blocked...

I've always found it silly and cliche to call myself a writer.

"Hi, I'm Sarah Anne -- a 20-something volunteer addict who checks out more books from the library than she can read in a month, stresses over everything you can possibly imagine and more, owns a dog, is engaged, and has a bunch of other things she should be doing but is probably watching Netflix instead.

Oh, and I'm also a writer."

It's always an afterthought. Almost a confession, like it's embarrassing to admit because I, like some others, hear people say, "I'm a writer" and immediately do a silent eye-roll while smiling enthusiastically, "Oh, are you ? That's great!" Never asking their genre or subject or storyline. Never offering help or the tidbit about being a 5-star writing tutor for over a year in college. Just the internal eye-roll and the smile.

Let's just say I've helped with far too many terrible writing projects of which the author was over-proud and overzealous.

So now that I have this confession -- I'm a bit embarrassed.

I. Am. A writer.

Like many self-conscious and conflicted students of words, I keep it to myself. Mostly. And, I go through long periods of inactivity. Days and weeks and months of time pass without setting a pen to paper or fingers to keys, because writing? Writing really well?

It's exhausting.

And the thing about writing and writing well is that when you know how to do it, and you've seen all of the ways people go wrong. . .well. You get even more blocked than you did before. You edit as you go -- instead of word vomiting all over the page and saying, "Hell yeah, that's a plot hole -- Ima fix it on the next round. Deal with it." You get paraylzed by the need for just the right word; just the perfect way of expressing all that stuff swirling around inside your head.

Justice is served with the perfect word.

Falling short. Because it's an injustice to the story and the feeling and the experience if the words aren't just right. That's the main thing for me. I can't find the perfect word, the just-right piecing together of the dictionary's tenants into a party that screams THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE ONE!

The sentence of the year. The story of the decade.

It's not that I want people to think that the story is perfect. It's that I want how I feel and think to be expressed perfectly -- for myself. So I can represent all of the twisting mess of feeling and strangeness taking place inside my head.

Why else would I be awake at 3am every night? Unable to sleep because images that need description plow through my mind with reckless speed. Yet, I can't find the words. "Play on!" says Shakespeare, "Play on!" Like an old VHS recording on fast forward, my static-filled mind joins with him -- play on!

But there is Hamlet, standing with his now iconic skull, posed as the Boy in Black. "To sleep -- perchance to dream."

Dreaming isn't the problem. It's sleeping that makes no sense to me.

Because words, words, words are the real issue. Which one to use, which to strike from existence, weighing the options of this one and that one. Literally keeping me up at night. Even the placement is cause for grief. Put it there? Or over there? A comma? A colon? I use that form of punctuation (the colon) and think of cancer every time. Probably because someone I know died of it a few months ago.

What I'd write about?

I'd write about dad's cancer.

I'd write about our cancer jokes.

I'd write about how when I make cancer jokes in public, few and far between people get offended, saying angrily "You shouldn't talk like that, it's offensive!" and I shrug and say, "Well, seeing as my dad is terminal, it's kind of how we deal with it"; and then they just sit there, quiet, like dad is dead instead of dying.

I'd write about my own kind of cancer, the flashbacks and post-traumatic stress disorder episodes; silent killers that come out of nowhere like a poisonous viper and strike when the sun is out and you're in love and then WHAM. The snake bites your ankle while you stare at it wondering why you didn't see the thing lying on the pavement.

Plenty of colons and commas and heres and theres to satisfy even the pickiest of word readers -- unless of course you're including me in the bunch.

Reading is easy. Writing, and those who can accomplish it -- now, that deserves all of the glory.

the me I was...

After a couple of hours spent trying to sleep, I've given up for the moment.

I keep thinking about who I used to be a few years (or even months) ago. In a lot of ways, I'm haunted by the image of the old me and wish desperately to go back to who that girl is. And at the same time, I'm just as disturbed by the pain I feel when I see all of the changes in my life.

The changes have been for good. I no longer starve myself. I no longer do a lot of things that were really quite bad for me. Yet I'm dissatisfied.

I look at myself in the mirror with contempt. I despise what I see -- the thickened waistline, the fuller hips and breasts, the presence of more me everywhere. I hate that.

I feel like I've completely lost control -- I can't go without eating anymore. I get so sick when I don't, most likely because of the years I spent keeping myself to under 1,000 calories per day, if I made it even close to that. I see pictures of myself from just last year and compare them to how I look now, and I want to cry.

I want to cry because I'm "not skinny."

How stupid is that? How ridiculous is it that I berate myself for every thing I put inside my mouth? Even as my brain says that I need to eat, and that eating is good for me, my brain also screams to stop because I'm FAT.

My diet isn't bad. I eat a lot of good foods, and I go for walks several times a day. That's about all I can do right now, as my body still gets worn out very quickly. I'm not complaining -- there have been times when all I could do was lie in bed and pray that the pain would go away. Walking is a joy. The pain I experience after a long walk is worth it, because I'm walking. And not a slow stroll walk either, but actually walking to have some sort of activity in my life.

Despite it all, my pants still get tighter. My shirts aren't baggy. There is more of me than there has been in years, and I have to force myself out of a panic when I feel myself starting to get hungry (also a new development -- in the past five years, I forgot how to feel hungry). I have to make myself be calm and remind my brain that if I don't eat, I'll get sicker.

I miss the old me. I know it's stupid. I know it's wrong. I know that weight isn't the important thing.

But I don't believe it. And I wish that I could go back.

furry friends...

I might have a slight obsession with Build-a-Bear teddies. I mean, it's not like I have a billion of them. This morning, though, I did notice that I have more than two.

