you'd stop crying and stop being so lazy you might be able to do some good with your sadness. Look for the good in this, and focus on that”. I think we fret little things so often, that we sometimes forget there’s any good in this world... wait that might just be me.


Either way, as a director trying to make films that find the light in a dark place; I couldn’t ask for anything more than a rejection letter. I will frame that rejection letter. I love that I got rejected. Because it says I tried, it says I sweat the time, and put the effort in, and I’m not giving up!! I did something I have been telling myself I would do for two years... I sent my novel out there into the world to be rejected!!



“Someone else’s boy, you’ve had it so hard,
Will you grow up to be you, Or a sum of your parts just hanging in the air?
Someone else’s boy, tell me your convoluted stories through a half-rotten mouth,
I will decipher them, to tell the world of your heart,
How beautiful things can come from the dark” - Azure Ray

Fire: Goal #6

Just expect these blogs to always be late, I'm tired of apologizing. Now, I keep telling myself that one of these days I'm going to write a fun, fluffy blog about going blond, or massive, failed attempts at surfing. But, for some reason they end up serious every time. Sorry readers, there is no fluff this month, perhaps next month... if my Dark Heart permits....



I remember that evening as the sun melted behind the neighborhood houses, and slithered off the black pavement. I didn’t care about the cold bite to the air that nipped at my nose, and my cheeks as I sat alone on an empty sidewalk curb. A pack of cigarettes to my right side, and a pile of his pictures in my left hand as I brought the lighter one by one to each picture. The pleasure that warmed my soul as I watched his face simmer under the blue, and orange licks of fire as I used its flame to light my cigarette was invigorating.
This, ladies and gentleman, is the darkest of my heart when I am provoked to shattering, heart break. I close off, find a lonely sidewalk, cigarettes, and fire. It’s been proven not to be the safest combination in my hands.
It’s usually during these kinds of lows in my life that I need a friend the most. It is also during these lows in my life that I want a friend the least.


Now, I believe in God, and have been told my whole life about how Jesus wants to be my friend, and God loves me all the time, and stuff like that.
I am about to get a little religious, so bear with me if you’re not religious. Remember; my target audience is YOU. Not the christians, and not the secs, (This is my new term for “secular”) only you.

Being “friends” with Jesus, and having a “relationship” with Him have been words I’ve heard spoken in the christianese language for years, and I have even spoken those words myself. Until I stopped to think about it, and came to realize; I don’t think I quite understand what I’m saying. I don’t know how to translate those words into normal people language. I might have been wrong all along.

Well, it’s the soul searching time for Dark Heart, and here is my conclusion. Actually, if it weren’t for my friend I am about to mention, and our very special relationship, I’m not sure I would have a conclusion. So, thank you Flautsy.

You see, I have this friend named Lauren. Lauren and I have a very interesting relationship, as I noted. Lauren recently sent me a text message to inform me that she was sitting at a starbucks in New York City, watching the rain flutter down on Times Square, while journaling to the sounds of Damien Rice.
I replied to Lauren to inform her that I hated her, and I did not wish to be friends with her anymore.
Lauren then responded with a simple reminder that I was a whore, and she was off to watch a free orchestra concert.
I told her the only place she could go was to hell, followed by expletives.
She then told me that I was a bitch, and she loved me, and I told her that I missed her, and we went about our day.
That’s when it struck me; I began to understand, I think, what it means to have a “relationship” with Jesus, and how that can even change over the years to mean different things.

I mainly began to think about the different relationships we have with different friends, or family members, and how that bleeds into the kind of relationship we ought to, perhaps, have with Jesus. The way I interact with God is far different from the way, say, Lauren interacts with God - this is a good thing. The way Lauren interacts with her mother is far different from the way she interacts with me - this also, is a good thing.
If Lauren were to call her mother a dirty whore, I doubt it would go over well, whereas, I would respond with “I love you too”, and my heart would go all warm and fuzzy.
Sometimes, I feel like God and I have that same kind of relationship. There is an understanding. I’m not always the most sympathetic person, but I understand where mercy is due, and where it is just being toyed with. But, still, sometimes I get that confused. Therefore, when God is trying to convict me of something, and I know it, instead of falling to my knees in tears, and asking to partake of His forgiveness, my response is something more or less along the lines of “&^%$ you”.

