coffee with a shot of tears, roasted. . .

Someone tried to break into my apartment today.

Yesterday I got notified that someone went on a shopping spree with my bank info at the mall in Chicago.

The day before, I found out that my brain is full of veins that are "wonky," with no further explanation or plan or anything except instructions to take a medication I'm allergic to.

Exhausted and dreaming all of these dead dreams and sitting on my floor in the apartment with tears streaming down my face and the dogs sitting next to me and me not even realizing why or what for I'm crying. Watching tears fall into my coffee cup and ripple outwards to the edges. Salty salted caramel. Literally drinking tears. Roasted.

I hate feeling sorry for myself. I hate feeling like this. I hate that it has. . .hit. Me. I'm a fly on the wall. Swat. Hello, emptiness. Hello, emotional pain. Hello, distress. Hello, those feelings that demand to be felt but are so far away that it's like looking through an empty paper tube at something so small and so distant that I need a microscope to really analyze them. Yet as I analyze and dissect, I have no idea what I'm looking at.

Coffee with tears in it. Salted. Roasted.

Swat.

...

I can't explain my life to you. The pain. The fear. The constant exhaustion that never goes away.
Until it all becomes a sort of fog, where I'm choking, but I don't care.

You can't understand it. You can empathize -- and for your compassion, I am grateful.
But you can't understand.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you cannot.
Because to understand? You have to live this.

I pray you never live this way.

#YesAllWomen...

i don't want to be a victim.
i don't want to be running scared,
walking through the world like there's a target on my back,
worried that someday, somewhere, someone is waiting.
watching.
waiting.
waiting for the perfect moment -- to strike.

i don't want to be paranoid. i don't want to be afraid;
constantly re-living the past. always aware of an unknown -- unseen -- unnamed --
threat.

because that's how i've been living.
that's what i've become.
this is the world that i inhabit, that i understand, that i know appears irrational
-- but i also know to be horribly. nightmarishly.
real.

living with depression and all that comes with it...

Things that go bump in the night go bump in the day;

the difference so little that time slips away

-- exhaustion.

more than survival...

"You're always so happy." "You are always smiling! How do you do that?" "It's impossible to not feel loved by you." "Dang -- you just have life figured out!" "I wish I was more like you."

I get comments like this a lot. I smile and nod and say thank you, then rush to encourage the speaker or point out their good qualities. I appreciate their words. I can tell (most of the time) that they're sincere. And I'm grateful for their kindness.

But -- I don't feel like I'm any of those things at all. I don't have life figured out. I know for a fact I'm not always happy, nor always smiling. People say they want to be more like me, yet I'm constantly wishing I was someone else.

I'm not "that girl." I don't have everything under control. I'm insecure and vain and shallow -- I worry about dumb, petty little things. My thoughts are often obsessive, focused on tiny issues that probably don't matter to anyone but me. I want things I can't have -- I do things I shouldn't do.

Honestly, I feel like I'm always the girl who is struggling with something. No matter what I do, something is going wrong that's outside of my control. Either that, or the internal struggles become so intense that I can barely function.

It's a miracle that I hauled myself out of bed this morning. Part of that was because I know need to work so I can pay for graduate school -- fear of massive debt or financial strain is a huge motivator for me. Part of it was because I knew I'd be more bored if I stayed in bed -- and I felt guilty for feeling bad.

I don't feel like I smile very much. I don't feel like I'm a very happy person. Often, I'm shocked that I have as many friends as I do, particularly after I was told that I'm "an incredibly negative person and no one really likes you, which is why you have no friends. People don't like you; they don't like to be around you." Comforting sentiments, let me tell you.

The happy compliments and this absolutely devastating remark swim through my head on an almost daily basis. I hear "people don't like you," and fight back "but she said I'm nice!" And it comes back, "Yes -- but you know it isn't true. Because people don't like you. You don't even like you. Even if everyone in the world liked you, you'd still be like this."

I have no reply.

Whether surrounded by friends or in the comfort of my small bedroom, it's dark. So often I find myself begging to just make it through the day, or even the next five minutes. I'll sit with my head bowed over my desk, willing the tears to go away; I'll lie curled on the floor of my room, physically trying to hold myself together until it passes.

