once upon another time...

People say that there are those who come into your life for a reason -- usually to teach you something -- and then they leave. Their sole purpose is to give you perspective and insight into your life, to help you become better by showing you ways to change.

That's a nice thought. It's a real nice one. But thinking about it and experiencing it are nowhere near similar.

Being on the left behind end of this phenomenon sucks (yes, I just said sucks). Watching the person who meant so much to me just disappear from my life, at no (tangible) fault of my own, just circumstances and personal changes, really sucks. Going from best friends to barely speaking, pushed aside and forgotten, hurts. Feeling abandoned, betrayed, stabbed in the back, because that person knows me -- knows me for me. And once said that we'd be friends no matter what.

"I'll always be there for you."

Well. Where are you now? Not here. Not even there.

When did that happen? Almost overnight, it seems. Best friends one day, near strangers the next. Because that's how it feels when I'm with you now. Like I'm with a complete stranger. Like I'm a stranger to myself. 

What happened to us?

There's another saying, the saying that "people should be allowed to change." That's great when it applies to me. I don't like applying it to someone else, when their change leaves me feeling alone and confused, wondering if I said too much or not enough. If I should have been different, or better. 

How could I have been different or better, though, when with you, I could be nothing but myself? 

Once upon another time, I was important. It was a different kind of important than the every day, "each person is important" sort of way. It was different because I was important to you. I'm still important. I still matter. But not being important to you, especially when you still mean so much to me, is absolutely heart breaking. 

Lucky for me, you never made me happy. I was happy on my own, and I was happier with you next to me, but I didn't need you. My heart aches with missing you, yes. However, I can be, and am, happy on my own.

I didn't need you as a friend. I wanted you as a friend. It's because I loved you -- love doesn't need. Love wants. I wanted to love you, because you were my best friend. Maybe you still are my best friend -- maybe I still love you. I probably do. It makes sense, because what's happening to us is painful, and if I didn't love you, it wouldn't hurt so much.

You taught me about happiness -- you taught me how not to need. You taught me to want, and to hold onto those things that I want. You taught me that it isn't about "fitting" together. It's about "rolling." We rolled, you know. Or at least, I rolled with you.

There's more than that, though. Whether you meant to or not, you taught me that love lets go. Because I've never loved anyone like I loved you -- and love is about the other person. I learned that even more as your friend -- the more you told me, and the closer we got, and the more I shared with you -- nothing you did or said could push me away. Until now. 

Even now, though...I can't explain it. I care more about you than I do about how hurt I feel by what you're doing. Not talking to me, not answering, not being the friend anymore -- despite it all, I care about you. Which is so frustrating, because I can't let myself react in the ways I desperately wish I could. That's why I can't be as angry as I want to be. That's why I can't scream and throw tantrums and shout to the world that I hate you. Because I don't hate you. As much as I want to be immature and childish, I can't be.

Do you know how hard it is to be the one who is left behind? To be the one who is expected to wait, to be patient, to always be there when you change your mind again? Do you know what it's like to be shut out by your best friend, the person you trusted with secrets and fears and dreams you'd never shared with anyone on earth before?

Strangely, I'm not destroyed. As much as I loved you and invested in our friendship, and as much as it hurts, I'm beyond functioning. I'm happy. I'm as normal as I ever get (with the exception of minor emotional breakdowns due to a number of factors).

I don't understand how I can be so hurt and so at peace simultaneously. Perhaps it's because I don't really need you. I just wanted you in my life. 

But, when do we ever get everything that we want? 

Perhaps once upon another time.

ZombieNight...

ZombieDay, more like.

First thing that I learned: liquid latex is cold and smells funny, and when it dries it pulls your skin tight and makes it difficult to move normally. I was given a wicked looking burn on my neck, and the range of motion in my neck was cut down by about a third! But it looked cool. It actually freaked some people out when it was fresh -- they said it looked like I'd actually been burned.

Beautiful, isn't it? Kirsten, the artist who did my make-up, was very thorough
(and no, she did not use a 2 x 4 to give me that bruise. Just paint, brushes, and sponges).

Second thing that I learned: wearing shredded, stained clothes and being covered in dirt and fake blood, bruises, burns, stab wounds, bullet holes, and other various injuries really brings people together. Barriers broken, people. So funny that friendships were started by people comparing their wounds and making up stories as to how they got them. Because when everyone looks like crap, it's really easy to fit in!

