Val Emmich Quotes

I do stupid things when I'm nervous, which means I'm constantly doing stupid things.

I wish that everything was different. I wish that I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, let's face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?

The me I am is not the me I was.

I'm much better at interpreting books and stories than I am at understanding the decisions made by living, breathing people.

Also, i realized that avoiding people didn't actually ease any of my anxieties. Out there in the woods, i still had to live with myself.

Really, though, what do i know about what another person is capable of? I still don't have a clue what i'm capable of. I keep surprising even myself.

I'm left with a loneliness so overpowering it threatens to seep from my eyes. I have no one. Unfortunately, that's not fantasy. That's all-natural, 100 percent organic, unprocessed, reality.

Fantasies always sound good, but they're no help when reality comes and shoves you to the ground. When it trips up your tongue and traps the right words in your head. When it leaves you to eat lunch by yourself.

I laugh plenty. I mean, i laughed plenty. I laughed at how absurdly fucked everything is. I laughed because there's not much else you can do. You can laugh or you can cry. I'd do plenty of both.

How many times in life do you get to just start all over again?". That does sound tempting, actually. Can i start over today?

Burning is the right way to paint it. You feel yourself getting so hot, day after day. Hotter and hotter. It gets to be too much. Even for stars. At some point they fizzle out or explode. Cease to be. But if you're looking up at the sky, you don't see it that way. You think those stars are still there. Some aren't. Some are already gone. Long gone. I guess, now, so am I.

I looked up once more, at the whole world; it was beautiful, I knew it was, but I wasn't a part of it. I was never going to be a part of it.

If the pain is in you, it's in you. It follows you everywhere. Can't outrun it. Can't erase it. Can't push it away; it only comes back. The way I've been thinking, after all that's happened, maybe there's only one way to survive it. You have to let it in. Let it hurt you.

I also know that when you’re not in the best headspace, the trivial can turn into the insurmountable

No one should ever feel they have to suffer in silence. We need to keep talking about mental health and continue to reach out to those who might be suffering.

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Maybe, someday, some other kid is going to be standing here, staring out at the trees, feeling alone, wondering if maybe the world might look different from all the way up there. Better. Maybe he’ll start climbing, one branch at a time, and he’ll keep going, even when it seems like he can’t find another foothold. Even when it feels hopeless. Like everything is telling him to let go. Maybe this time he won’t let go. This time he’ll hold on. He’ll keep going.

You're born and you keep getting older and grayer and sicker, and no matter what efforts you make to reverse the process, you die, every single time. To repeat: worse, worse, worse, and then death. I have a long way to go before the worst. This is only the beginning.

Is it possible that I actually appear to them as hollow and immaterial as I feel inside?

To the ground I fall. I can never stay aloft too long. Not when there's an ugly and heavy truth always dragging me back down.

I felt swallowed by the swarm. Surrounded by all these people and somehow lonelier than ever. None of them saw me or knew me. The only one who ever did I'd pushed away.

I was lucky. That's what everyone told me. I didn't feel very lucky, lying there in the most excruciating physical pain of my life.

Why would he do this? I mean, i understand how low a person can get. I also know that when you're not in the best headspace, the trivial can turn into the insurmountable and all of sudden you're heading down a dark path and you can't find your way back.

just wish that life, for once, for a day or even a few hours, would go smoothly.

...I was just lying there on the ground, waiting for someone to come get me. 'Any second now', i kept thingking. 'Any second now'. But yea, nobody came, so...

It became this thing that followed me arround. The logline to my movie, telling people what to expect of me. telling me what to expect of myself. I was the villain. that was my role.

Now i'm home again and none of my usuals methods of escape are doing the trick. I tend to watch a lot of movies. Ideally, documentaries about loners, outcats, pioneers. Give me a cult leader, obscure historical figures, dead musicians. I want to see a misunderstood person who someone is finally taking the time to understand.