Each time I make goals or attempt new things, I suddenly feel paralyzed. My motivation to progress and do something, anything, is overturned -- and then I'm in survival mode. Just wake up -- just roll over -- just walk out of the room -- just brush your teeth -- just make it back to your room -- just survive.

I don't want to simply survive life. I want to live life actively, passionately, maybe even a little aggressively, meaning not as someone who has things done to them. I want to be the one doing things.

so far, so good...

4 days into the new year and it's been good...

...my bedroom is reorganized, with only a small-ish mountain of clothes to put back into the dresser...
...my last full semester of college is scheduled and my graduation application has been submitted (yikes)...
...I've seen Saving Mr. Banks and had Chik-fil-A (if heaven were a sandwich)...
...I've been to an amazing art exhibit and had an incredibly delicious dinner at a fancy restaurant for which I was not allowed to pay (which is a lot easier for me to allow than it used to be)...
...the mystery of Sherlock's two year disappearance is still frustratingly unsolved, as Steven Moffat will not ever give an inch when it comes to satisfying fans' curiosity...
..my articles are appearing online and I only have six left to finish by Monday...
...I've had good, long, honest late night talks with people I care about, and I've laughed and cried and felt alive...
...I've been hugged -- close and tight and long -- it's amazing what an honest hug will do.

A part of me still aches. That frustrates me. It frustrates me because despite all of the good things that I have, I feel desperately out of control. I feel frightened and alone and sad and helpless -- so full of feelings that I'm empty. I say that a lot, but it's the only way I can describe it.

I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel so terrified and sad.

My wish for moments of happiness does come true, and frequently. All of the things that I've done and seen this week were happy moments; more than moments, some of them were hours. Hours of time where I could get out of the emptiness and really feel alive again, instead of being trapped in this seemingly endless state of feeling too much of nothing good.

Truly, I feel helpless. I feel so in need of help that I worry that I'm needy. I don't like needy people. I don't want to be a needy person. I want to be strong and independent and comfortable in my own skin. Right now (and for a long time) I've wanted out of my skin and into something...different. I've never been totally confident. Who is, right? But I've been better than I am now.

Hopefully, good things will keep happening. And they will -- they haven't stopped so far. What I really hope is that I'll be okay enough to see the good things, and not push them away because I'm too scared to do anything. I hope I don't do that.

what happened...

Have you ever looked in the mirror and been shocked by what you saw? Staring at the face you see every morning and night while brushing your teeth, or applying mascara, or brushing out your hair, and being astounded by the change in the reflection -- a change you didn't even see happening.

This happens often now. I look at the face I thought I knew perfectly, because it's mine -- the change is terrifying.

The eyes no longer sparkle and smile -- they're dull and frightened. The forehead is no longer smooth -- it's scrunched up and worried all of the time. The lips are chapped and pinched, instead of soft and full. All of the skin is tight with anxiety, the cheeks are hollow, and the eyes are only bright when they're filled with tears.

It's a face I don't recognize.

I sometimes stare at this stranger in the mirror and wonder what happened. When did I become so frightened, so sad, so hopeless?

"What's happening to you?"

I've literally asked her this question. The girl in the mirror offers no response. She just stares back at me, until I'm completely freaked out and I shut myself in my room, far from any reflections or reminders.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

i don't get it...

Often when discussing personal problems, I get told, "Just be grateful for what you have and then life will be happier for you."

It's always seemed like great advice, and so I've taken it multiple times. Given the numerous stories and testimonies shared on the subject, it seems like it should work great.

Wrong.

Maybe it's that I'm naturally pessimistic (or as one professor called me, a true nihilist -- I still resent that), or maybe it's because my world seems incredibly dark right now. Or maybe I'm trying too hard?

For some reason, counting my blessings instead of sheep not only keeps me up at night, but it also triggers high levels of anxiety and ever more frequent feelings of emptiness. As counting sheep merely bores me, I've started preferring that to listing good things that happened during the day or ticking off the things I've been given -- boredom feels better than emptiness.