(side thing that I learned: it is much less awkward to have your clothes ripped apart by a woman than it is to have them shredded by a man -- that was weird)

Third thing that I learned: acting like a zombie takes more energy than a person might think, because pretending not to have control of your body takes a lot of control (I'm a bit sore today, actually -- kinda out of shape much?). Otherwise, you'll trip and face plant in the gravel. And then you'd actually be bruised and dirty and bloody. Funnily enough, I never tripped while being a zombie. Walking normally, yeah, I tripped a couple of times. Weird.

Got this during a narrow escape -- you should see how the other guy looks.

Fourth thing that I learned (or, in this case, was reinforced): filming for a movie is boring. I already knew that, but as I've never been part of a project like this, I didn't realize how boring it truly is. Take after take of doing the exact same thing, each take split up by the crew having to re-position cameras, light adjusters and filters, set pieces -- the other extras that had arrived at 7am and I took it upon ourselves to shout "BACK TO ONE!!!" before the camera crew could do so. It happened so often that we just began to expect it. Hearing "THAT'S A WRAP" on a take was the best moment ever. SHADE! And WATER! Not to mention we could sit down and talk to each other before we were called back to set again.

Fifth thing that I learned: no matter where I go, people I have never met before will tell me their life stories and ask me for advice. And random little children will come sit by me and talk to me about everything (one little zombie child brought a plate of Doritos over to the wall I was sitting against and plopped herself down next to me, then proceeded to tell me all about her school, her zombie costume that she wears at home for a dress-up, how she is "five now. I used to be four, but I'm not anymore," and that she wants a curly slide in her back yard, not a straight one), even though I don't even know their names.

I'm actually kind of surprised that the children on set weren't scared by the way us zombie grown-ups looked. When I was a child, I probably would have been terrified. Then again, Lassie Come Home gave me nightmares, so. Yeah.

Sixth thing that I learned: holding a baby is the best thing in the world. It's the only place that I feel really safe and peaceful. I spent several minutes holding Parker's baby niece, and I didn't want to give her back. She's such a precious little thing -- and for a little while, all was right in my world.

Seventh thing that I learned: don't wait until you're desperate to call someone for help. Just do it (thank you to friends who picked up -- you know who you are).

Remarkably, this all came off pretty easily. Two or three gentle washes with shampoo and presto! Gone.

Eighth thing that I learned: don't tug on the latex (yeah, don't do it) when trying to get it off. Just roll it off and it won't hurt as much (blah).

My zombie time has come to a close. There were good bits and bad bits, and I never quite got used to seeing people walking around with oozing cuts and gashes. But it was overall pretty fun and very different.

You're next.

Wrap it up and send it to a baby on Christmas, folks! This sequence of production is DONE!

the Move...

It happened. The day I never thought would come. The day of the Move!

Things I learned:

1. I have too many clothes
2. I have too many shoes
3. Scratch that. You can never have too many shoes
4. More boxes = Less weight to carry all at once
5. It's a good idea to have a friend who has access to a truck
6. Organize from the start (DONE)
7. Food shopping is stressful, but I did it
8. Make sure your jeans are dry before you move out (oops)
9. Eat before you start lifting boxes and walking up long flights of stairs (...oops)
10. The easiest things to forget are the ones you use everyday (like your toothbrush)
11. Always do the dishes

BIG shout out to Ann, Brianna, Natalie, and my sisters for helping! You gals made it a lot easier.

just a number...

It is said that age is just a number. That weight is just a number. That income, grade point average, IQ, so many other measurements aren't really measurements at all. They're just numbers.

People cannot be measured in numbers. Can people be measured at all? Really...if everything about a person is "just a number", what does a person become? A number? What happened to the term "human being"?

This week I've been slipping. I've been feeling and thinking so many different things. I remember similar feelings and thoughts, ones I hoped to never revisit. They're not fun. They're painful and lonely. Remembering those things has brought me to remember the "treatment" I went through. It works for a lot of people: the doctor visits, the medications, the therapy sessions. For some, maybe most, those things change lives. For me, those things didn't work. I don't know if it's because I was (and am) a very stubborn person who very much dislikes taking pills and talking to strangers about my deep struggles or what, but for me it didn't do much good. It did some, I'll admit. Just not as much as it does for others.

I hated feeling the affects of a drug on my mental and emotional make up. I could feel myself changing, but it wasn't true change. After a year and a half of medications and therapists I felt a difference only in this way: everything was completely fake. My emotions and thoughts were completely...I don't even know how to describe it. It was like every time I was "happy", I was constantly aware that in the very, very back of my mind I really wasn't happy; that it was a chemical alteration that was causing my real emotions and thoughts to be twisted into an absolutely false optimism. I couldn't really be who I was. The real feeling, thinking me was barricaded behind a facade of pills and doctors telling me things were working. But for me, it wasn't working. That probably makes no sense, but it's just hard to explain.