At my parents' house, I have Cowboy (a black lab), Charlene (a cream teddy), and Sonya (a cheetah). They now live in the box in the corner with my other stuffed animals. Yes, I did cry when I put them all away.

Captain Abearica, Princess, Adi Bear, Buddy (from Ikea), April, and Desear all sleep on my bed with me. Desear is the newest member of the family. Her name means 'to wish' in Spanish. Basically, she's the my-boyfriend-broke-up-with-me bear. That and she's adorable. I mean, look.

She's pink, purple, and light blue. Like cotton candy colors. Plus her fur is so incredibly soft. And she has a fairy dress. How could I say no?

Oh, I could have easily said no. I'm totally rationalizing in the dumbest ways possible to cover up for my 'I HAVE TO HAVE IT' moment when I saw her. Kind of like with my other bears (or bunnies).

Bad, bad.

Moving back to my parents' home might be a good thing, because I won't get pushed out of the full bed like I do the twin here at my house.

I's beary happy to have my new friend.

the Hub...

I spend a lot of time in my kitchen. Yes, I do the obvious things, like cook. This kitchen will forever be in my memory as "the place where I taught myself to make good food." So far even my mistakes have been successful -- like the sweet and tangy meatball sauce I made in the crock pot? Waaaaaay too much chili sauce, but it turned out quite well.

I clean a lot, too. Some friends say I clean so much that it's nigh unto an obsession. You know what, though? I like it clean. After all, since I do spend a lot of time cooking, I want to have a clean place to work. I also am haunted by the memory from when I worked on a custodial team at a middle school, and we were allowed to borrow a bacteria counter thing-a-ma-jig from an inspector. Our toilet seats had less bacteria on them than the school cafeteria tabletops. Oh. My. SICK.

Did I ever tell you that I dance in my kitchen? YouTube and Pandora are my friends. So is Justin Bieber. He hangs out with me a lot. Gives me tips on my moves. Actually, he doesn't, and I'm glad he can't see me dance because he'd probably laugh. I mean, once upon a time I was dancing in my bedroom when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I stopped because I was embarrassed for myself. No mirrors in the kitchen!

Talking on the phone happens a lot here, too. I'm not generally one to sit in normal places, like on a chair or the couch or in bed, while on the phone. I find myself huddled in corners, perched on the banister, sprawled on the bar over the sink, seated on the closed toilet while fixing my nails, under the table -- my favorite place is the subtle nook-ish spot by the dishwasher. Or leaning against the fridge. Don't ask my why all of those places are appealing. It's weird. I know.

Studying, writing, and stalking keeping up with friends through the Internet are frequent occurrences, too (do you ever have words that you just cannot seem to spell correctly ever? occurrences -- took me three times to get it right. rhythm is the other one I can never seem to get right). Facebook, Pinterest, gMail, Blogger...you name it. Except Twitter. Boring. They don't even have a like button.

There are a lot of good talks in my kitchen. Lots of hilarious jokes, stories about people's lives, insights into personalities, confessions, ideas, advice. Shared experiences, usually between myself and one other person. Sometimes we share food, too, but the sharing of laughter, experiences, and trust are even better.

I talk to myself, too. What? Why are you looking me like that's weird? Because if you know me, you also know that I talk to myself. And you also know that I'm weird. But it's cool! We talked about talking to ourselves in my Anthropology language class. It's healthy. Unless, you know. You're actually crazy. I have a lot of good conversations with myself. Working out problems I can't solve silently, walking myself through recipes, making myself laugh (I'm funny). Singing, too. Singing happens here.

Tears fall here, too. Sometimes there's a reason for them. Other times they just fall.

Mary Wixom said that the "kitchen is the hub of the home." It's the heart of the bustle and commotion of life. It's where people meet after their busy days -- coming in from their spokes on the family wheel and settling in the center, the Hub. It's where we talk and share our experiences. It's where we slow down for a little while, taking a few moments to notice that we're not just getting things done and running around crazy. We're living.

don't do drugs...

One year ago, the family practitioner at the clinic handed me a prescription and said, "This is for you to use only when necessary." I read the information on the paper and didn't understand most of it (nor could I read it -- doctor handwriting). After dropping it off at the pharmacy and waiting for an hour, I received a white bag with a little bottle inside of it. When I pulled the bottle out and read the label, I was surprised to see that the pills were none other than the prescription pain medication Lortab.

In the past  year, I have only used the Lortab twice. Both times were when I honestly could not function due to the pain I was experiencing. There have been times when I was tempted to use it because my body hurt so much, but I was always able to tell myself, "It could be worse, you know. It's not really necessary at the moment."

That's what I kept telling myself yesterday, from the moment I awoke at 6am due to the pain radiating through my whole body. As the day progressed and after taking as much Ibuprofen as I could without poisoning myself, I couldn't take it anymore. 

Honestly, I don't remember much of what happened yesterday. I vaguely recall agreeing to go swimming with a friend next Monday morning on Labor Day -- at least, I think that I did. And I also vaguely remember my sister coming over to have lunch with me. And I vaguely remember someone walking on the roof of my house (they were speaking Spanish, so I think they were the roofers the complex owners hired to patch holes in the tiles). Other than that I only remember feeling like I had television static in my brain and snowflakes in front of my eyes. 