My stomach was a hot puddle of nerves, had been for a week straight. I couldn't take it anymore. But to get rid of it once and for all, i had to do the brave thing. That's where my plan failed. I couldn't do it. I'm not brave. I'm extremely not brave.

I just have this feeling sometimes that even the best therapist in the world couldn't fix me.

Seventeen years later and she’s still trying to tweak me just a little bit more to her liking.

I had to die for them to notice I was ever alive.

Even for stars. At some point they fizzle out or explode. Cease to be. But if you’re looking up at the sky, you don’t see it that way. You think all those stars are still there. Some aren’t. Some are already gone. Long gone. I guess, now, so am I.

It reminds me of that saying: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I guess that means we’re just products of whoever made us and we don’t have much control. The thing is, when people use that phrase, they ignore the most critical part: the falling. Within the logic of that saying, the apple falls every single time. Not falling isn’t an option. So, if the apple has to fall, the most important question in my mind is what happens to it upon hitting the ground? Does it touch down with barely a scratch? Or does it smash on impact? Two vastly different fates. When you think about it, who cares about its proximity to the tree or what type of tree spawned it? What really makes all the difference, then, is how we land.

I am alone, the way I deserve to be. The way I'm meant to be. A fucking nothing. Unworthy to the core. How could I fool myself into thinking I could be deserving of anything close to happiness?

Wich begs the question: Why am i here? To wich there is only one answer: I don't know. The choices always seem to be fight or flight, but i typically end up somewhere in between, doing exactly neither. I stay and take the beating.

But really, what was the point of going to school? They nevver knew what to do with me. If you don't fit into once of their boexes, you get tossed aside. I could learn way more at home. Reading my own books and watching Vice . At least when i was at Hanover i could mention Nietzsche with out a teacher staring back with a blank look

Meh is basically a shoulder shrug, and that pretty much sums up the reaction I get from society at large.

The feeling of almost drowning is even worse than actually drowning. Actually drowning is peace. Almost drowning is pure pain.

I just want to be alone, the way I've always been. I don't want to be bothered or noticed or questioned. But that's just wishful thinking.

I mean, he wasn't really there, but in my mind, it was like he was, and all of a sudden that same day wasn't such a nightmare. It was something else.

That’s what happens when people leave, I think. When they’re gone, you don’t have to be reminded of all the bad things. They can just stay the way you want them forever. Perfect.

About our lives. Where we were. Where we were going. What would happen after school. We didn't know exactly. We just knew we'd figure it out. We'd have each other's backs. Whatever it was....

I walked to my window. It's pirch-dark outside. For the most part, I've always preffered night to day. At night, it's okay to be hunkered down in your house. During the day, people expect you to be out and about. You can start to feel pretty guilty about wasting so much time indoors.

Thinking about it now, i have to say, nothing terrible comes to mind. No blowup fights or traumatic episodes. that's usually what happens when i dig too deep into memories. The worst stuff pops up first.

The me I am is not the me I was. Just like the me I am is not the me I will be. Those versions of myself I can't change or predict. I'm not even sure I have much influence over the present me. But it's all I've got. I probably shouldn't fight it.

If the pain is in you, it’s in you. It follows you everywhere. Can’t outrun it. Can’t erase it. Can’t push it away; it only comes back. The way I’ve been thinking, after all that’s happened, maybe there’s only one way to survive it. You have to let it in. Let it hurt you. And don’t wait. It’ll reach you eventually. Might as well be now.

But really, what was the point of going to school? They never knew what to do with me. If you don't fit into once of their boxes, you get tossed aside. I could learn way more at home. Reading my own books and watching Vice.

It’s too painful to remember”; “It’s even more painful to forget”;

Talk to me," she says. It's not a command. It's a welcome mat. All I have to do is step to her.

He doesn't think i'm worth the effort. I couldn't agree more. Anyway, i'm grateful. I'm not sure i could survive another fall today.

