taking it back...

I've missed writing because I've been super busy and felt like hiding away. So here is a long, truly scary confession post for me with *gasp* a photo with MAKE UP ON. 

Triggers here. Fyi.

I don't wear make up pretty much ever. If I do, it's basic mascara and some pink blush used as eyeshadow. Nondescript. Barely there. Fiance is cool with it - "You're naturally beautiful.  Women really are. I wish you - all of you - could see it too." Love him, right? Anyway. We did engagement photos a week ago, and so I did the thing you do and put on my face - and though I look very Jane Austen? I about had a panic attack walking out of the bookstore restroom to go meet up with our photographer.

Fiance immediately asked what was wrong - and I almost cried off my face as I told him I hate wearing make up. "People look at me more. They see me. Men see me. I want to be left alone. I don't want them to look at me." He was confused. And as I thought about it from his perspective - I found myself analyzing why I think this way.

Guy from high school who locked me in his car and threatened to rape me? He wouldn't let me wear make up. Or cute clothes. "I don't want other men to look at you. You're mine." Checking my phone, playing mind games, making me change outfits before dates if I looked "too hot." Don't be seen.

Supervisor who locked me in the janitor's closet with him. He let me go when I stared too hard at him, wide-eyed and more confused than scared. "Close your eyes, girl. What the hell you doin' with those?" Don't be seen.

Ex who repeatedly abused me for two years - "You attract so much attention just because of your face. Especially your eyes. Stop looking at me. Look down." "Take off the eyeliner, you look stupid." "Did you see that guy checking you out? Don't wear that shirt when we go places anymore." Don't be seen.

I've always been shy. Awkward. Looking at the ground. But to have a panic attack because I put on make up? Unable to breathe because my eyes shine? Afraid to show fiance my face when I put this stuff on because he might see something he's suddenly afraid of or made angry by and tell me to disappear? He wouldn't. He won't. But my crazy brain says he might - it's ridiculous.

So guess what? This cleansing confession post now has a DARE. A BIG ONE.

Be seen. With or without make up on. With or without a nice outfit. I'll Be Seen. I'll see others. I'll smile and laugh and walk with my head held high.

I'm taking back my face.

i feel lost...

I never understood why people get so emotional about graduating. In the past, I've listened to coworkers, classmates, and friends express everything from anger to paralyzing fear about leaving the undergraduate realm. Honestly, I can't tell you how many times I've been the shoulder-to-cry-on or the assistant job seeker for people.

When I say I never understood, I mean that I never felt the way they did. People would say things, "I'm just not ready to leave," "I've got nowhere to go now," "I'm so scared that nothing is going to work out," and the like. Out loud, I was supportive, and I could both logically and empathetically see where they were coming from. It's a big step, leaving the campus and people that have become so familiar. Life once again becomes uncertain. On the other hand, I internally wondered why they weren't jumping up and down for joy at the chance for freedom -- for real adulthood -- for graduate school or job opportunities -- for bigger and better things -- CARPE DIEM!! Get me OUT of here!!

With my own graduation ceremony looming less than 72 hours away, I suddenly feel a rash of emotions and sentiments that previous students have expressed. While walking across campus today, I couldn't help but utter a noise of disgust and say, "I hate this place." Surveying the grounds and the pretty pink tulips, I thought, "Well, it's not so bad. But still -- I can't wait to be finished with all of this." Then, as I received my cap and gown, I trudged slowly across campus in tears, thinking, "They're kicking me out. All I did was what they asked, and now they're sending me away to who knows where doing who knows what with who knows who! How could they do this to me?!"

It's quite the rollercoaster. I don't recommend it.

Lately, I've been having nightmares. I mean, I usually do, but these are different. Often when I sleep, I dream of a void: me suspended in empty, crushing darkness. There is no up or down, no point with which to orient myself and determine where I am, or even who I am. Nothing is familiar, and I am alone. I've had these kinds of dreams before, but never with this intensity or such lingering effects.