Then He sort of gets pissed off at me, and does something along the lines of shattering my hopes and dreams. Then I cry, and scream obscenities, and slam the door to my room. Then he ignores me, locks my door, and throws away the key. A while later I begin to softly tap on the door, and when He opens it I will come out sniffling, red faced, and bashfully muttering something like “Thanks for not letting me date him - I didn’t know he was a crack addict.”
He then says “Yeah yeah, I love you”, and we’re good.


This makes me wonder; maybe if we treated the relationship we have with Jesus - if that’s the way you choose to live - the way we treat the relationships we have with our best friends; we would know a little bit more of what it is like to be a genuine christian, and have a genuine friendship with Jesus. It’s so simple, yet so complex inside my head... being friends with Jesus... the answer was always there.
Now, I don’t go around screaming at the heavens all day every day, don’t get me wrong. But, the more I am honest with Him, and the more I just let myself display my feelings vulnerably to Him - the more I feel like I actually believe in Him.
Still following me? Great.

Besides, who said relationships of any sort were ever easy? Without a fight? Without hatred? Without anger? I think it’s the same with Jesus, and to be honest - I think he welcomes it. I think He’s ok with knowing exactly how I’m feeling, and knowing I’m being honest with Him about it. Anger is really given a bad name these days I think, because what is the best part of a relationship? It's the forgiveness after the anger. It's the beauty that flows out of that relationship when it's suffered and survived a storm. As I look at this honest relationship I now have with Jesus I realize that I am glad that I haven't always been so keen on the idea of being friends with Him. That I have been angry with His decisions, that I have yelled at Him, and that He has stuck around anyways.... kind of like a real friendship.

One day I was crying. It was over a boy. What’s new? I know.
The tears sort of came out of no where at a small group meeting, and since I am for some reason ashamed to show my face when I cry, I sauntered off into some dark corner where no one would see me. When, out of some mysterious black hole, Lauren found me. Lauren is very unsubtle about most things in life, so by this point everyone knew I was crying.
“What’s wrong?!” She screamed.
“Nothing” I squealed in a high pitch whine, as thick, muddy, black tears trickled down my cheek, and I pathetically tried to pretend she wasn’t there.
I smiled a very awkward smile, and wiped mascara all over my face.
Lauren blinked once, and gave me a wide eyed look that clearly said: “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What’s. Wrong.?” She stated again more sternly.
I just stood there pissed off that I wasn’t being left alone in my dark corner to cry my shame away, and refused to answer any of her further interrogation.
Finally, Lauren just put her arm around me, and in silence we stood together in a crowded room. Though I was still angry - there wasn’t a necessity for words; She understood. And that was all that mattered. I didn’t want to be touched, I didn’t want to be acknowledged, but in my time of not being wise enough to know what I really needed; God sent Lauren.

There is a funny, and ironic thing about silence to me. Silence, to me, is actually a very loud feeling. It can be totally comfortable, or completely uncomfortable. Silence sometimes has a lot to say when nothing more can be spoken. It was in my irritability of attention, and in my time of vulnerability, and sadness, and stubbornness that Lauren’s silence said; “I know you’re upset, therefore I am not going to leave you alone. Deal with it.”.

Sometimes, I think Jesus gives us friends to remind us of the way He has been trying so hard to have a relationship with us. The way He would wish us to interact with Him too.
Sometimes, I need someone to force there arm around me, and make me talk about why I’m crying, even though I’d rather set fire to everyone in the room. Sometimes God tries to put His arm around me, and I try very hard to set Him on fire with my eyes. That’s when He reminds me, with friends like Lauren, that He is, unfortunately, God. And no matter what I do, I can’t set Him on fire.