Saying that it's simply listing good things isn't the process, mind you. You've got to sincerely foster an appreciation for the things, people, and opportunities placed in your life. And I've tried that. I've tried looking around at my life and truly appreciating what I have -- sometimes I even find myself thinking, "Wow. Look at you -- you're one lucky girl." And I believe it.

Then, right after that, the pain starts again, the emptiness becomes a choking cord around my throat, and the dark closes in, heavy and cold.

Somehow, being grateful for good things brings horrible, devastating guilt. It's as though by attempting to feel happiness, the sadness deepens. Light and joy seem far above my head, and either the floor beneath my feet is dropping at a rapid pace, or my arms are shrinking: either way, I can't reach what I desire. Instead of feeling my chin lift hopefully, I feel a weight increase until I can barely stand, arms wrapped tight around me as I hold myself together on the floor.

Why? I don't understand it. I don't understand how searching for happiness -- maybe not even happiness, but just some relief -- and doing all of the good things I can do only makes things feel worse.

I don't get it.

quiet...

I'm too tired to talk.

People ask me if I want to talk, how they can help. It's exhausting. Talking, that is.

All I can do is cry.

It's not a silent kind of quiet. It's the sitting curled up in corners and chairs, tears streaming down my cheeks and sniffling to keep my nose from running. People ask if I'm okay, if they see me -- no. I'm not. Do you want to talk?

Can't.

I can't bear the advice anymore. I can't bear the lists of how hard things are for other people (you think I don't know that life is hard for everyone? you think I don't feel trapped because I can't help other people more?) and how it seems to become a competition for who has it worse. I know your life is hard. I get it. Why did you ask if I want to talk, anyway?

I can't bear the criticism -- I'm so afraid of it that I can't speak. I can't even take the encouragement. I can't handle the "chin up," the "buck up," the "grow up and get over it."

Nothing's changing. I'm doing everything I know to do, and some things I don't know to do (if that even makes sense). Nothing's changing.

I can't bear the torrent of emotions that will break out of me if I speak. I can't cry that hard for that long -- I don't have time. I don't have the desire. It won't change anything.

I'm not brave. I'm not special. I'm not important. I'm not different from any other person -- I get that.

It'd be nice, though, if someone just didn't say anything. Didn't expect me to say anything. Just for a little while. If we could just both be quiet.

so sad...

Today has been kind of a sad day. I woke up feeling like little pieces of glass had been wedged into my heart and were moving slowly through my veins -- kid you not, it's a real feeling. Your whole body hurts and shakes, and it's worst in your chest, like something has shattered -- and the little shattered bits are radiating out through your arms and legs and toes and fingers. Even your ears hurt.

Because it was such a sad morning, I was grateful for my friend Thomas. He took me to brunch at Denny's, because there was Hobbit food on the menu (and because he said he misses me, and that it's stupid that we're so busy with school). What better than Hobbit food to make you smile? It was such a laugh, the whole time -- I've know him for over a year, but there are so many things I've learned about him since we started spending time together this semester. He's probably one of the most talented, sincere people I've met in my life. I don't think he's afraid of anything. Visiting and laughing with him made some of the blues go away for a little while, for which I was happy. He took me to a dance concert at the college afterwards, and we had a good time watching all of the talented people perform.

Coming home, the sad aches began again. I tried doing homework, and couldn't focus. I tried writing for work, but no words made sense. I tried cleaning, organizing, even sleeping -- nothing.

Finally, I gave up. I went to Target and bought my favorite frozen pizza and some peanut butter cup ice cream. I bought season 7 of Psych through Amazon.com, threw on some sweats, let down my hair, got a plate of pizza, and pulled out my new shimmery, light pink nail polish. And I've been sitting at my computer since 7:45 this evening, watching ridiculous episodes and making my nails look pretty.

I feel a little better. The sad aches are still there, but they're a bit numbed now. I've got good memories of breakfast with Thomas, new funny lines to quote from Shawn and Gus, and pretty fingers.

Part of my brain is yelling at me for wasting the weekend, doing no homework and getting no work assignments completed. Another part of my brain is smiling.

Hopefully my heart will start smiling more, too.

nothing to do but do...

A phrase comes up a lot in conversation these days. I say it, my friends say it, my family members say it -- after we take turns detailing the hard things that we're facing or the stresses brought on by work, school, health, and other things, we say with a shrug and a half-sort of smile, "Eh. What can you do?"