Waking from these dreams leaves me in a fog of uncertainty. I go throughout the day as though still stuck in that dark, cold emptiness. I felt it again as I unwrapped my wrinkled, too long, navy blue graduation gown and untangled the gold tassle strands. Running my fingers through the tassle strands, it suddenly hit me -- the dreams and lingering feelings come from my feeling of placelessness. It exists so strongly in me that it manifests itself in my dreams. I truly feel lost, along with a decent amount of panic.

As I've thought more about this, I've concluded that this sort of anxiety speaks to feelings of displacement based on my changing position in the world. Though I do have places that are important to me, none of them are permanent. Everything in my life is transitory right now: graduation this week and finishing school in June; leaving the university I've grown to know well; acceptance to graduate programs that I'll never actually go to because they're online; leaving a student job and needing to find other employment; even my housing situation is in flux. My present places are quickly becoming my past places, and future places are presenting themselves -- though some are not really places; more like virtual experiences.

It's an unknown -- it's a feeling of anxiety that occurs even before losing an important place. Facing graduation, loss of employment, and an almost place-less form of virtual graduate schooling creates that anxiety in me.

Of course, changes like these aren't a bad thing. They're actually very good things; things I've worked for and looked forward to for a very, very long time. The emotional effects, though, are incredibly real. Being displaced from the undergraduate experience, employment, and people is a lot to handle all at once. It's kind of like when someone is forced into homelessness or made into an exile through war or foreclosure. I don't mean to minimize these events by comparing them to my current transition; losing a home or a familiar place because of such traumatic events is without a doubt much worse. I use that comparison because it's the only one that makes sense to me, that I can understand.

Graduating is turning me into a school-less (and somewhat reluctant) migrant student -- an exile from everything I have known for the last three years. While my exile is partially by choice, and the graduate program I've chosen to attend does provide a new place to go, I'm still being displaced. I have met the requirements for graduation, and my diploma becomes both a celebration and a pink slip.

I don't like change. I don't like losing the places and the people I have come to know and appreciate. However, I am human, and so my body must move. It must change and move and go new places, do new things. I of all people understand this now: after spending nearly a month in bed recovering from a surgical procedure, I've learned that staying in a room too long really can make a person go crazy. I wanted out! I wanted to move and change and go to other places. And I could not.

It was hugely frustrating.

None of us is meant to be stationary; movement of some sort is necessary. Still, the emotional distress that occurs from losing place is real. I'm feeling it in a big way now. I feel a mixed bag of loss, excitement, anger, sorrow, anxiety, betrayal, anticipation. These places have been critical in forming who I am and where I will go in the future. It's probably universal: places affect us and shape us. Perhaps the fact that places are key formative elements is what makes the displaced feeling distressing. We know we must move on from certain things, but letting go is difficult due to the ties to the place we grew and changed in.

For me, my feelings of loss over my current state and place are helping to spur me on to the next experience. I mourn the loss of familiarity and worry over the new places I must find, yet these familiar places help me realize that I can't stay. Current places have shaped what I do, who I am, and where I will go. My experience as an undergrad student, while coming to a seemingly abrupt and frightening end, has created that desire to move to a new place because of the experiences I've had in the place I now leave.

It's a strange, almost cyclical phenomenon: loss of place creating sadness and anxiety over the loss, while silmultaneously pushing us to find new places, which also creates uncertainty and grief. This constant shuffling of place is what makes us grow and change. Memories of old places shape our interactions with the new. Both types of places directly influence who we are, how we think, what we will become, and where we will go in the future.

Thinking about it in this way is helping to turn my feelings of terror (yes -- terror) about the coming changes into excitement. I won't lie. The fear is still very real, as is the deep loss I can't quite understand and never expected would occur. However, it's being tempered with curiosity and excitement for the experiences and places that lie ahead of me.

Though don't expect me to be all hopeful all of the time -- I'm desperately hanging on to any happy thoughts to keep myself from falling apart!

counter attack...

I keep finding a thought spinning around in my head.

"Wow. Look how much you've lost this year."