And for the record... Lauren and I are still friends.



“I heard Jesus, He drank wine, I bet we'd get along just fine. He can calm a storm, and heal the blind, well I bet he'd understand a heart like mine..." Miranda Lambert

The Magic Key" Goal #5

When I was a little girl I started writing stories. In fact, since before I can remember; I have been writing stories, and about the time I learned how to spell I wrote a story about a girl who found a magical key that granted her as many wishes as she desired. In the end she found she had become so consumed, and power hungry by the key that she eventually wished it away.
Honestly, I can’t remember the whole story, but I think that is the gist of it.


Now, I have routinely begun to start most of my blog with an apology... this time it’s a big one. Forgive me readers, for I have sinned; it has been almost two months since my last blog.

We’ll just say I was so busy accomplishing goals, that I forgot to write them down. Does that work?
Great.


It’s not entirely false though, I have in fact been quite busy these past couple months perfecting the art of storytelling... I’ve so much to tell you all I’m not sure where to begin.
Let’s go back to the magic key.
As I said; Storytelling, to me, is an art. An art I have longed to become successful in since I was little, obviously. Growing up in the shire woods provided for quite the space to let an imaginative little girl loose with wild ideas. So, I utilized it.
To this day I find myself coming up with stories that usually take place in the midst of a sleepy, little town, or lost in the depths of a redwood forest. Ok, I’ll admit I’m a Twi-Freak...Twilight as in Vampires, not the Twilight Zone. (Team Edward).
What am I getting at? I decided it was time to be a grown up, and do something about all the stories that continually pecked at the back of my mind.
This past month I think I can legitimately say I made one of my dreams come true. Which brings me to a different aspect of my journey in storytelling.
About two years ago I discovered a great new realm of ways to bring stories to life... this great art is called “Film Making”. I fell in love with it. Every aspect; editing to the detail, splicing scenes, directing and crafting each scene, perfecting the set, coaching the actors, making the script breathe MY story.
Now I had dabbled in script writing as a child as well, and dreamed of someone, someday stumbling across it and realizing; The child prodigy had been hidden away in the shire forest all these years... needless to say it never happened, but I did decide to re awaken some of my script writing skills.
Of course the first thing I wanted to direct was “Breaking Dawn” (That’s the fourth book in the Twilight story for all of you uneducated out there). But, I was re directed in a much more practical direction, and told to start small...very very small, by a more experienced film maker. Turns out my church is flooded with more experienced film makers... hmmm... the wheels begin to turn.
With that in mind, and to make a long, and agonizing thought process of mine shorter; I began writing a story with no words. I began listening to music, which is the soul of where my stories begin, and writing. It soon became a project larger than a church skit, and smaller than an oscar nomination - not by much though.
I had this idea for a drama to music video stored away in my diary for... well too long, before I decided I didn’t need to be a film school graduate, or sponsored by Steven Spielburg to start my own film company. Things I have to re learn at least once a month. So, I sent out an email to all my little film minions, and said “Hey let’s start an indi film company”.
Ok, it didn’t exactly go like that, but never the less, I gathered a team and, to my surprise.... it thrived.

What I find myself in awe of still is the fire that ignites in a room full of artists who all breathe the same passion. Ideas begin to grow, and feed off one another. Papers, and notes are fluttering across the table in a frenzy, and frustration to perfect every last detail of our crafting masterpiece has the adrenaline of a hummingbird vibrating through the air. Smiles are cracking with the excitement of a child who’s been granted another cookie, and dreams are sparkling like polished diamonds in the eyes of all who are gathered around the table of life.
I couldn’t have ended up with a more perfect team. Not only did I whittle my team down to a photographer, a script writer, a set director, an assistant director, and producers assistant, but I landed a photographer who knows the art of lighting, and perfect angles like a professional D.P. should, two assistants who are on top of the things I don’t have time to think about, another little assistant who catches all the details I am too excited to think about, a set director who is eager, and serious, a script writer who might be the next child prodigy (after me of course), with a dad who has THE camera we needed.
It’s funny how things fall into place with the right people who have the same drive, and determination. Together we were the perfect team. So, we set out to make a movie, and become famous.