It's as though it's a socially constructed way of saying, "Thank you for listening to my problems, and don't try to help me -- I just needed to talk."

It's true, in a lot of ways. So many things just have to be done, regardless of the difficulty or the heartache. Life doesn't stop for anyone. Unless you happen to have a billion dollars in your bank account, of course -- then you can tell the world what to do and it has to listen. Money talks a lot louder than anything else.

I keep looking at the things in my life and I'm sometimes amazed that I get anything done. I'm honestly baffled that I'm accomplishing anything at all.

Sometimes I look at other people's lives and feel grateful that I don't have their struggles. They're so strong -- sometimes it makes me feel even weaker -- I couldn't do what they're doing.

Everybody's got something. For me, and for everybody else -- despite the physical pain which grows worse by the day, the emotional issues that creep in the background, the lack of sleep due to nightmares and pain, and the immense anxiety caused by deadlines, health problems, bills, and what-have-you -- we just keep going.

Eh. What can you do?

Everything, apparently.

too fragile for my own good...

I have a sensitive personality by nature. Commercials about homeless animals, photos of orphaned children, and the occasional man standing on the corner with a sign trigger tears. I feel for people, and animals, and sometimes I feel trapped because what little help I can give personally is less than a drop in the bucket.

That kind of sensitivity is a good thing in some ways. While it can be problematic at times, it's something I've learned to work with, instead of let it control my life. Recently, though, I've been sensitive in ways less compassionate -- meaning I find myself getting hurt a lot.

I don't know what it is, but stupid little things hurt. Comments from family members and friends or things I read keep reminding me of mistakes I've made or the goals I'm so far from reaching. It's like thinking you're moving forward, a step at a time, until you turn a corner and there's that wall again, smirking and saying, "Hey, remember me? Your old pal? You keep trying to forget me and move on -- I don't like that. Good luck walking away from me, kid."

There are reminders everywhere. Reminders of times I've failed and stupid mistakes I've made. Honestly, I feel like I'm worthless. I'm starting to think I don't deserve happiness. Which is wrong -- both of the previous lines are wrong. The thinking is wrong -- I know that. Knowing that doesn't seem to make it hurt any less, though. It's quite frustrating.

It's frustrating that no matter how many good, right things we do, the bad things creep up out of nowhere to knock us down. That no matter how hard we try to be happy, and to take care of ourselves and others, it's still ridiculously difficult to get out of bed in the mornings and face another day.

...

Lately when I think about writing, I feel sick. Then again, that's how I feel when I think about most things.

I'm often ready to bolt into the nearest restroom because my stomach turns and twists so much. I'm always (not an exaggeration) on the verge of tears. I can't sleep.

The worst thing is that my happiness for other people's joy is tinged with a deep pain. It isn't jealousy; I know how jealousy feels -- mean and angry and bitter. This is different. It's more like a quiet, aching sorrow, one that I don't want the happy person to know about because I don't want to detract from his/her joy.

And yet, I sometimes wish they knew, just so they could give me a hug and a job to do so I can help bring about their special days. It's better when I'm working, especially when I'm working for others.

It'll get better. Honestly, it only can get better from this.

I'm lucky, really. Lucky that this is happening: I'll be more aware of others' feelings. I'm learning to be more forgiving. I'm learning to take care of myself for me, not to please someone else. I'm understanding that what I want is just as important as what someone else wants (although I still often do not have opinions, which some of my friends mistake for not sticking up for what I want -- sometimes, I just don't care what we're doing because I'm with people, which means I'm not alone). I'm getting better at telling people the truth regardless of the consequences. I'm practicing asking for help.

I'm growing.

Funny, how I forget that growing physically comes with pain, too -- joints enlarging, muscles stretching, bones lengthening -- keeping me awake when I was little as my body changed into the 5' 2" person I am now. Why should mental, emotional, and spiritual growth be any different?

Perhaps because the pain, for me, is enhanced by other things in my life, such as the long-time struggle with depression, and the more recent appearance of quite severe anxiety. And part of it is my personality: two of my friends were talking to me last night, and they reminded me quite firmly that my loyalty to others has often placed me as less important -- that it's time to stop taking the backseat. And they're right -- while being loyal isn't a bad thing, strengths can easily be weaknesses if used the wrong way.