Usually when I've taken Lortab, it puts me to sleep for 12 to 14 hours. This time I didn't feel particularly tired. It was weird. It's weird today, too. I'm feeling a bit hungover. Granted, I've never actually been hungover so I don't really know what it's like, but this is just bizarre. My head is still fuzzy, my stomach hurts, and I have to focus really hard on whatever I'm doing or I cannot figure out what's going on. Not to mention driving was a terrifying experience. Hey, you do what you gotta do. Good thing it was only a 2 minute drive to work and 2 minutes back. I didn't go grocery shopping, so I was mostly smart.

The pain hasn't gone away, either. The Lortab numbed everything very well for about three hours yesterday, but then it stopped working. Fuzzy brain and seizing muscles were not pleasant. Still isn't pleasant! 

Dad told me not to take the Lortab again for awhile because "that stuff can be very addicting." To which I reply, are you serious? Why on earth would anyone want to feel like that all the time? It's absolutely miserable! It's been over 24 hours since I first took the pill and I still feel awful. It boggles my mind that anyone would voluntarily seek out a drug that makes one so very...fuzzy (it's really the only word that I can think of that describes the way this feels).

I'd be a terrible drug addict. I get very tired of the side effects and never want to take the stuff again. It helped for a little while -- it was so great to not hurt for a few hours. I'm kind of rethinking the necessity of the pain killer though. I'd almost rather deal with the pain than take the drug. The after effects suck.

As a side note, I feel so anxious all of the sudden. Really insecure and kind of freaking out, but I don't know why. Actually, it's almost funny -- the wind is blowing and whistling around my house, and I keep jumping at noises and stuff (like that's new?). Alternately jittery and sluggish. 

Don't do drugs. They screw you up. Even if they appear necessary, I'm thinking that my original philosophy is the better way to go: whenever possible, do not take pills. Medication doesn't solve your problems!

i like the friend zone...

I've been in frequent correspondence with Sister Raddatz. Because I'm busy working and she's busy being a mom, it's easier for all parties involved to schedule adventures and to communicate through email. The other day she was asking me about my dating life, and I told her that I don't date. I have a couple of close guy friends (both of them being her sons) and one very close guy friend, but other than that I don't go out of my way to associate with any other men. Sure, I have a lot of male coworkers at the writing center who are great people, but they're coworkers -- not to mention I'm not interested in them anyway. Great kids -- weird though.

I mentioned to Sister Raddatz that one of my friends and I had joked about going to Las Vegas for my 21st birthday. Somehow (it was probably my fault) we started laughing about getting married there -- just one of those stupid things that happens in a conversation about a guy and a girl going to Vegas together, you know? Eventually I told him that I didn't want to get married anyway, one reason being that neither of us would have temple recommends and that, frankly, I believe that we might kill each other. He said that he could see the temple recommend thing being an issue, but no -- we wouldn't kill each other. 

Sister Raddatz said that she's heard that there is a little bit of truth in every conversation. I laughed and told her that it was all just fun. "Besides that," I said, "there is no way that I am getting married at 21."

A couple of days later, she said she'd been thinking about that, and she had a question. "Why don't you want to get married at 21?"

This question has come up a lot for me lately, not in relation to age, but just "What don't you want to get married?" Adding the 21 onto the end has made me think a lot about the reasons why I don't want to get married. I guess it's because 21 is an age that isn't very far distant for me anymore. Somehow in my imagination I went from being 18 to 23 -- I forgot that 19, 20, 21, and 22 are in the middle there. That's 1,460 days that I just jumped over in imagining the way my life was going to be. So much for a five year plan...I forgot about four years in there!

Anyway. So, in general, why do I not want to get married at 21?

First of all, in order to get married in the next year, I'd have to either meet someone really soon or see a current friendship move from "friend zone" to "together zone" to "fiance zone" to (eek) "together for eternity zone." That would be super, super fast. If I know him already, sure, it might not be so bad -- date for a few months, see if it works out, and bam! Game over, life begins! But if I don't know him -- that would be an even faster relationship progression because I don't already know him.

Second, 21 is so very young. SO very young. It looks super old when you're 14, but once you're watching it approach you, you realize how very not-grown-up you really are.

Those are the main reasons that I've come up with to answer the question "Why do you not want to get married at 21?" Now for the other question: "Why don't you want to get married?" Or, to make some readers happy, why don't I want to get married yet.

In my opinion, I don't know enough about life and love to get married (yet). I don't know enough about people. There are so many things I don't know, and so many things that I haven't experienced that would be very difficult to do if I were married (like an internship in D.C. or a mission as a single sister). I also have realized that I am terrified of commitment. I can commit my heart no problem! I'm loyal to a fault, and if I love someone (be it a family member, friend, potential more-than-friend), there is very little that will keep me from staying absolutely, 100% committed to our relationship. 

It's committing everything else -- time, space, mind, body, all of me -- to someone that scares me. It's having someone know everything about me -- my fears, my desires, my weaknesses, my selfishness, my insecurities -- and if it turns out that he can't handle me, then what? When do you reach the point that you know enough about each other that you want to spend eternity together, through the good and the bad? Perhaps I lack faith, or I don't understand people well enough, but I don't see anyone wanting to stay with me.

It's the eternal aspect of that commitment -- it's the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, the everything of a relationship -- that terrifies me. I know that I can stick things out with someone. I've done it time and again, once to the point that I allowed myself to be manipulated and hurt emotionally and physically because I loved that person with all of my heart. I went through hell for that boy, and for a couple of others, too. Not that I want to put anyone through hell, but will someone stick it out with me when it gets hard?

It's the fear that things will fall apart, leaving nothing but pain and broken trust. To get married, you have to date someone and get engaged first. There's always the chance that things will get ruined. I know there's always a risk, and that it's better to risk than to never have a chance at loving someone. I don't know if I can handle that right now. I don't want to ruin perfectly good friendships and be left missing someone I could have had as a friend forever if I had been willing to keep things friendly.