Within our planning meetings I could feel the intensity of brilliance in the creative conversations that bled into the late hours of the night, far past the times we set our meetings to end. Plans for future films would begin coming to life before we even had plans finished for our first film... that was when our brilliant little assistant would remind us to be responsible... she is younger than all of us... which goes to show; maturity has no age.
It is even hard for us to be apart of any social event without accidentally crawling into a corner, and begin feeding our film addictions like withdrawing crack addicts.

I once read a story about the first time Tim Burton, and Johnny Depp met. They were at a little cafe, and Tim burton was hiding in a corner booth with a cup of coffee, his hair a ragged mess while he vigorously scratched away at notes. He, and Johnny sat for hours shaking with caffeine pulsing through their system, wild eyed, and with ideas spilling onto the table faster than their mouths could keep up.
That story always reminds me of our film meetings. It gives me a visual of what driven passion looks like. What dreams coming true looks like on paper, what adrenaline can do when desires are awakened inside of the heart. Even as I write this now, my fingers are beginning to work faster than I can keep up, and my heart begins to beat so fast I can feel new ideas start to spin inside of my head.
With that said, months of this passed.... and shoot day arrived. The early morning sky holds only great memories for me... I never wanted to be up at 5am so badly.
There is something about early, dawn mornings before the sun has even begun to arise that breathes the excitement of new beginnings to me. This day was a new beginning I will never forget. Clip boards were ready, makeup kits being set up, tables assembled, papers signed, camera’s prepped, and “I dreamed a dream” playing subliminally in the back of all our minds as our eyes scanned the empty streets we were about to film, and inhaled the air of arising fame.
The moment came, and the words left a sweet taste on my tongue as they slipped through my lips.... “Action!”

I learned one very amazing thing in the process of all the dreaming coming true as I looked around at my hard working crew.... if you want something done you gotta do it yourself. In other words; no one is going to find you, and say “Hey, you look like you want to be a director, here’s a million dollars to produce a film”. Dreams are the product of hard work, they don’t just fall into your lap. And it sure feels so damn good when it’s really earned. The same way a good meal tastes the best when you’ve put your own work into it, and clothes always fit the best when it’s from your own hard earned money. Dreams are only dreams when they’ve been worked for, and when the work and effort has come from the depths of desire you have pined after for years.

When I wrote “The Magic Key”, even as a child I dreamed someday of publishing it. I wrote screenplays with every angle, and close up, and scene already planned out in my head. I wrote with passion, and with an end goal in my head. I always knew deep down what I was suppose to do, but I just recently figured it out. I think what we are initially created to do is most obvious when we are young, before we are marred with adulthood. Before we begin to take seriously “responsibility”, and what we’re “suppose” to do. When are minds are free, and wild, and don’t understand the concept of limitations, and rules. What if we just tap into that for a moment? How far could we get if we just let go... just for a second, and let the freedom of a child like faith invade us? What if we were all living from passion, and doing what we were always suppose to be doing? Maybe we would all be publishing our “Magic Key”.


“If you work HARD, and you are KIND it is amazing the places you will end up ... I promise” - Conan O’Brien, of the late great Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien.

Peach Italian Soda's: A Reflection

Is it really that time again? My how time does fly when the sun is out, and Lady Antebellum is wailing through the speakers. Where were we? These six months seem to be coming faster than my fingers can type, perhaps it’s time to just take a little time of reflection. Yes, I’m still broke. Onward on a little skip down memory lane, or maybe it’s a soft stroll down a windy path.