Thank you Evan Hansen

I thought it was uncomfortable, when I was younger, watching my own parents argue. Turns out, watching other people’s parents do it is exponentially more awkward

(He introduced me to a ton of books and authors. I never returned his copy of The Mysteries of Pittsburgh.)

Um, not anymore. They belong to everyone now. I mean, that’s the whole point. And the more private they are, the better.

I also know that when you’re not in the best headspace, the trivial can turn into the insurmountable and all of a sudden you’re heading down a dark path and you can’t find your way back.

Before all this, i was alone, but i still had a few squeezes left in my tube of hope. Connor Murphy wasn't a part of my daily life. He, like me, existed in the background. Our paths didn't cross, and if they did, neither of us noticed.

I know that look. When your insides are about to pour right out of you and it’s too late to stop it. You’re naked, everyone watching. They see you there, defenseless, and they pounce. No mercy.

(There was no deer in the road that night. I can come clean about that now. I crashed into that tree because I felt like it. My messiest decisions were always like that. Made in a split second. Nine times out of ten I’d walk away only wounded. Then, on the tenth time…)

I hate going to sleep because adults do so many things when you’re not around, like pack their bags and leave.

I wish there was a way to know when you were seeing someone for the last time so you could pay extra-close attention to that person when it was happening.

The choices always seem to be fight or flight, but I typically end up somewhere in between, doing exactly neither. I stay and I take the beating.

In a single day filled with so many moments, the world ends and it carries on.

I think grief can make you do weird things. Things you wouldn’t do normally.

Life is like an interview

All I want to do is climb into bed and hide under the covers.

Dear Evan Hansen, Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Things have been crazy.

Dad is a word you have to be careful about using in our house,

Literally one day he’s pinned over someone’s heart and the next he’s tossed in the garbage.

I lean back against a roadside tree. A tree. Another fucking tree. They’re everywhere, these soaring reminders.

She dresses like she's the dean of a small liberal arts college, and she probably could be. Not only does she relish following the rules, but she's also the only one who even knows what they are.

I suppose this is what i get for building my walls so high. My family never actually knew about my life. Occasionally i'd reference a friend( going out with a friend; got it from a friend). But i don't think they believed me. Especially when i never forked over a name.

There are a million and ten things from the subatomic to the cosmic that can rattle my nerves on a daily basis, and one of those things is my initials. M.E.H. Like the word: meh. Meh is basically a shoulder shrug, and that pretty much sums up the reaction I get from society at large.

I hold my breath, try to freeze time, thinking if I can just keep the air inside my lungs forever, maybe I'll never have to face what comes next. But I breathe, because I'm weak and I must, and when I open my eyes, and everyone is looking at me, and I know it's only begun: the end of everything. But there's no way out now.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I guess that means we're just products of whoever made us and we don't have much control. The thing is, when people use that phrase, they ignore the most critical part: the falling. Within the logic of that saying, the apple falls every single time. Not falling isn't an option. So, if the apple has to fall, the most important question in my mind is what happens to it upon hitting the ground? Does it touch down with barely a scratch? Or does it smash on impact? Two vastly different fates. When you think about it, who cares about its proximity to the tree or what type of tree spawned it? What really makes all the difference, then, is how we land.

I want to stay with them forever and I guess there is a way. I’ll save them in my box. I’ll keep them safe always. It’s what I do. I remember.

After all these years, I'm a wizard at detecting even the slightest hint of disappointment in others, and any amount at all is unbearable.

I can promise you that someday all of this will feel like a very long time ago.

People will risk everything for a little bit of something beautiful ,

I used to think that the idea of a soul mate was the most ludicrous drivel I’d ever heard, but maybe not. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding and maybe Zoe is my one true match.

He let it all out. What he’d been carrying. Everything. But he’s still not free. Still has himself to deal with. Always the hardest one to face.

Of course it sounded good. Fantasies always sound good, but they’re no help when reality comes and shoves you to the ground.