For example. I would love to have someone to talk to and spend time with and take care of and love, but I don't want to. Though I know that I am willing to make most of the sacrifices necessary to be in a relationship, the idea of dating anyone scares me to death. Sure, there are a couple of guys who I absolutely love spending time with. I enjoy their company, and enjoy them as people. But because we're not "together," there can be that friendly space between talks and visits and no one feels like their needs aren't being met. I don't feel stuck. Stuck is a horrible word to use in describing any kind of relationship, I know, but it's the only word that really works for how I feel when considering a relationship. I don't feel stuck when I'm best friends with a guy (even if the feelings of friendship start becoming more). But thinking about dating brings on this almost panicked, trapped feeling (not to mention nausea and butterflies).

I don't know why that is. I know that there's a lot (and I mean a lot) of fear involved. Fear of rejection, fear of pain, fear of broken trust, fear of having something absolutely fantastic and then watching it fall apart, etc. And I think I'm just not emotionally mature enough to handle it. There are so many things I still don't know about people. Right now I'm perfectly happy being best friends with guys who I can be close to without fear of being hurt or annoying them -- if we're "just friends" then we have nothing to lose! 

I wonder if it's more that I'm afraid no one will love me enough, or if I'm afraid that I won't be able to love him fully because I'll always be waiting for things to fall apart. I wonder if I'm afraid that things will actually work out, and then out of nowhere it'll come crashing down. 

It's silly and childish, but it's where I am right now. Today, I believe that 21 is definitely not a great age for me to get married. Who knows, I could be wrong. I could meet someone or a friend could convince me that the friend zone is boring, and somehow I end up with a ring and a temple date. From where I'm sitting now, it doesn't seem like a possibility. Mostly because I'm afraid. I feel comfortable being single. I like being single. I also like being close to someone. I haven't let myself think about which I like more -- for one, I don't have anyone in my life who would consider dating me and for another, why dwell on something that you can't have right now?

sides of me...

The me I've been is a happy me. She's still an introvert, but she reaches out and tries making friends. She learns new things and goes new places. She smiles, even when she's sad. She can focus on the task at hand, or the person talking, or the idea she's rolling around in her head. She reads and cooks and talks and laughs. She doesn't worry as much as before. She takes pictures and writes, goes adventuring and plays just as much as she works.

The me I'm becoming isn't a happy me. She's reverting to the sad, shy, quiet, lonely, afraid person of a year ago. She stays home because she doesn't want to go out, because she doesn't want people. She frowns more than she smiles. She gets sidetracked easily, choosing to spend time on the Internet, rather than exploring the world around her. She still reads and cooks, but the reading is out of habit and the cooking is out of necessity, not enjoyment. She talks a little, and laughs less. She worries a lot. She doesn't take pictures, and she has to force herself to write, living from bedtime to wake time to bedtime again.

I feel like I can't be the me I want to be anymore. I'm trapped in this "not me," uncomfortable, unsure, unwanted in my own head. Or not "not me," but an "other me." I don't like this other me that's resurfacing, this sad and sullen and negative me. I don't know how to get rid of her -- she keeps coming back, year after year after year. But how can you get rid of what you are?

Both girls are me. Both are insecure, but one is able to cope with it more than the other. Both like to be alone, but one is alone because it helps her be happy, while the other is alone because you can't get hurt if you're alone. Both want to love, but one does so willingly and the other holds back. Both live, but one lives well and the other survives.

While on Pinterest today, I read a saying which stated that in order to be the best you, you must first accept all the things about yourself -- the good and the bad. Strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices; all parts of yourself need to be taken into consideration to be the best you.

I don't really want to accept the unhappy me. I just want her to go away and never come back -- it hurts to feel so down, and it's heavy and lonely and confusing. It isn't even rational -- but what I feel is hard to logic back into happiness. I know the things I'm feeling, but I don't know why. And all of the reasons I've come up with don't make sense. My life is good. It's better than good, to be honest -- it's great. Dad is doing well, Callie is doing better, I have great friends, my bills aren't a problem, my school is working out just fine, I have two good jobs, I'll have a room mate for sure in the fall, the room mate I have now is a doll, I have a good family, my car works, my body mostly works, I'm not starving -- I know all of these things, but I still feel so sad.

How do you accept what you are when you can't stand yourself? When you can't stand the way that you feel, and no matter how hard you pray and study and try every day to be grateful for the good in your life, you are constantly uncomfortable in your own skin, and even worse, your own mind?

nausea...

There are some topics that raise feelings of nausea in me. It's the real psychological deal: dizziness, blurry vision, headaches, and the uncomfortable twisting of my insides. Topics like getting shots (ugh), entrance exams, spinning rides at carnivals, looking for work -- those are a few that are on the list. One, however, is the mother of all nausea-makers. That topic is marriage.

It comes up all the time in my life these days. My sisters talk about it. My parents talk about it. My friends talk about it. My professors talk about it. Mostly it's my sisters and parents. Meghan and Amanda have detailed lists of what they want in a husband -- they even have specific boys that they've got their eyes on (and are quietly waiting for while these boys go on missions). My parents have specific boys that they like, and often praise these boys in front of me. In every family council or meeting in which we discuss future events and expenses, mom and dad look at me and say casually, "Now, we also need to remember that somebody could get engaged in the next year." Shortly after, the list is again discussed in detail, and I sit there feeling small and awkward and preparing myself for a dash out of the room in case my stomach decides it can't handle things anymore.

