NOTE TO READER - this thing is really long. I'm more or less recording it so I have an accurate recollection of my feelings this evening so I can put them correctly into my story (that I WILL eventually get to continuing) called "The Story of Arrowfoot" Don't feel obligated to read it or anything.

Well, I had been having an okay week. As you can probably see, I submitted a new story AND a sketch just a few days ago, which I was really proud of. It was a really unique story for me to write (since I'm normally writing only about pokemon or dragons), and I was really psyched about the dream-wolf that inspired me. So I'd been really proud of myself.

Then, yesterday comes around. Though I've had a lot of homework to do this weekend (and still have more that I'd like to get done), I've come to accept that as a fact of life and move on. So anyway, back to yesterday. I FINALLY got my haircut as short as I want it. It's not like a plain boys short crew-cut or anything like that - it's sort of layered or something. I don't know hair terms. Anyway, my head now looks like a guys head. (I'm not joking. I took a picture of myself that evening just for the heck of it. I don't know if it was the lighting or something, but when I looked at the picture, I SWEAR I looked just like this other clarinetist at my school. And that clarinetist isn't a girl - he's a guy. EXACTLY like him to my eyes, I swear.) While that little parenthetical incident did sort-of freak me out, I (being the crazy, tom-boy I am) really liked it.

So I was doing great, despite my homework, when today comes around. My brother goes out to feed the family horses, and it turns out that our super-old, 43 year old horse had fallen and was unable to get up. Called out the vet and everything, rolled her over and saw from the worn-off fur that she'd probably been down for a lot of the night. Her temple (which is this really hollow sort of half-dome cave-in above a horse's eye) was filled with something fluid. The vet thought she had a tumor or a blood clot or something. In the end, she's put down.

Now, for my heartlessness. This 43 year old horse - which had been around for as long as I could remember - had just died, and I didn't feel sad. Admittedly, I had that sort of feeling in my chest you get when your sad, but I seriously think that that was just from being around multiple other people who were crying (I could be in denial about my own feeling here. I don't think it's likely, but I like to keep my mind open to the possibility that I'm just not really admitting stuff to myself). It was the same way a month or so ago, when out family dog (which had also been around for as long as I can remember) died. And also like when one of my neighbors died, though admittedly I got closer to crying then (yet again, I think that was because I was around other people who were crying, but I still find it unlikely).

You see, I've had this emo view on life lately - everything dies someday, and whether it dies now or later doesn't matter. It's still gonna die. My mind is also debating with the idea of there not being any sort of afterlife (I've already pretty-much decided on that, but then it conflicts with the other belief I'm debating with, which - if I EVER get to working on the story of Arrowfoot - you'll hear about later.), which makes me even more emo, belief-wise. Well, maybe that part isn't emo. But the first part seems like it to me.

Anyway, what REALLY upset me was when the vet was actually putting this horse down. He puts the needle-thing into the jugular vein, and a good bit of blood comes out of it (as you might imagine). I have never had a problem with blood. In fact, I want to be a doctor one day and have my own morbid fascination with blood. The blood didn't freak me out - I watched the Passion about two weeks ago and barely flinched at that gruesomeness. As I said, the blood didn't freak me out - it surprised me a bit, admittedly. I wasn't quite expecting it, but I was not afraid or grossed out or anything like that.

Nonetheless, I passed out.

Well, nearly. probably about a minute after he actually put the needle in, I started to get that sort-of ringing-ish sound in my ears, and my vision start blacking with those weird slightly swirly patterns at the edges. I had passed out once before - while praying the rosary, I had lost circulation in my legs. But that had come on slowly, over a good ten to fifteen minutes of kneeling. At first, I waited to see if it would go away (back to the blood incident now, not the kneeling). When it was getting worse by the second - and everyone was busy mourning the poor horse - I told them that I was going up to the house because I was passing out. I got a good ten steps before starting to grab the fence as I walked, with my body walking forward too fast for my hand to keep up. My vision was pretty black by now - I had a small, dim field of vision in the center of my view. I think it was the vet who told me to sit down and put my head between my legs. Good idea, too - I probably would have blacked out completely if not for that. I lowered myself clumsily to the ground. After about - oh, I'd say thirty seconds to a minute like that - I got back up. My ears were still weird - and remained that way for another five minutes or so - but my vision was almost back to normal and I knew I could walk. My dad went back up to the house with me, but I was fine - didn't collapse or anything.


But the damage to the opinion of myself was done. I pride myself with being a tough, country, tom-boy person. No matter how ridiculous it is, what I really wish for involves two things - dragons and adventure. I always told myself that, whether or not I would regret my wish, I'd want to be strong for that. My haircut in and of itself should tell you how much I tend to separate myself from the stereotypical girl. But I fainted at the sight of blood. What kind of adventure could I deserve to go on after doing something like that? I am quite literally ashamed of myself. My day dreams often involve danger, which involves blood. How could I ever be worthy of an adventure of my own if I faint at the sight of blood? TELL ME WHAT BRAVERY OR TOUGHNESS THERE IS IN THAT! There is none. And now I am extremely depressed because of it. I've proven I can handle death - at least of pets we've had forever and of older neighbors I've known forever and who have always been nice - but what does that matter if I actually faint at the sight of blood! Just a couple of ounces, too. I don't deserve it after today.


I'm seriously about to cry right now. Or as close as I can be to crying. At first I sort of just shook the experience off, but now I'm really mortified at my own weakness. I don't think I'm really, clinically depressed right now, but it's going to take a lot for me to get my self-esteem back - if I ever can.