I'm lucky in friendship. Lucky that I have people in my life who care about me, and who stick with me no matter what's going on in my life. I'm lucky that I have people who celebrate my successes, and who lift me up when I've hit the ground.

Georgie's just lucky, I guess.

when I went for a run because I could...

Some storms begin with a small drop of water falling from the sky -- a slow sparkling crystal descending from the clouds to land with a slight splattering spread on the pavement. A storm that appears gradually, misting the earth and blocking the sun with its fog.

But this storm began without shining crystals or pavement drops bleeding into one another to create a single shining slate of asphalt. This storm began in her heart.

She felt it before she heard it. A cold, hard stinging inside her chest; a sharp, tight pulsing in her brain.

It's going to rain.

Down from the sky-- barrage of hammers on the rooftop --
down from the clouds -- volley of bullets against the walls!

Down,
down,
down
down!

Out, out, out -- out into the rain.

Running...running. Bare feet against the pavement.
Running...running. Hair plastered to her cheeks.
Running...running. Clothes clinging as though naked.
Running...running. Skin screaming with the sting.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Repeating
in her mind, racing through the storm. Racing through the storm running from the rain through the rain to the rain
the rain the rain the rain

The rain.

Cold, biting, stinging rain -- rain that is alive.
Cold, biting, stinging rain.
Cold. Biting. Stinging.
Cold. Biting.
Cold.

Cold.


Cold.

She can feel it. Feel. the cold. the bite. the sting.

the life.

Time -- what time? No time -- running. running. raining.

Hair streaming, hands shaking, feet bleeding, lips speaking
words she cannot hear. Stumbling, tumbling, crumbling on the porch
wet
wet
wet
with rain.

The rain.

All she wants is rain.

uncomfortable...

It's a pretty terrible feeling when you'd do anything to get out of your own skin.

Uncomfortable.

Awkward and uncomfortable.

The only thing that's been keeping me from falling apart today is that my new fosters need me. That and forcing myself to keep moving, despite the pain that's been nagging at me since last night.

I'm so tired. I'm so tired of constantly fighting the thoughts and feelings that tear at my insides. No matter what drugs I take, no matter how many counselors I talk to, things never seem to get better. I try and I try and I always find myself back at square one.

I feel as though there is no one to talk to. I know I have friends and family who will listen, but I worry that I'm a bother. I just say the same things over and over again -- mainly because the fight has never ended. It's the same fight with the same demons, and nothing ever seems to change.

People tell me that I've changed. That I'm doing better. Perhaps because I'm in the middle of it all, I don't see the change.

dumb kid...

Sometimes it hits me how much I don't know and don't understand about the world, about people, about myself.

Especially about myself.

Here I sit at a table in a kitchen-in-progress, staring out the window at the trees being slapped around by the gusts of wind, and I ask myself, "How do you feel?"

It's a perplexing question, one that confuses me about as much as it confused Spock in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. The question comes again and again, a tinny computer voice asking "How do you feel? How do you feel? How do you feel?"

Well, computer voice -- I don't know how to answer that question.

Parker would say, "That's not an answer." To which I would respond, "But I don't have an answer. I can't figure one out."

"So talk."

I don't like talking about things that I can't make sense of.

"How do you feel?"

sad.
empty.
listless.
scared.
tired.
apathetic.
weak.
confused.
lost.
useless.
vulnerable.
childish.

In a lot of ways, I feel out of control. I feel sick inside, because I don't know what's going on in my heart. I don't know what I want. I don't even care half the time anymore.

I don't want to go home. I don't want to go back to everything that's there.

But I don't want to stay.

promptings...

I woke up today in a bit of a fog. Three nights in a row of bad dreams (most of which involve my friends getting killed in car accidents, being shot, intentionally overdosing, or myself being tortured) left me exhausted and full of undesirable thoughts.

With the after-dream mind-set, I began to get ready for the day. I pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the closet, but immediately felt that my choice of attire was wrong. After arguing with myself and providing a long list of excuses, I gave in and selected a skirt and blouse. I was going to the temple today.