First off: I have nothing against marriage. I think it's a wonderful, amazing, good thing. I'm not ragging on the institution itself. For most people, it's great! But only great at the right time, in the right place, with the right people, by the right authority. Today, tomorrow, and at least through next week (if not longer), it's not right for me.

Where I am in my life, the discussion of marriage only arouses feelings of horror, terror, and nausea. Even right now, it just makes me feel like I do after I've been driving for a long time: sick.

I don't like feeling pressured to marry. I don't like having lists of names passed under my nose for examination, especially when I can see that the names on the lists would be good choices, though ones hopelessly out of my reach.

Perhaps there are people who think I'm being silly and ridiculous. That could be the case. I am being honest when I say that marriage, as wonderful as it is for other people, is not wonderful for me at the present time. I mean, heck. There aren't even any potentials in my life! Honestly, I don't want any potentials right now. I just want to be as I am. I actually like this single me (yes, it's true, even if some of you don't believe me). Right now it feels most important that I focus on the things that I can control, like my schooling and employment. Sure, I'll go out with a guy if he asks me. Until then, though, I won't be looking for potentials. Some things are better left alone. After all, it's often been said that love finds you when you least expect it. And I am okay with that, particularly if it means I won't feel sick. Or as sick...you never know, right?

what's important...

I hate to admit that I've blown people off because I didn't feel like getting involved. There have been days where I've noticed someone was sad or upset and I just offered a casual, "You okay?" without really expecting an honest answer. And they responded with the socially acceptable, and often expected, "Doing good," even if they're not. Often times a follow up question of "Are you sure?" is met with the reply "I'm fine, just tired." Those are answers I'm totally okay with. Most people are, I think. After all, it's a rather scripted conversation:

"Hi, how are you?"
"Good, you?"
"Good."
"Good!"
*insert smiley faces...*

It occurs every day in my life at least twice, be it me asking or someone asking me. But do I even really care? I'd like to say that I do, but sometimes...it just pops out of my mouth before I even think about what might happen if the other person deviates from the script. Does the other person care how I'm doing? Maybe he/she is thinking the same things that I am.

Or are we just conforming to an expectation that doesn't really mean much anymore because it is so prominent -- so expected?

Realizing how frequently I blow people off is a little surprising. What's not surprising is that I didn't start thinking about it until I noticed how often I'm blown off by the people who I believe should be the most interested in my life. And then I get to thinking...how many times do I blow off those people who should be the most important to me?

That's not a good thing. I'm especially feeling it now, that it isn't a good thing. Blowing people off or accepting the generic, almost automated "I'm fine" response isn't always what is needed. Yes, we're all busy. I'm busier than I've been in a long time. However, that doesn't mean I should use my crazy schedule as an excuse. Homework is important, work is important, church is important, a lot of things are important. It is PEOPLE, though, who are the MOST important.

Perhaps it doesn't need to be a long, lengthy, soul-bearing conversation. Maybe all somebody needs is a big hug, or a short note, or a question posed in a way that shows the sincerity behind the asker's query. Maybe the answer will still be "I'm fine, just tired," but at least the person knows that somebody is interested. The person will know that if ever the answer becomes deeper than the expected, it's okay. Somebody out there will put aside his or her own cares and listen for a few minutes. Because sometimes all you need is someone to listen.

5/4 forever...

The more I branch out, the more I find that there is some sort of holiday for almost everything imaginable. There's National Chocolate Day, National Princess Week, Pi Day, even a National Repeat Day (June 3. I'm looking forward to it). Some holidays are weird, some are lame, but they all give a reason for celebration. And, every once in awhile, you've just got to celebrate your inner awesomeness.

Aaaaand out comes the closet nerd. Hipster glasses and all. Which are really just 3-D glasses that I punched the lenses out of because, really? Who pays $20 for a pair of glasses with no lenses?

May the Fourth be with you. Alwayth.

have you ever...

...have you ever wanted someone to get mad at you? wanted someone to yell and scream at you until you started sobbing because maybe, just maybe, you'd have a reason to feel the way that you do?
...have you ever had a strange and ridiculous urge to be and do things you'd never be or do? like tell the person being rude that he is being a total jerk, or shout at someone to shut up, or be an absolute brat to someone who hurt your feelings so that they'd know how it feels? like go out and get drunk, or max out a credit card, or drop out of school for good, or get in trouble with the law?
...have you ever put down whatever you were holding out of fear that you might snap and throw it across the room?
...have you ever bit your tongue so hard to keep from speaking your mind that you actually hurt yourself?
...have you ever regretted something so much that the memory of it sends you spiraling into self disgust? so much regret that you want to stay away from all people?
...have you ever made a mistake but were too proud to admit it? made a mistake that really wasn't a big deal but it eats at you and makes your heart hurt?
...have you ever ached for someone, anyone, to hold you and just let you cry? to see past the "I'm fine" and the "everything's great!" and allow you to be honest for a little while?
...have you ever had someone see past the "I'm fine" and it scares you to death? makes you feel absolutely vulnerable and self-centered because your front slipped, the focus landed on you, and not on the other person?
...have you ever had conflicting, contradicting desires?
...have you ever felt so weighed down and so alone that you can barely face getting out of bed in the morning?
...have you ever been hit in the face with your smallness and insignificance?
...have you ever fought for something with all of your might, mind, and strength and lost it anyway? fought a quiet fight in your mind or your heart and are criticized because there is no obvious growth or change?
...have you ever realized how proud, selfish, ungrateful, and unkind you actually are? realized that so much of you is a mask put in place every morning to cover up what you're really like on the inside?
...have you ever tried letting go but worry that in the letting go, you'll lose a part of who you are?
...have you ever wished? prayed? hoped?
...have you ever kept a secret out of fear of a person's reaction to the knowledge or feeling you're holding back?
...have you ever needed to talk about something but kept it back because you were afraid of burdening someone with what you need to say?
...have you ever debated between going on and giving up?

door mat...