Before we begin, here’s a quick FYI; unless I’m discovered by a talent agent sometime in the near future for my mad directing skills, and given a million dollars, this blog may turn into a fifteen month blog instead of twelve. Eh, life’s full of surprises like that.

Don’t worry, next month will be fun, I promise. Sort of.

Six months ago I was on the last leg of my therapy sessions, and wondering where the hell I was going next.
I was definitely chain smoking - I hate to admit by the way. Drinking several cups of......






coffee a day


Ha, bet I got you there for a moment.

An emotional mess at best, I mean what else can you be when Sweeny Todd is your therapy?

And a terrible country music prejudice. I’m so sorry Taylor Swift.

It’s funny what happens in six months.

For dance class I gave up smoking. Realizing I could either dance or smoke after one class. Was it a loss?

I opened my eyes to the family that’s always been right in front of my self centered eyes, and found the power in asking questions, in listening without deciding what to say next, and In quiet.


For lent I gave up coffee, and decided to do the healthy thing: Green tea. Bet ya never thought I could make it did you?



For awkward singleness I took on some awkward dates... Sometimes there really isn’t a lesson to learn, and it’s okay to accept a pat on the back for the effort you’ve given.


For joy; I gave up sadness.


For a smile I surrendered to country music.

Even as I write this though I realize my mistake in this outlook. I guess it was not so much that I gave anything up, but I received something greater in the replacement of what I abandoned, and let go of. Which brought me to this thought; what if we let go of things more often? What if we shed layers of ourselves, even layers we like and enjoy, just to see what else we could get?
After a month of being smoke free I began to feel my lungs, and discover the strength my body is capable of. After replacing green tea for coffee I began to feel awake, and calmly focused on a world that was always hazy and spinning. When I stopped talking, and listened to my family, namely both of my grandmothers, I saw aged wisdom, and history overlooked - and I took a deeper look at it. Once saying ‘yes’ to a couple boys I would usually flip off I realized - I still don’t like dating casually.
After turning on some country music and letting myself go, instead of snickering, I came to realize; I think I always liked country music. Kind of like that pair of lovers who always acted like they hated each other, but in reality; it was only the flames of passion they were fanning, and mistaking for flames of hatred. Like Beatrice, and Benedict from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Ok, I’m done.
What I’m saying; sometimes shedding layers that consist of the past doesn’t mean giving things up, or letting go, or even changing necessarily, but rather accepting what’s always been there... instead of breathing smoke, I will give my attention more wholly to oxygen. I'm still breathing, it's just a little different.
Now, for the question that seems to have many in controversy; Should I be ashamed of what I had to go through to learn the greater lesson? Do I forget what I've shed just because I have something new?



I am strong believer in remembering where you came from. In remembering the past. Not holding onto it, but remembering where it was that you began. The past is what has formed, and shaped us into what we are today, and to regret it or look poorly upon it is to be ashamed of who you are now. I am very proud of myself, and I am damn proud of how hard I worked to be where I am at in life today. It is to the past, the high’s AND the low’s, that I owe gratitude. So, no... I am not ashamed of what brought me to the greater lessons I have learned.

I am thankful for hatred. Yep, I said it. I am thankful that hatred gave me the deep appreciation I have now for those who love me. For my grandmother who will knit me a scarf after I’ve briefly admired hers.

I am grateful for those who have hurt me, for they taught me the raw meaning of saying "I forgive you" even when I'm red in the face, fists clenched. Likewise I am grateful for the stupidity of my faults, for I know now what it means to be humbled, and forgiven.

I am excited that I have felt weakness, because now I know what it must have felt like to be David killing Goliath. Powerful.

I am grateful that I live in a country that is corrupt with lies, deceit, and poverty; because it is the only way to fully soak in the beauty of those who will fight for truth, hope, and giving a tainted image beauty.