This afternoon was the first time I've attended the temple since Christmas. It had been a long time because of school, and then my recommend expired and I didn't notice until last month. I got it renewed on Sunday, and the man who interviewed me ended our meeting with these parting words: "Please use it often." I'm the type of girl who does what I'm told, especially if there's a slight second urging.

Just as I arrived, I got a text from my dad. All it said was "We got in a car accident. Call me please."

Seriously? Seriously. When it rains, it pours until you feel like you're drowning. But as I started to head back to my car, I stopped and called my dad. He told me that everyone was fine -- mom had some bad whiplash and the car had two scratches in the paint with a dent in the fender (Hondas are miniature tanks, I swear),, but other than that they were totally fine. Dad then told me to not come home, and to go to the temple as I had planned.

Again, I did as I was told. I was frustrated to see that it was very busy, and at first I was annoyed with myself because I forgot it's Wednesday today. Mutual night. Everyone goes to the baptistery on Wednesdays. But as I got ready and sat down in line, I found that I was glad to wait.

It was good to think and feel good inside -- it was the first time in several weeks that I haven't felt badgered by unhappy thoughts and feelings. It was definitely an hour and a half well spent -- I didn't want to leave.

Leave I did, and I was left to think more about what I had learned. But I was also faced with the irritating thoughts and feelings that I've been fighting a lot lately -- around and around they circled in my head. Dad's cancer. Callie's trauma. Work drama. Parker's difficulty. Financial things -- my own, my family's, and my friends'. My own shortcomings. Now the car wreck -- although that did turn out much better than it could have.

Slowly I started to sink back into this awful, dark sadness. I felt horribly guilty and sad and just bad in general. I didn't just need to talk to someone, I wanted to. But I was afraid to. My friends have their own problems, and my family doesn't know anything about what I've been thinking or feeling lately (or if they do, they're not saying anything -- I prefer it that way, actually). I didn't want to worry anyone, or bother anyone. Most of all, I didn't want to push anyone away.

A name came to mind, though. Call him, a little voice said in my head. Um...I don't think so, I replied. Do it, came the response. I thought about it, then asked, You sure? There was no verbal answer, but a warm feeling came over me and I knew it would be okay.

Until there was no answer. Then I felt dumb. I put it off to my imagination, and was relieved when my dad called me a few seconds later. And then my phone beeped while I was talking to him, and it beeped a second time when mom took her turn talking with me.

Two voice mails from the same person -- he'd called me back. Twice. 

So...you were right. Sorry about that, as I dialed the number again.

An hour and a half later, I felt free. I told him the truth about the past couple of months. I told him that what I'd said, about life being great and happy and fantastic wasn't completely true. He wasn't bothered. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even very disappointed in me. He just listened. He reminded me (quite firmly) that I'm not going to do any of this alone, that I'm not even supposed to do things alone. I still felt scared, and I still felt a little silly, but I didn't feel as scared or as silly as I had before. 

I'm glad I listened. I'm glad I obeyed.

Follow the promptings you have. If you get a notion to do something good, be it for you or for someone else, do it. Because in the end, you'll probably help both parties in ways you never imagined.  

opposites...

What the heck, people? What the heck?

I really, really don't like feeling like this. It's almost worse than it ever has been, not because I'm as low as I used to be, but because I now have something to compare it to. Two years ago, happiness was something that I didn't get to experience. Then it gradually entered my life, little by little, experience after experience.

There were still sad times -- but not like this. It hasn't been like this in a long time. Not this constant, nagging, irritating sadness that sucks the energy right out of me and leaves me staring at the walls wondering. I used to be able to force it back, to change it from bad to good, to change the way I was thinking until I didn't feel sad anymore. I could focus on the good things and feel genuinely happy.

Now it's back to the nonstop badgering in the back of my head, pushing through the barriers in my mind and breaking down the methods of thought I've been trying to learn. It's almost like an obsession, thoughts that keep forming and creeping their way to the forefront of my mind, compulsive and unbidden. It's getting harder and harder to control.

I hate this. I don't understand it. I don't know how I can be so brimming with thoughts and emotions that I feel empty. It's as though I feel so much that I feel nothing. There's pain and paralysis. There's anger and apathy. There's confidence and confusion. Everything. Nothing. All at the same time.