Some of you may know my middle name and think it fits rather well. Others know what I say it is and disagree with it. And others have no clue what it is.

Well. I will tell you.

Hi, my name is Georgie, and though the initial in the middle of my name is "K" my real middle name is Door Mat.

Don't believe me? You should believe me, because it is very much true. Try as I might to change that middle name, it takes time and money and knowledge, none of which I have at the moment (or in any upcoming moments, it looks like).

A lot of people walk all over me. Granted, not everyone does, but enough that it hurts and gets old. It doesn't always start out that way -- a lot of friendships have started out with mutual give and take. Then I start to notice that I'm the one doing most of (in some cases all of) the giving and getting little back. The more I notice it, the more afraid I get, and the more I begin to pull away. I give less because I get scared of being hurt more -- I put on a face of indifference when in reality it hurts, but I don't know what to do or say to fix it. Maybe it's because I expect too much of others. Maybe it's because I'm "loyal to a fault" and any little deviation from what I consider loyalty is painful for me, but it doesn't even cross the other person's mind as an issue. I don't know how to talk about it, though. Conflict, potential conflict, whatever of any kind is literally the stuff of nightmares for me. I hate it.

It's not fun being a door mat. It's not fun trying to stick up for yourself, either. When you do try, people are so used to you just laying down and saying "Here, step on me, and don't forget to wipe your feet on my face -- the carpet is more important, and the shine of soles of your shoes is just absolutely imperative" that they don't take a "No" or an "I don't want to" or an "I have an idea" seriously. Sometimes I wonder if people don't think a door mat person can even come up with anything close to the definition of an idea -- door mats can't think. They're simply there to be walked over and to scrape the mud off of the bottom of your shoes.

I wish I weren't so afraid to say what I want. I wish I weren't so scared of offending someone or coming across as bossy and controlling. I don't want to be bossy and controlling. Neither do I want to be ignored or have what I want pushed aside -- or have people think that I really don't want anything. I'm the girl who just does what others want -- I watch movies I don't feel comfortable watching, I do activities I don't want to do, I eat food I don't like, I do things that make me extremely anxious or that bore me, I say things that I really don't believe, I don't say anything if it disagrees with a friend's opinion or belief -- I just do what I'm told. Any little fight I put up generally gets ignored anyway, so I give up pretty easily.

Finding a balance between outright rude or bossy and being a door mat is so hard for me. I hate anything remotely close to conflict. Unfortunately, that makes me very good at the cold shoulder. I'm so afraid of a fight or an argument that I just shut down, pull back, and avoid people that I feel anxious about. That's no good, either. It's just as hurtful, if not more so, than simply piping up and saying, "Um, excuse me, but would you please take into consideration my feelings, rather than only thinking about what you want? Yeah, thanks. I'd appreciate it."

alone...

This is going to sound really, really ridiculous but...

I feel forgotten.
Not by everyone. But by a lot of friends who I care deeply about and who told me they'd be there for me and they haven't been. Which is stupid because I should just be grateful for the people who are consistently there. All the same, I feel somewhat abandoned.

It's very, very hard to keep in touch with people who never reply.

It's very, very hard to be the one who makes the attempt to say hello or plan something, especially when that attempt is rejected, seen as insincere, or blown off because someone didn't think I was serious. Or when someone said they would come and then forgot or scheduled something else.

It's very hard to realize that people might not care about you as much as you care about them.

It's very hard to wake up every day knowing that somewhere your friends are together and you're alone.

It's very hard to be shut down every time you try to do something nice for someone, be it a family member, a friend, or even a stranger.

It's very hard to be the one people tell all of their struggles to when you personally have no one to go to. Why no one to go to? Because they already told you the hard things going on in their lives. You can't add to it -- that would be unkind.

It's very hard to put on a happy face in front of your best friends and your family so that they don't worry about you. After all, it's easier to smile than explain why you feel the way that you do. Especially when the way that you feel stems from selfishness.

All of this is selfishness. And I don't know how to change it. I'm reading books, I'm taking classes, I'm doing the best I know how to become a better person. I'm praying and begging God to help me change, to expect less or even nothing from others, to rely on myself and His guidance for happiness.

It's just really hard to be happy when you feel so very alone. And it's really hard to be happy when you know you have a problem that you don't know how to change.

well. I'm a jerk...

"What happens to me when I'm provoked is that I get tongue-tied and my mind goes blank. Then, then I spend all night tossing and turning trying to figure out what I should have said."

"...I must warn you that when you finally have the pleasure of saying the thing you mean to say at the moment you mean to say it, remorse inevitably follows."

-Kathleen Kelly and Joe Fox, You've Got Mail

Have you ever been so sick and tired of hearing the same sort of comment regarding the same things in your life that you accidentally let slip a rather unkind, judgemental blurt of your own? Well. I did tonight. Now I feel absolutely terrible for it.

I went to a Sunday dinner for previous and present LDC members at Preston's apartment tonight. It was to celebrate Cinco de Mayo in February...not sure how that works but I was totally up for it. How could I miss a chance to see my buddies? After spending an hour (I kid you not, an hour) trying to find the place and getting horribly lost I got there half an hour late. I walked in the door and was engulfed in hugs. Then the questions started, "How do you like school?" "Why did you leave the choir?!" "What's going on your life now?" and the like. Feeling frazzled after being lost for an hour and then arriving so late (I hate being late) I answered them as quickly as I could, gradually getting back into the swing of the loud, happy LDC crowd.