The therapists were the real kicker though. I sat in an office with a stranger for an hour every week. When you didn't want to be there at all and were taken by force, that hour seemed like a lifetime. And then when the therapist told you more than once that if you really believed in Christ--if you were really following the commandments--you wouldn't be feeling the depression and fear that possessed you, that hour turned into eternity. Then it made me feel even worse about myself, that not only was I a bad person for feeling the way that I did, but that I was also a bad person because if I really had faith I'd be happy. No Faith = Bad Person = No Happiness. Bad equation.

Those people were trying to help me. But they couldn't help me, really. I felt that to them, I was a bunch of numbers on a piece of white paper. I was weight, height, age, gender, class, "on a scale of 1 to 10" selections, yes, no, "do you", "don't you". I still feel that way, which is why I fight this so hard on my own.

I stopped taking medications a year ago. I stopped talking to doctors and therapists. This past year was actually the happiest year of my life. There were some really, really hard days and even weeks, but I came out on top. Right now I'm sliding back into old patterns of thought and behavior. I don't want to be like that. That's why I'm trying so hard. I don't know why it's so hard to talk though--usually people can't get me to shut up.

I don't want to go back to being a number. I don't want to go back to the fake, awful feelings and thoughts I had, the feeling of being trapped and unable to express how things were really working inside. I don't want my happiness to be measured out in milligrams and be put into orange containers with white, child-proof (and sometimes me-proof) lids. I don't want to go back to smiling professionals who waved away my expressions of concern about what I felt was happening. That happened a lot.

From this, you could say that I'm a control freak. I suppose I am. I'm an "I control myself" freak. I don't like outside sources stepping in and taking over. To me it is so very important to work as hard as I can on my own. All of this has taught me many ways to handle the depression and anxiety (admittedly they're not working so well right now). I've come so far on my own in the past two years. Why? Because I put the Lord first (finally figured that one out) and asked Him to help me do this without the pills and therapy sessions. To Christ, you are never a number. Ever. You're always, always, always His lamb, and He is always your Shepherd.

I don't want to be "just a number". I don't want to be a piece of categorical data. I don't want to be a quantitative measure. I am a child of GOD (wow...writing that feels good). He knows me. He knows you. Who but He can help? The master physician, the greatest listener, the best friend.

You are never a number to the Lord. Don't forget that.

the second decade...

In a few minutes I will break the teens and enter the year of not belonging. No longer a teen, not quite an adult. As one of the corporate people at work said to me, "You're about to hit the absolutely perfect age! You're gonna be a nobody. And...nobody's perfect! A whole year of perfection awaits!"

Perfect. That is the absolute opposite of what my life has been on a scale of perfection to near failure. But what kind of a scale is that? It's a faulty one. Because my life has been perfect for me.

To be honest, there have been times in my life that I never thought I'd make it to twenty. I didn't ever imagine being twenty until a couple of months ago. My thirteen-year-old self went directly to the goal of eighteen, and the goal after that was where I'd be at twenty-five. Two years later, my fifteen-year-old self couldn't even imagine tomorrow. Then, when I was really eighteen, I was back to imagining and planning to where I wanted to be at twenty-five again. Twenty just kind of got lost in the process of getting to twenty-five, just another thing to check off the list of what I was going to do when I grew up.

I've decided that I'm going to actually be twenty. I've spent a lot of my life waiting to be some other age or in some other place. There's nothing wrong with having a plan. It's good to plan! But something I've learned from this life of mine: you can't expect to have memories of things unless you do the things you want to have memories of. I didn't do normal teenage things because I was so focused on getting to being an independent, graduated, degreed and diploma-ed member of the work force. I forgot to be a real teenager. I didn't hang out with friends. I didn't go to football game or basketball games. I didn't go to a lot of the dances. I didn't do extracurricular activities. I never even imagined sneaking out of my house--I didn't have anywhere to sneak to. It's almost like I just figured "I'll do those things sometime. I've got time." There's never time to waste. There's never a chance to go back.

I don't regret how I was (mostly). I don't regret studying and taking hard classes and staying in on weekends to prep for exams. It's pushed me so much further ahead. What I do regret is thinking that time would just stand still for me. That was a very young, naive thought. Time waits for no one.

I've made a lot of mistakes in the past. There have been stupid moments, unkind words, fights and misunderstandings, missed opportunities, burned bridges. All of these experiences have become lessons of what not to do, and in some cases how to do something better. I've learned how to think better, how to act better, how to be better.