What does it mean to shed layers? To let go? To move on? Those words always roll with such a melancholy sound off our tongues. But, what if it wasn’t really suppose to be that way all the time? What if letting go could be done with a smile, and gratitude for the time it existed in our life? I don’t think moving away from the past, the horrible and happy moments, has to be done with sadness, or shame. I think, like love and like happiness, it is what we make it. It can be done with joy if we choose to look at the positive effect it has had in our life, it can be let go of with a smile if we look ahead at the future it has provided for us. It can even be remembered with peace. Because no one likes to be forgotten. I don’t think we were created to be forgotten, and neither was the past. It happened. It was there for a reason. If you try to pretend it never happened - it doesn’t change the fact that it still happened.
Living with consequences of stupid decisions, and bearing burdens of wounds others have afflicted us with is never exactly something we want to acknowledge every moment. And we don’t have to. But, I do think that how we react to it in the present moment has everything to do with what kind of person we allow ourselves to be.

When I was seventeen I worked at a little hometown coffee shop called “Shotz”, and when it first opened we all thought it was going to be a bar. It was my first job.
I have so many memories of that summer I worked there. I remember when both of my best friends, Jeanette and Lacey, got jobs there and we all got to work together. I remember meeting Josh, who became one of my very best friends that summer. I remember early mornings where we would get maybe a customer an hour, and how Josh and I passed the time by spilling boiling water out the drive thru window, and watched steam billow off the iced over pavement. I remember the smell of freshly delivered pastries at five in the morning, and our special bran muffins baking in the back ovens, how Josh and I discovered that lime flavoring in a white mocha smells exactly like body odor, and in the summer being addicted to peach italian soda’s.

I also remember when we were told someone was stealing money, and everyone began to point a finger at each other. I remember having to get up at three thirty in the morning to have to get there on time for my opening shifts. I remember nasty customers at eight in the morning who made me feel stupid, and developing carpel tunnel in my right hand from working the espresso machines. I remember my alarm not waking me up for an opening shift, and getting a call at seven thirty. I had left Josh out in the cold at four am because my alarm didn’t go off, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift that day.

Today, I decided to write my blog at the Coffee Table Cafe. Mind you, it is not Shotz, but it brings back little memories of Shotz to me. The home like decor, the fresh pastries I can smell from their ovens, and the real espresso. I'm really sorry if you're a fan of starbucks.... but it's just not real espresso.
I didn’t exactly know what I was going to write about to be completely honest with you....until I ordered a Peach Italian Soda.


I remember the same day my alarm didn’t wake me up, and I went into Shotz almost in tears. My manager was behind the counter filling in my shift, and quite angry with me... Then there was Josh, who was so upset only because we couldn’t work together that day. It was when I started crying that he, bless his heart, tried so hard to keep me from crying, and later that day bought me my favorite can of Arizona Iced Tea.

I am thankful my alarm did not go off that day, because I would not have learned the power of a shoulder to cry on, and a friend that would do anything to help me learn to wipe away my own tears, and smile.

Memories can be painful. If we choose to let them be painful. But, I think often we forget to acknowledge that somewhere amidst the painful memories there was a friend. There was a moment. There was a stranger. There was the way the sun rose that gave you an outlook you may never have had before. There was a choice to take something positive away with the negative. I could remember Shotz with such bitterness for not showing me mercy when my alarm clock didn't go off. Or I could remember friends like Josh, who threw mercy at me recklessly when others didn't.
I could have bitterly let sorrow swallow me whole when all my dreams of going to film school didn't follow through... but, I didn't. I sat down and I started writing a blog. To be completely honest.... I'm glad it turned out that way.

Shotz may not have always provided me with the greatest memories. But, I realize now, in the long run; it shaped me, and now the memories leave a sweet taste in my mouth.... like Peach Italian Soda’s.



“I don’t regret a single thing in my past. If I hadn’t have gone through what I did I would not be able to write one song I have written today. I wouldn’t be able to help others who have gone through the same thing I did in my past, and I would not know the sweetness of comfort... had I not gone through what I did” - Lacey Mosley, lead singer of Flyleaf.