One of the girls asked me why I went to BYU. I told her about the program I'm going into, American Studies. She asked me what I was going to do with the degree, and I told her I was going to use it as a background for a Master's Degree in Library Science or Museum Curatorship. Out of nowhere, the guy sitting next to her threw his hands up in the air and said, "I can't believe how many girls are getting Master's Degrees! What a waste, it makes me sick!"

What I should have done was ignore him, but no. No, I couldn't do that. Immediately my frustrations rose to the surface. It was the same sort of ignorant, belittling, small-minded, sexist comment I had been faced with for months and months. 8 out of 10 times (not exaggerating -- It happens ALL the time) my goals and dreams come up in a conversation, some man thinks it necessary to pop off, always basing value on gender. I can do just as much as a man can! I'm just as capable and intelligent! Up until this point I have always, always ignored them or changed the subject, then vented to a friend or a family member, or written it down and slammed the book shut. But tonight I was done with it.

Before I even thought I replied, "Wow. I don't like you already and I don't even know you."

Um...jerk much? Yeah. How do you recover from that kind of rudeness? We didn't even know each others' names. The look on his face...he was definitely shocked. I didn't dare look at my friends' faces to see their reactions.

And so, the past few hours have been spent replaying the situation again and again in my head, mentally berating myself for my stupidity. If I'd just kept my mouth shut, for crying out loud. Nope. Jerk. *facepalm*

little reminders...

I've been feeling very lonely lately. It's been so, so hard to leave LDC. I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed that I've been back in the choir. It always starts out just like it used to be, all of my dear friends there yelling across the room to one another, laughing and giving Mike fits trying to get them to calm down. And then they start to sing, and I don't know any of the songs. I don't know the notes or the words. Brother Eggett ends up kicking me out, telling me not to come back.

I can't tell you how many times I've cried myself to sleep this semester, if I've even slept at all. The transition hasn't been terribly difficult, but difficult enough that it isn't easy.

Tonight I was feeling sorry for myself, stressing out about my Statistics exam tomorrow and a paper that's due, and wishing with all my heart that somebody would think of me. I was feeling alone and forgotten, because so many times I've tried to keep in touch with people and have received no reply.

I was frustrated and feeling downright left behind, even though I was aware of the people who I do have in my life. So then I started to feel bad because I'm a selfish brat. Then I started to think of ways I could continue to let people know I care about them...and then I realized that I don't have a lot of time to do that anymore, and the things I have done lately have always ended with silence from the other end.

Then, out of the blue, one of the LDC boys, Jeff, sent me a text inviting me to his birthday party. He said it wouldn't be a big deal, just a few friends hanging out at his place. For me, though, it was a huge deal. He probably will never know how much I appreciated it. I literally dumped my homework on the floor, got re-dressed, and rushed out the door without putting on any make-up whatsoever because I was so excited. It was only an hour, but seeing a few of those dear people was absolutely wonderful. And hugs! So many hugs.

A couple of hours later, I received another text message from an LDC girl, Allie, who I love with all my heart. I read the message and felt two things: heartbreak that I can't be in the choir anymore and complete gratitude that she had thought of me. She probably has no idea how much that means to me right now, for someone to think of me. It's amazing how something as simple as a kind word can help you to find the courage to keep moving forward.

To you two wonderful people: thank you. You were both answers to prayer.

not so sure...

I am a very small, rather insignificant part of this world. What I think and say probably don't matter much to anyone. Especially when it comes to questions about the great plan of life. It's been on my mind a lot lately, the Lord's plan. So many things make me wonder. Wondering about what God is doing is kind of pointless though. He's going to continue doing what He does no matter what my small objections or questions may be. Still, I ask. Rhetorically, of course. I don't expect an answer. Even though I'd like one.

I've been thinking a lot about how the world is today. How society is. The more I think, the more I realize that there are so many things that I don't know. That I don't understand.

I don't understand

...why some people have so much and most have so little.
...the lack of compassion in society.
...why there is so much pain and destruction.
...why people actually choose to hurt others.
...why people cheat and lie and steal and injure and kill.
...the thinking behind using other people or abusing other people.
...how a desire for power can cause an utter lack of humanity.
...the disregard for common courtesy and individual decency.
...why awful, ugly things are considered entertaining.

But the biggest thing I don't understand is why God lets someone hurt someone else. I don't understand it at all. Yes, I know about agency and that if God were to take away a person's agency He would be going against His own laws. If He did that, He would no longer be God. But it still bothers me that an all-powerful, omniscient being would stand by and let terrible things happen. As I've been thinking about it a lot, I can kind of understand the people who say, "I don't believe in God. If there were a God, bad things wouldn't happen. I can't believe in a God who would let so much suffering occur."

I'm not saying I don't believe in God. I've seen and learned and experienced too much to go back on that. I am saying that I can see their point. Even for me it's a hard thing to swallow.

It's probably wrong for me to be bothered. I know that the Lord allowed for an Atonement to provide healing for those who have been hurt or taken advantage of. It isn't just for the perpetrators. It's for the victims, too. But why are there victims at all? Again, back to agency. One of the main laws.

This all stemmed from a commercial I saw for a movie. The whole thing was just awful. There was destruction and violence and anger and pain. The world was literally falling apart. For a moment it was as though I saw the future on the screen. It terrified me, so much so that I started to cry.