I've also done a lot of things right. There have been many successes, many friendships, many amazing opportunities. There have been people who have come and gone, each one impacting me in some valuable way. There have been other people who have stayed around--these I know will be life long friendships.

There's been a lot of darkness in my life. Ever since I was about ten I've really struggled with depression, anxiety, and the normal awkward, insecure feelings every teen faces. Now I still struggle sometimes, but it's so much easier to really take in the good things. There's so much more light now, more than there ever has been. Looking back to the beginning of my second decade, I see a huge difference in who I am now and who I was then. I'm still pretty insecure, but compared to how I was even a year ago I'm different.

Really though--who isn't insecure? We're all putting on a bit of a front for the world--that's why family is so great. They know what scares you, what makes you furious, what weird things you love; they've heard you cry, scream, even swear. And they still love you anyway. That's another thing I've come to appreciate more. I love my family.

Looking back, I've come a very long way. Looking forward, I've still got a very long way to go. One day at a time. On to decade number three.

sometimes I wonder...

I've learned a lot this weekend. I've learned that I
1) don't flirt,
2) don't understand adult humor,
3) don't understand most normal humor,
4) that if ever I am a distressed damsel, I usually have to take care of the problem by myself because I'm either afraid to ask for help or asking for help would be pointless, and
5) that I'm socially bashful and on many occasions very awkward.

How do I know this? Well, either someone told me or, after noticing patterns in my life, I came to the conclusions myself.

Last night I went to a play with my parents. It was supposed to be a comedy buuuuuuut I wasn't laughing. Why? Because I didn't get any of the jokes. My parents were both laughing their heads off, as were most of the people in the audience. Not me though. That was a weird start to the night, being the only one who didn't get the jokes. Heck, even the 12-year-old kid whose dad was in the show was laughing! Sometimes I wonder...

This particular group of friends has a tradition of going to IHOP after a show, whether they performed in it or not. The three families (mine, the Carrascos, and the Poulsens with Jaden who is their cousin) made a sort of caravan over to the nearest IHOP and we, as usual, took up three tables. I sat with the younger people, me being the oldest at nearly 20 and the youngest being 11 (who I met when she was 9 months old). On the other end sat the real grown-ups, or at least age wise. I'm not sure about the maturity level...lol.

As I sat with the kids, one of them being one of my best friends (Jaden), I didn't understand half of what they were talking about! Their jokes and comments and such just went over my head. Or sometimes I got the gist of it, but I didn't want more than the gist because I could feel my cheeks burning (as Mitchell so kindly pointed out several times). To top it off, Mitchell started giving me advice about boys. And a lot of the advice sounded rather sound, too. For nearly twenty minutes I received relationship advice from a 12-year-old. A TWELVE year old! What is WRONG with me?! Sometimes I wonder...

So, I don't get adult jokes. So, I don't get teenage jokes, either. So, I'm the only one besides the 11-year-old who can't claim to have some sort of relationship, though I'm not sure if it counts for them or not. I mean...how lame is it to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend when all you can do is hang out at recess, and you have to ask your mom to drive you over to his or her house to hang out? You can't even go on a date because you don't have any money! So, why do these things bother me so much when none of them really matter? So what? Whatever the what is, it seems to mean a lot more to me than it should.

It was an awkward night for me. It's been an awkward weekend, to be honest. Not to mention this morning that I got super dizzy in the shower, thought I was going to throw up, and suddenly found myself on the ground wondering what the heck happened.

My sister Meghan has always (and I mean always) conveniently passed out while surrounded by strapping young men who carry her to a couch, bring her water, and do all sorts of heroic acts to make the distressed damsel comfortable. Me? I pass out in the shower. There is nothing dignified or romantic about that. Sometimes I wonder...

And, yes. Someone told me I don't flirt and that I'm socially bashful and often awkward. Gee...thanks for that. Now that I know what my problem is, I'm going to go read my book. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a Beast to fall in love with me...after all, he does have a beautiful rose garden in which I could amuse myself for hours on end. If I take care of his flowers well enough, do you think he'd overlook the bashful awkwardness? I'll take my chances.**


**I'm not bitter. I'm actually making myself laugh...seriously.**

answered...

Now that I've written out all of the fears and worries, I've been able to think more clearly. That helps sometimes, to talk or write out all of the things going on inside. Then they're trapped on paper so I can examine them. You can take a step back from the problem and pray about the things you wrote down, and answers come.

It took me awhile to get this answer. It was given to me yesterday, but I guess I was too afraid to take it at face-value. Who, though, needs to fear when the answer you've received is from the LORD? Of all people to believe and trust, who better than he?