In some ways, it's kind of true. I have lost a lot. Often it seems that every time I turn around, some big, awful thing happens that leaves me feeling as though I've been decked across the face. 

I've lost important, meaningful things. I've lost a lot of my freedom that comes from living on my own and having a car at my disposal all of the time. I've lost opportunities, I've lost time, I've lost money. And worst of all, I've lost people I never dreamed I would lose -- or prayed and begged the Lord to let them stay.

But amidst all of that gone-ness, there are so many things I've gained. I've gained new friendships, new opportunities, new responsibilities, new dreams, new knowledge, and maybe even new wisdom. I've gained a better understanding of the Atonement, and I've gained a greater sense of the Holy Spirit's whisperings. I've gained patience and compassion, strength and resolve. Well -- maybe less in the patience department, but more than I had before.

I feel as though I'm closer to my family and to God than I've ever been in my whole life, and that's after all of the mistakes I made.

Admittedly, I'd like to give in to the anger that keeps working it's way into my heart. I'd like to curse and cry and scream and let the whole world know how much my heart is hurting -- but I won't. I don't need to.

There are bigger, more important things in this life. I'm holding out for them.

where we're going...

I've had a lot to think about lately.

I'm definitely a planner. I plan my days almost to the minute, working out every detail as I get ready for bed and making sure I'll be where I need to be at least ten minutes in advance. I practice schedules until they're timed perfectly -- for example, my Wednesdays are planned for the rest of the semester. After this morning I know that washing one load of laundry takes exactly 27 minutes, meaning that if I wake up an hour and 15 minutes before I need to leave for school, I can get one load done while I get ready, put it in the dryer, and have a second in the washer before heading off to school. I won't be late for class, nor will I run out of time to do chores, homework, and make dinner (Wednesday is my dinner night and my laundry day -- I added my other chores so I can get them all done in one afternoon).

I think about this and wonder -- if I'm more than a planner; if I am, in fact, a control freak. To have days planned to the minute?

When I think about not having a plan, though...I get anxious. It's why I've been feeling so much anxiety about the coming year. It's no longer if I graduate next year... but WHEN I graduate next year... and all that entails. I don't even know if I'll be accepted to a college that starts in the fall -- most of them begin each January, which means 7 months of doing who knows what while I wait for school to start. Honestly, I don't even know which school I should try and get into -- I don't know what's right.

And what happens if I somehow end up married in the next year? Or if not -- keep dating, or suffer another heartbreak? I've always heard people say that you never marry the first person you date. Well...one called off engagement and two break-ups later, and we're still making everything work. In fact, it's better than it's ever been. Now people tell me that it's unlikely that we'll not get married. I can't help but wonder, though. I can't help but wonder if he'll stay. Or if I should stay. I know that I want to -- I don't want to be anywhere else. I just wonder if it's right.

What if, what if, what if. I know it doesn't help anything to wonder about things I can't control. It's hard not to wonder -- everything has gotten complicated and grown up in so little time. Peter Pan would be disappointed in me. Luckily for me, Peter Pan was never on my list of "People I will Emulate." No, I've always wanted to be like Clara Barton, or Louisa May Alcott, or George Washington. People who did things. Grown up things.

I wish someone had told my child self to slow down, to not be in such a hurry to grow up. But that begs the question, would I have listened?

No. No...I don't think I would.

the future is coming...

I'm staring down the barrel of my future, inserting the bullets that will soon shoot into the long thought of, always a dream and never a reality target called graduate school.

Seriously.

Friday afternoon I discovered that I can, if I desire, graduate in April. Being an intelligent person, I'm going to delay that date until August, because 18 credits plus a job will most likely kill me. However, one 3 credit hour class in the spring means that I will be done with my bachelor's degree in June of 2013 -- a year later than I would have liked to graduate because 8-year-old me set a goal to be done by age 20, but a year sooner than 21-year-old me ever imagined.