I’m left with a loneliness so overpowering it threatens to seep from my eye.

What a concept, saying exactly what you feel without stopping to second-guess.

Life is an interview, Evan.

I shrink from her, ashamed, and yet also wishing she’d never let go. How can a mother’s touch do that? Help and hurt all at once?

Positive outlook yields positive experience.

There is nothing unrealistic about the love that one man feels for another

Maybe the trick, when I’m finally ready, is to quit treating these reminders like treacherous chasms to leap over. And to one day, maybe, see them as good reasons to stop and celebrate.

Connor, you keep taking shortcuts, you're going to lose the trail eventually, and pretty soon you're going to end up somewhere you don't want to be with no idea how to find your way home.

You have no idea how many mistakes I’ve made.” “Of course I don’t. No parent knows what their kid is really up to. Ask Cynthia. None of us are saints. We’re all just doing the best we can.

I wish that everything was different. I wish that I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, let’s face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?

—Debemos presentarnos ahí como si el puesto ya fuera nuestro. —Pero esto no es una entrevista de trabajo. Alana se baja los puños de la camisa hasta taparse las muñecas. —La vida entera es una entrevista de trabajo, Evan.

Dear Evan Hansen, Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why. Because it isn’t supposed to rain like yesterday and that’s good because I didn’t have to pack my umbrella and my backpack feels a little lighter. Sincerely, Me

How can she know me when I don’t even know me? What I say, what I think, I can’t decide which parts are real and which are made-up. I try, over and over, to reach myself. How is that even possible when I’m already here, walking in my own skin?

I was certain of one thing: how I felt when I was around him and when I wasn’t. The first was exhilarating. The other unbearable. Being with him was like being hooked on a drug. When we stopped seeing each other, I went into withdrawal. It was a long, dark summer.

As torturous as it feels to be here in Connor’s private space, it’s probably the closest I’ve ever been to the truth of who he was. Besides the obvious differences between his bedroom and mine—my bed is half the size, my floors are carpeted, and my walls are painted light green—there are some striking similarities.

Panic has a salty taste. It’s like I’m standing in a small glass tank and the tank is filling up with water. I’m guessing the water is coming from the sea, because of the saltiness. The seawater rushes into the tank. It’s already at my mouth, and in a moment it will cover my face and I’ll drown. There’s no way out of the tank. All I can do is wait as the water surrounds me. I stretch my neck up for that last bit of air. I’m gasping. And then, when I can barely catch my breath, it stops. The water recedes, always. I never end up drowning, but it doesn’t matter. The feeling of almost drowning is even worse than actually drowning. Actually drowning is peace. Almost drowning is pure pain.

Apaguei todas as coisas que escrevi de manhã. Toda aquela besteira sobre ser verdadeiro comigo mesmo. Só escrevi aquilo porque pensei que soava bem. É claro que soava bem. Ficção sempre soa bem, mas não ajuda muito quando a realidade vem e joga você de cara no chão. Quando enrola sua língua, prendendo as palavras na sua cabeça. Quando deixa você almoçando sozinho.

We're weaving in between trees, careful not to disturb, on a mission. We mean no trouble. There are so many of us, the lonely souls. All of us who helped build this. Those who will watch it grow. Those we've lost. We march on together. Climbing, falling, soaring. Trying to get closer to the center of everything. Closer to ourselves. Closer to each other. Closer to something true.

To sit back and watch is no longer possible. It never was, it turned out. I step onto the pristine grass. It feels like an invasion, but a voice inside reminds me to loosen up. I don't pretend that I knew him before, but he's always with me now. We're weaving in between trees, careful not to disturb, on a mission. We mean no trouble. There are so many of us, the lonely souls. All of us who helped build this. Those who will watch it grow. Those we've lost. We march on together. Climbing, falling, soaring. Trying to get closer to the center of everything. Closer to ourselves. Closer to each other. Closer to something true.