As I've been pondering this problem, I remembered what happened yesterday. I have an Institute class on Mondays and Wednesdays every week; it's Dating and Courtship. Something my teacher, Sister Terry, said in class yesterday really stood out to me. We were talking about how we naturally filter out potential marriage companions. She compared a marital relationship to a team of oxen pulling weighted sleds. In order to pull well, the teams had to hit the yoke at the exact same time with equal amounts of force. If one or both oxen hit at different times or with unequal force, the teams would veer off to one side and the sleds wouldn't move at all.

Sister Terry told us that she talks to a lot of young women who have found themselves in relationships where the two people didn't pull together. Often times, the young women was pulling the young man along with her, and it was painful for the girl to put so much effort and receive so little in return. She said that for a woman, there can be several red flags that will save a lot of time and heartache: "If you find yourself thinking, 'I can help him', then it's probably not going to be a good relationship. Both people have to have the same values, to be 'equally yoked', to take on a problem at the same time with the same force and determination. Otherwise if you hit that yoke at different times with different degrees of force, it's going to hurt."

Sister Terry acknowledged that many girls want to help young men, and sometimes we really can make a difference. However, we are NOT to be their saviors. Referring to a man who is struggling, she said "He already has a savior. That person is not you."

What an incredible thought. I barely had time to think about the complete truth behind this and apply it to my own life before she hit me with her next statements about how it is absolutely unnecessary for a woman to risk her safety, happiness, and well-being to help a man who cannot or will not help himself.

Then, after flipping through memories in my mind fast enough to turn a 4G network connection into dial-up, she said this:

"The Lord will never sacrifice his daughters to save his sons."

Deep breath. Sincere prayer. Remember blessings. Apply lessons. Do this.

day 16...

a picture of someone who inspires me...


This is Ryan Eggett, choir director, teacher, and surrogate father-friend extraordinaire. He is the leader of the Latter-day Celebration choir that I have been singing with this past year. Every word that comes out of this man's mouth is either hilarious, inspiring, or a mix of both.

Sometimes he is a little intimidating. I guess it's mostly because he waits until he really knows you to be openly friendly. Brother Eggett's compliments really mean something, because he only says them if he sincerely means them. There have been a handful of occassions where he has told me something as simple as "well done" or "excellent". I felt like I was on top of the world!! The times when he said something to the same effect but with more words? Wow...those are the moments when you feel truly appreciated.

Brother Eggett is a true example of how people should act towards others. He admits his faults, but he is always trying to become better for them. He is honest, helpful, interested in the well-being of others, hard working, and always stands for what he believes in. He is a dedicated, loving father and husband. He loves people for what they are and not for what he thinks they should be. He has helped me in so many ways, and I am so grateful to call him a friend.

a taste of tour...

There is way too much to write about concerning choir tour. I've been trying to write it all down in a condensed version for a couple of weeks, but it's not working.


Can I just say that choir tour was beyond incredible? It was hard—some days I was so exhausted that I could barely function. That’s how everyone was at some point on tour. However, it was absolutely worth it. We met so many people. We played with kids at the high schools, we sang for them, and we definitely got them excited about Institute. We played with one another, too. From our Academy Awards night for tour videos to our family night when the parents came to our trip to Salt Lake, we had fun together. We really are like a family, and we definitely put the fun in dysfunctional. It’s the best ever!


Something else we did: we sang for each other. One of the most incredible moments we had on tour was on Thursday afternoon. Technically it was the last time all of us would sing together for an audience. It was just a small group of students and teachers who were in the building after school for a class, some of our leaders and faculty from the Institute, and the choir members. As we sang, the whole room was full of love and friendship. We were singing for each other. It was amazing. All of us were crying (or almost all of us). I was doing okay until I looked at the third years, the ones who have “graduated” from LDC. I realized that this was the last time we’d sing together, and I totally lost whatever composure I had managed to hang onto.


I love the people in LDC. They are my best friends. They’re my adopted brothers and sisters. Each one of them has an amazing story, and sets an amazing example for everyone that they meet. This has been one of the best (and hardest) years of my life, and it’s because of all of the wonderful people I’ve met through the choir. This summer has already been the longest I’ve ever had…and it hasn’t even been two weeks since choir ended! Thank goodness for our inability to stay away from each other—we keep having parties and planning things for the future. And thank goodness for the CD that we recorded!