I've found three schools so far that match well -- they offer a Masters in Library and Information Science with Archival and Special Collections specializations, and each of them are either online or offer satellite programs near where I live. The dream would be to actually go somewhere for grad school, but practical me realizes it's not an option. There are far too many things keeping me here -- possibility of landing a job at the BYU library where I work now, money (always money), family things, Adam (yeah, he's a major stay factor), and money (again with the money). To top it off, one of the programs  has the option of specializing in Museum Studies, which few others have. I learned about that through one of my professor's, who is the director of a museum on campus.

Even better? None of these programs require test scores from the GRE. I'd hash tag my excitement level, but I'll spare you.

Now I'm beginning to understand the sentiments expressed by friends who have graduated.

This is crazy.

I'm 21. I'm going to graduate a year earlier than I thought possible, with a minor I just added last month. All of the sudden I'm forced to think about not just the classes I have to take this fall, but the applications for colleges and scholarships, student loans, finding a real job (though my job is pretty darn close), and applying for graduation. Me. Applying for graduation!

I'm growing up. And almost throwing up at the realization.

It's too terrifying to be exciting.

Also. Pray that I pass Economics 110 this semester. If I don't, my life will be on hold until I can at least get a C out of the devilish beast.

i never understood...

I always knew that breaking up was hard to do, and I thought I had a pretty good understanding of how it feels. There have been times in my life when I had to let go of people I really cared a lot about, a couple of them being guys I almost dated. One I even had to run from, because staying was too dangerous.

It isn't until now, however, that I think I actually understand what it's like to lose the companionship of someone you love more than anything in the whole world.

It sucks.

Now that I know what it's like, I ache for those who are going through similar situations that I am. One friend went through a break up earlier this year, and she still isn't quite over it. She's been holding on, hoping that things would get back together (I, unfortunately, am in the same boat, just in a different sort of way -- every experience is very different, another thing I'm learning). He, on the other hand, has moved on and is dating someone else.

I saw the update on the Internet and my heart broke for her. How it must hurt her to see that he's done and has found someone else to make him happy, while she's still stuck with the pain of losing him, and the future she thought she would have.

I think I understand that better now.

That's one of the things that is the hardest for me, really: that the future I thought was going to happen isn't happening. I thought I had found someone to share my life with, someone to whom I could give everything and be sure that he'd still be there tomorrow.

The day I see him move on will be a hard day -- I like to pretend I'm good at moving on. I'm not. I hold on to things I shouldn't, and I hope for things that probably won't happen -- at least not with the person in question. I'm loyal to people I love, even after they're long gone. People I haven't spoken to in years, who have really hurt me (even the one really abusive guy) -- I still miss them, even though I know I shouldn't.

I wish I couldn't love. Then things wouldn't hurt so much.

But love makes life worth living.

all in the phrase...

Words. put the individuals together and form a phrase -- because even Words are stronger together.

The hardest thing...

How often has this phrase crossed my lips:
This is the hardest thing I've ever done...age 13, watching all of my best friends walk away...
This is the hardest thing I've ever done...age 15, suffering a nervous breakdown...
This is the hardest thing I've ever done...age 18, disappointment -- not good enough...
This is the hardest thing I've ever done...age 19, working through the scars of abuse...
This is the hardest thing I've ever done...age 20, "a mission is not for you"...

hardest things, hardest things, so many hardest things -- "this is the hardest thing I've ever done."
Words that fit the circumstance at the time.

I look back and shake my head,
those are not the hardest things.

my Words evolve and change according to the hardest things of the present. No --
not the hardest things anymore -- look how far you've come! Yes --
how far I've come against the next hardest thing.

This is the hardest thing I've ever done...until there is something harder placed in my way.

it's all in the time of the phrase.

peace in the storm...

I hate you.

That's been running through my mind a lot today. Vicious and cruel, broken and empty -- there have been various tones of the sentiment.

All day, though, I've seen evidences of how much I am loved. I saw it a lot last night as well. Today I really felt it.

Though I've had my world turned upside down again and my heart wrenched from my chest, I'm okay. Life goes on. Not only does it go on, but it goes on happily, joyfully, with people who love and are in their turn lovable.