How can you be full and empty at the same time? How can you feel so much and feel so little?

life is still good...

I've noticed lately that the things I've been writing about have been

a) sad
b) depressing
c) negative
d) all of the above

If you circled "d" then you would be most correct.

After debating whether or not I should apologize, I realized that apologizing would be a little silly. Why apologize for being sincere about how you feel?

However, I do recognize that not all of life is as bad as it may seem. That and I'm trying to keep myself from being extremely irritated and frustrated with people. Short plug for being considerate: just do it. Please. Think about what you're doing and how it effects (affects?) others before you do it. Don't cut in line, rinse your dishes, stop at stop signs, say thank you, pull your weight as much as you can before letting someone do for you what you can do for yourself. Thanks.

Mini rant over. On to the next.

Last night I did something fun on a Friday night for the first time in awhile. I had planned to go to the gym after work, then make dinner, scrub the kitchen, clean my bathroom, read my book, and go to bed around 11:30. My plans totally changed when Linnea asked if I wanted to watch the last two episodes of Sherlock, season 2. How could I possibly say no?

We made a delicious dinner of chicken Parmesan wraps (Pinterest wins again) and cold watermelon, followed by kettle corn (yes -- I did eat a bag and a half by myself) and Snickerdoodles. Sherlock was delightful -- I was absolutely terrified during "The Hound of Baskervilles." I screamed at least four times. "The Reichenbach Fall" wasn't frightening, but it was very fun to be able to follow Sherlock's line of evidence. I was right with him every step of the case. Until, you know, Moriarty pulled that one stunt at the end (I may have screamed then, too).

A late night drive with Kala rounded up the festivities at about 2am. I took her with me when I dropped Linnea off at her home. Kala doesn't get out much, and she likes to go for rides in the car (and I was also glad to have her along to help me not imagine giant black hounds with red eyes tearing out of the bushes around the complex when I got back home).

Today was a good day, too. I woke up feeling very sad again, so I got dressed and went to work on the house. Bathroom scrubbed, kitchen counters and cabinets wiped down, floors swept and mopped, dishes done, laundry started, room straightened, meals prepped, stove top washed -- all in an hour and fifteen minutes. By then I realized I was hungry (that happens a lot now). Wash spinach and drain, rinse strawberries and slice, shred chicken, chop nuts, pour poppy seed dressing, toss together -- salad for eating! Let's just say it was delicious and I might make another tomorrow.

Work with Alyssa and Hannah was a blast. We got almost everything on Tracy's list completed (and mind you, there were about 20 items to do), accidentally ripped up the puzzle piece flooring with the weight of our candy laden carts, climbed up and down ladders hanging hats from the ceiling and stowing boxes of candy on shelves (each box weighs nearly 40 pounds -- carrying 20 of those up a ladder is quite the workout), and just worked hard in general. It's always great to have things to do during a shift, rather than standing around waiting for customers to come in and need help.

Hannah asked if she could come to my house after the shift was over. We ate cold watermelon and made chocolate milk with the Hershey's syrup I keep stowed away in the fridge. Kala kept us entertained with her old lady antics (she lacks manners in some cases), until we finally were laughing so hard we couldn't breath. Pretty soon we got to talking about how she's been doing lately, and then she started asking me questions about Garrett. Half an hour later I'd told her a lot of things I've been keeping back, and I felt badly that I'd spent so much time talking about myself. But she said something that made me feel really happy inside. She smiled and said, "I don't mind. I like to listen. It means that you trust me."

I do trust her. I trust her, and Alyssa, and Linnea -- they're coworkers, yes, but more importantly, they're my friends. We have fun, we have hard times, and we're there for each other when we need each other. And even if we don't need each other, we're there when we want company.

Things are okay. Life is still good. It's hard, and I'm still sad a lot and don't know why, but life is good. Walking through the parking lot tonight in the cool evening air, the night breeze sweet and fresh, the flowers curling into sleep, the stars peeking through the clouds, all I could think about was how good it feels to be alive.

"Remember today, little brother. Today, life is good." -Boromir, LOTR

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?