I know that it isn’t really over. We’ll always be friends. What’s hard is that we won’t sing together anymore. I get to go back to the choir next year; I still have two years left. But my friends who are all finished and moving on with their lives? It’ll be weird not seeing them every single day and more. There are also a lot of first and second years that aren’t coming back; they’re moving on with their lives. Some are engaged, like Kenna and David, Daniel, and Lindsey. Some are just focusing more on school, like Erin. Others are taking a break, like Emilyann. I wonder what it will be like next year, with so many new faces and stories.

life is like a rock wall...

"No matter how stuck you feel, there is always a way to get to the top."

-my friend Julia

Yesterday morning I had the opportunity to go rock climbing with a girl who is quickly becoming a dear friend. She is in the LDC choir that I sing with, and she was also a senior in high school when I was a junior (I think).

When Julia asked me to go, I was so excited that she wanted me to hang out (haha!) with her that I didn't even realize I'd said yes to go rock climbing. It was only after I said I'd go that I remembered: I am deathly afraid of heights.

Julia has been climbing longer than I have. She usually goes about twice a week and has for nearly six months. Me? Yesterday was the first time I've gone in ten years. My dad took me because I really wanted to go, and he dropped me about six feet because there was too much slack in the rope. In short, I haven't been too fond of the sport in a long time.

Learning how to tie knots, put on harnesses, and belay was the easy part (kind of...it took me awhile to figure out). Climbing the first wall wasn't too hard either. It was the coming down that was the hardest part. That first climb scared me to death, and Aaron, the guy who was belaying me, had to coax me back down. His patience (and the fact that my arms were killing me) made it a lot easier. After that, I was super excited because I hadn't died! And it was actually really fun.

Now to the point of this post: there were a couple of times when I was climbing a particularly rough wall and had to stop to rest, or even come down. My fingers wouldn't grip the holds very well, and I was so tired. Once or twice I got stuck, and instead of staying up I just asked the person belaying me to let me down. The time that stuck with me, though, was when Julia was belaying me. I couldn't go up any higher, and she let me down. She asked me if I would belay for her, and started up the wall.

As Julia was climbing, she would stop and track out a path up the wall. Sometimes she would climb down a few feet, get her bearings, and then shoot ten feet up the wall in a few easy steps. She made it look so simple! I kept watching and waiting for her to get stuck or get too tired to keep going. Three times I thought she would stop and come back down, but she never did. It wasn't until she reached the very top of the wall and touched the bar holding the rope that she said she was ready to drop back down.

While she was slipping the ropes off of her harness, she smiled at me and said something that stuck with me all day and all night. "No matter how stuck you feel, there is always a way to get to the top."

I've thought about this a lot, how she took her time and made sure to take the right steps. Even if she had to double back a few feet and start again, she never stopped climbing until she made it to the top. To me, that's kind of how life is. No matter how hard it gets, or how stuck you may feel, there is always some way to get to the top of whatever problem you are facing. I'm really glad that Julia taught me that. It's something I always want to remember.

time machine...

"Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or...

learn from it."

-The Lion King, Rafiki

The brain is an amazing organ. It can do so many incredible things. It is so resilient, yet so flexible. The connections and functions are undoubtedly incredible, with so much detail and communication that it is mind blowing (sorry about that).

Something that the mind can do is forget. It can bury memories--painful moments, frightening experiences, embarrassing incidences, and so many others. But these things can only be buried so deeply; they have to surface eventually. They have to be faced and worked through. You cannot run from your past. No matter how fast you run, it will always catch up to you. Somehow, someday, somewhere, it will find you.

My past caught up with me today. I didn't really even know how hard I had tried to bury the experience until the reminder was staring me (almost literally) right in the face. The physical reaction was startling--heart racing, breath coming short and fast, muscles tense and ready. The emotional and mental reaction was even stranger--a wrenching inside, with flashbacks to the fear and anger and hurt, and the thoughts rushing over me--No, it can't be. I'll never see him again. Ever. It's the past. It can't find me. He can't find me. He's not supposed to be here.

In 9th grade, there was a boy. He was an odd person, and rather unliked because he was rude and "different". I didn't particularly care for him, but I was never cruel or unkind. I smiled at him, I waved at him, I offered him a seat at my friends' table in art class. He didn't accept, and I wasn't surprised. I noticed that he was often near me, and following me around the school. We had several classes together. After a while, his actions were less on the fringe of my life and more involved. He would shove me in the hallways, take my things, sabotage my homework projects (especially in art class), and do other things like that.

One day in Seminary (religion class), he damaged one of my assignments very badly. I got upset and told him firmly to leave me alone and to stop following me around. He got angry very quickly, and before I knew it I was shoved into the classroom wall. He struck me hard, and would have continued hurting me if the boys in my class hadn't intervened and pulled him off. I was crying and ashamed and hurt. I wanted to go home. I wanted my family.