Because isn't that what is going to happen? Wars and rumors of wars; secret combinations and not so secret ones; fires and earthquakes and storms and droughts; illnesses; pain and suffering everywhere. It is happening, right now, all over the world. And it scares me to death. People are being hurt everywhere. More people are going to get hurt. And I hate that. I hate it so much that it makes me want to yell at God like I would yell at my dad if he weren't stopping someone from hurting my sister. WHY?! I want to scream. Don't you even CARE?! You say that you do. Prove it!

But who am I to do that? It's wrong to be angry with God. After all, He does know what He is doing. I may not understand what it is right now, but it will all be made right. He's promised it will be. It just frightens me and it makes me so angry that people get hurt, people who have no control over their situations and are just written off as "collateral damage".

I fear for the future of the world. It's the opposite of faith, I know. It's something I'm trying to become better at. Right now I'm just being honest. I mean...I'm going to have to raise my kids in the future. What is it going to be like? How will I answer their questions and prepare them for things I don't even know about yet? The world moves so fast now and changes so quickly; I'll be learning right along with them. How will I know what to do for them and how to teach them?

I want to be a good part of this world. I want to help those around me. I want to be good and faithful and valiant. I want to be strong for my family and my friends and my future family. I don't want to be afraid--but I am.

look before you leap...

I'm sitting here mentally kicking myself (and breaking a few ribs). "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" the not so kind voice in my brain keeps saying. No, I couldn't. I never do. Why? Because, and I quote, I'm "too nice." Too nice, too helpful, too over enthusiastic, too grand in my thinking, too...you get the picture.

In the process of getting somewhere, I often forget that the actual process is indeed just that: a process. So I see these grand results in my imagination and get started on making that vision a reality. Then about halfway through the process, I realize, "Whoa...this is a lot bigger than I thought it was going to be..." By then I'm stuck though. No backing out, and not sure how to move forward.

See, oftentimes I don't think. I get myself into trouble with forming relationships (friendships, seeing as I've never had a romantic relationship), carrying out projects, and other various situations because I forget that there is always a mean to an end. This has happened a lot today. The term "look before you leap" is more like "you leaped and now you're stuck looking over your shoulder thinking 'shoot...I should have thought about this a little bit.'"

I should know better. Here's why: Once upon a time I was shown an absolutely terrifying video in a church lesson. A boy was standing on the edge of a dock jutting out into a pond. The water looked fine, greenish and calm like most ponds do. He jumped into the water with a huge splash. Cut to underwater camera shots of dark, murky, weed ridden and garbage infested horror as the boy got caught in the tangled mess below the surface.

And people wonder why I won't go into a pond, a lake, a river, or the ocean if it comes up past my knees...

The message of the video was that of the old saying "look before you leap". I was always confused by this because there were several camera shots showing the water's surface. It looked totally clear. You can't always see what's hiding in a pond, you know. Who knows what could be lurking in there? But I did get the message.

Though I remember the message, I don't apply it well to things that are not body of water related. Like, for example, real life. I keep jumping into things without examining the possible outcomes. I'm not saying I take huge risks, but I don't think. "Look before you leap" doesn't seem to have made it as a retrievable entry in the "command" section of my brain. Instead, I jump in head first and only after I'm at the bottom of the pond do I realize...maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

I guess I'm more of a leaper than a looker. Funny...I can't even swim.

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.

kaboom...

I'm the kind of person who can't keep her own secrets. I can keep other people's, but never my own. Why? I have to talk to someone about what's going on inside my head. The bad things about that are:

...what happens when you can't find any words?
...who do you go to when you don't know what to say?
...how do you call someone when you're too afraid to dial--after all, what if they actually pick up?

I'll try what my English teacher suggests: word vomit, meaning writing every word that comes to mind to eventually get to the main idea.

I'm upset because
...every time I finally feel comfortable somewhere, everything changes and I have to start all over again.
...I hate the helpless feeling I get when I hear my sisters talk about their friend who killed himself last week, and I hate the fear I feel when they don't talk but you can see all over their faces what they're thinking about.
...there's too much to learn and not enough time to become good at everything.
...people are thoughtless. I am, too.
...I'm so awkward, and I feel like people don't think I'm being sincere when I really and truly am.
...being in pain for a week and a half is not easy to live with (it makes me ache for the people who have to deal with it every single day of their lives).
...no matter what I do, I still look and feel the same.
...I'm suddenly faced with great uncertainty in where I stand at work, and I'm afraid to approach my boss and ask about it because I'm afraid of what she'll say.
...I cannot for the life of me find my paycheck (with my W2 in it that costs $10 to replace).
...no one has really hugged me in days, which is weird because I usually don't like to be touched.
...school is boring. It's kind of a let down, actually.
...I'm selfish. I don't know how to change it, either.
...I'm never going to be good enough.
...writing to my missionary friends is getting harder and harder to do, not because I can't make time, but because (once again) I don't know what to say.
...Molly is naughty on purpose to get attention. Irritating.
...things from my past keep coming to mind, things that hurt or frighten me or make me feel so ashamed of myself. All are things I thought I'd gotten over, but I can't let them go.
...my room is messy, my laundry isn't done, and my homework isn't finished. Each my fault. Each beyond my capacity to complete right now...or at least beyond desire.
...I really, really, really dislike being told how I think. How the heck should anybody know how I think? I don't care how many degrees you have. Do not tell me how I think about the world.
...I'm so afraid of people. I can't even talk to the people I trust because I'm afraid of them.

...explosion in progress...

*kaboom*

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.