My teacher sided with the boy in my class. He said that it was my actions that had caused the boy to do that to me. My teacher said I needed to be patient and loving and kind, because the young man was confused and alone and probably hurting. My teacher wouldn't let me leave, and he tried to make me apologize for antagonizing the boy.

My parents and the school administration took care of the problem. The boy was removed from all of the classes he had with me. My friends rallied around me and one of them (6' 4" tall 9th grade boy) spoke to the boy and said if he gave me any more trouble there would be serious consequences.

Then it was over. Done. I put it in a secret place in my mind, and pushed it away.

That boy is now a man. I know--I saw him today. All of the memories and feelings came rushing back. As I walked past him, it was like a slow motion moment in a film. I remembered everything, things I didn't even know I remembered. It was like going back in time to that day in junior high school.

I have never faced what happened. I have never let myself consciously analyze and work through that experience. I've never embraced it, but I've never let it go. I never faced it, until I literally faced it.

Fear is painful. Pain is painful. Anger is painful. Sadness is painful.

Change is painful, too.

what i learned...

char, over at ramblins, invited some of her readers to write a life lesson and share it with our own readers. I decided to accept the invitation. As I've thought about this lesson the past week, I've worried that people would find it trivial or insignificant. But I also realized that different things are hard for different people. Something that you have gone through might seem easier than my own trials. Something that I have gone through might seem easier to you. And I remembered something I said once. Quoting myself, "The smallest, tiniest, most insignificant things can break your heart because they weren't small, tiny, or insignificant to you."

We all suffer heartbreaks. They are different for us all. And that, friends, is how I will begin my lesson, of what I have learned:

I am what you would call a rather paranoid person. I constantly worry that I hurt others and drive them away from me. I'm afraid that I'll be abandoned. I'm afraid to abandon others, even when I know that their actions are unfair or harmful to me. This past year I have lost several friends, friends who I trusted and loved as much as my own family. One experience in particular comes to mind. During my junior year in high school, I befriended a young man who I had several classes with. Johnny* was a year older than me, but that didn't really seem to matter. We talked to one another frequently about the things we were struggling with, and he often told me that I helped him get through hard things.

Johnny helped me in many ways as well. When I faced similar trials, especially the feeling of worthlessness that rears up in my heart and mind, he talked to me and gave me advice. He never made me feel like I was stupid or mediocre. Yes, his honesty would on occasion be brutal, but I knew that he was saying such things as a friend. It wasn't to bring me down.

This young man meant a lot to me. I sort of adopted him as my older brother; I loved him for his courage in continuing forward despite his struggles with his family, his friends, and feeling that he was of no worth. I loved him for his intelligence and honesty. I loved him very much.

Johnny was in a lot of pain, emotionally and mentally. I remember staying up all night long talking to him on several occasions, and I would find myself crying silently as I listened to him. I wanted to help Johnny; he had entered a very severe depression. "There is no light anymore," he said, "There hasn't been for a very long time. I expect that for me, life will never be bright again, and I will be lost to the darkness forever." This frightened me. Johnny had done stupid things before and had talked about doing stupid things, and I was worried that he would make the greatest mistake of all.

I worked with him. I did what I could, in listening and accepting him the way he was. One night, I told him that I would always be there for him if he needed me. The conversation died for a few moments, and he answered saying, "I don't see how girls can do that. They're just there for people, despite the fact that they get hurt. You're like that. You will get hurt for it. And you, of all people in the world, I couldn't bear to hurt." He then said something that made me think for a few minutes, "You can't always be there for people. When they fail…if you've invested too much energy and time in a person who will disappoint you-don't make that mistake."

I was confused by this. How could I possibly invest too much time in a person? Did Johnny think he would disappoint me? I told him he couldn't disappoint me. He hadn't given up. He kept trying. Besides, I trusted him. I had from early into our friendship. I told him, and he replied, "You give your trust too easily."

I decided to ignore this. Give my trust too easily? Ridiculous! Johnny was my dear friend. I knew so much about him. He knew so much about me. I kept trying to help him. I talked to him. I talked to his family. I did everything that I could possibly think of without making him upset with me.

Early in November of last year, Johnny was lower than I had ever seen him. He truly seemed to be near giving up. I could think of nothing more to do, so I asked him a question. I asked, "Have I ever told you that I love you?"

There was no answer for a few minutes. I sat at the computer, scared to death that I had overstepped and made a huge mistake. Then came the answer, an answer that I have never forgotten. "You have never needed to. I've known since the beginning that you love me. You are the most sincere person I have ever met; for that I thank you. I know that you love me. And I hope you know that I love you, too."

The next afternoon I got on the computer to talk to him, as I had every evening for almost two months. He was gone. All traces of Johnny had disappeared. I tried to call, but there was no answer. I talked to his brother, who I went to school with, and he told me that he didn't know what was going on.

He really was gone. He hadn't done anything stupid, but he had detached himself from our friendship. We were, in fact, no longer friends. I was devastated. Johnny, who I had loved so much, and held such high regard for, was gone from my life. There were no more talks. No more phone calls. No more plans to do things and becoming too busy so planning for another day.

This really destroyed me. For days, weeks, and months, I thought about what I had done wrong. Had I truly overstepped in telling Johnny out loud that I loved him? Had I been wrong in becoming so close to him? What had I done to make him leave like that? Over and over again in my mind I analyzed our conversations and tried to figure out what my mistake had been. I was so down about this, and any mention or reminder of Johnny would send me over the edge. We went to a dance together junior year; I hid the flowers, I put away the pictures, and I stored the dress somewhere in the basement. I wanted to erase him from my life.

I saw Johnny in the spring. It had been months since he disappeared. I was so shocked, but my first reaction was to run, to run after him and catch him. I burst out of the building and yelled his name. He stopped, and turned around. Johnny's smile started, then faded, and slowly he held out his hands to me. I almost ran into his arms. All of the pain and fear was gone in that moment. I wasn't angry at him. I didn't feel any pain. I was just so happy to see him. I couldn't even believe it.

The conversation was awkward, but I didn't want him to leave. I knew that it would be back to the way it had been before. We said a quiet good-bye, and I had the feeling that I would never see him again. As I walked into the building alone, I began to cry. For a few moments, the pain had been gone. It returned even stronger than before. I was so confused, and felt so abandoned. I knew he was gone again, and there would be no chance for the friendship I had so cherished to be fixed.

Johnny's younger brother, Eric**, has become a friend of mine. We had a ballroom class together the last semester of the school year. He looks so much like Johnny, and he sounds like him, too. I was worried that Eric would think I was using him as a replacement for my Johnny. I talked to him about it one night. He told me that he had never thought that, and to stop worrying about Johnny's decision. I, however, couldn't stop worrying about it. Just last week, I was thinking about Johnny and feeling the pain of his leaving again. I decided I would talk to Eric; he always has very good advice. I didn't tell him what I was really bothered by. I told Eric that I feel that I constantly hurt people, and that the things I do push them away from me. "I've lost so many people I love this year," I told him, "And I don't understand what it is that I'm doing wrong."

Eric gave me a situation to think about. "Imagine that both of my parents died in a car accident last weekend. I am extremely distraught, and I shut myself off from the world. You try to approach me to say hello, just as you normally would. I don't respond. In fact, I cut you off from me. You have no idea what has happened, and I don't feel like telling you. Does that make my actions your fault? Have you done anything to hurt me, other than being yourself and being my friend, just as you always do?"

That really made me reflect on what happened with Johnny. This past week, as I was thinking about what Eric said to me, I have realized that I didn't really do anything wrong. I was honest. I was myself. I did everything that I had always done, since the beginning of my friendship with Johnny. Perhaps, as Eric said, this isn't my fault. Perhaps Johnny is at a time in his life where he has cut himself off from the world. Perhaps I didn't hurt him; perhaps I did nothing wrong. Eric's words, and my own search for answers, have helped me to see that perhaps things just happen. People handle trials and struggles in different ways. I won't say that I am 100% ready to trust someone again. I won't say that I'm not hurt. I won't say that I'm not afraid that I will be hurt again. But now I am finding that to forgive the person who hurts you, and to forgive yourself, are the two ways to find peace.

I have learned that people hurt each other. I have been very hurt multiple times this year by people I love; the experience with Johnny is just one of them. However, it is not my job to harbor guilt, resentment, fear, and pain. I do not need to constantly analyze my actions in a situation. I do not need to take all the blame. I am not to judge another, but I am to forgive. And I am also to forgive myself.

Life is a hard thing. We meet people, we keep people, we lose people. Perhaps there are people who come into our lives for a short time to teach us, and then they leave when they are no longer needed. Perhaps there are people who come into our lives for forever, and the lessons we learn from the short term people will strengthen our ability to keep the forever people. I have learned to love despite the fear. I have learned how to love despite the pain. I have learned to forgive. I haven't completely learned everything; I'll never stop learning. But I have a foundation now. Now, it is time to move forward.

*Name has been changed

**Name has been changed