I've made serious mistakes. I've lost a lot, including the one person who meant the most to me in the entire world. But I have not lost my faith. Nor have I lost my Heavenly Father. If anything, I feel closer to him than I've felt in a long time. All day I've been comforted and sheltered from the turmoil raging inside my heart. There have been tears, yes. Tears, however, can often be as healing as a good laugh. At least they are for me.

I'm still angry. I'm still heart broken. I'm still confused and sad and scared.

But I'm not alone.

i made a better baby...

I am writing to celebrate a momentous occasion. I have now, officially! Slept through an entire night.

It's momentous because that's the first time in years. Literally, years. Even when I take sleep aids, I wake up two or more times and have a hard time falling asleep again. Last night, however, I slept straight through, like I used to when I was a wee thing.

Really, I was a good sleeper when I was a baby. My mom said that she woke up often to make sure I was still alive because I never cried or made any noise. She'd often find me just staring up at the ceiling, thinking whatever baby thoughts I had in the dark nursery.

Or perhaps I wasn't a good sleeper, if I was so often found awake. Maybe I was just a very quiet, very young insomniac.

Sleep feels good.

I could get used to this.

once upon another time...

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

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

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

"I'll always be there for you."

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

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

What happened to us?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps once upon another time.

timing...

I've been thinking a lot about timing lately. Timing as in when things happen in my life. There are certain things  that I want to have happen (some of them right now, if I'm honest). I want to go to Washington, D.C. on an internship. I want to serve a full-time mission for the LDS church. I want to go to graduate school. I want to find a guy who makes me laugh and isn't afraid to take a chance with me. I want to marry that guy. I want a beautiful wedding. I want a little white house with a red door, a pretty yard, and a happy kitchen. I want the sound of children's laughter in the air and pattering feet across the floor. I want to hold hands with my best friend and sit together on the porch watching a sunset.

I want my life to be centered around Christ and the gospel. That's what I try to do. Some people I have met in the recent past have criticized me for this, saying that I'm not really faithful because I only live well in order to reap the rewards of a good life. "You're only doing it for the blessings," some say. 

Well, in some ways, yes. I know that if I give my best effort to live as the Lord has asked and commanded me to that He will bless me. After all, God cannot break His promises if I keep mine, as he said in the Doctrine and Covenants 82:10, "I the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise." But I also do it because I want to live that way. I want to show the Lord that I love Him, and that I desire to be the best I can be for Him. The blessings are just a benefit. 

Not only that, but those blessings don't always come when I want them to come. All of those things that I listed above? So far, none of them have happened, nor will they be happening in the near future (that was reconfirmed tonight). I'll be honest when I say that it is sometimes maddening. I get so frustrated at times, wondering what I'm doing wrong or if there's just something wrong with me as a person. 

This has been on my mind a lot lately, sitting in the back of my head in a box that I'm afraid to open for fear of seeming ungrateful or impatient. Finally I've opened the box and examined the way I've been feeling and how I've been thinking. What I saw hurt! I felt let down and alone and forgotten, wondering what I'd done to fall so short of my dreams. Like going on a mission -- not right now. And dating -- that still never happens. I continually pray to the Lord to help me prepare to be a good missionary so I'm ready when I can go. I ask Him to help me be open to dating, but it never happens. All that ever happens are frightening or stupid experiences which leave me scratching my head wondering what I did to mess up this time.

I finally went to the Lord in prayer and I asked Him, How can I do the right things and be who you want me to be if you won't let me? If you won't make it possible? I'm doing the best that I can, but nothing is working out. You tell me to be patient. You tell me to wait. Am I doing something wrong? I'm trying to be good and be patient, like You've asked. Am I even going in the right direction? I felt like Nephi, when he cried out to God and said "Nevertheless, notwithstanding the great goodness of the Lord...my heart exclaimeth: O wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh; my soul grieveth because of mine iniquites" (2 Nephi 4:17). What have I been doing wrong?

With this on my mind, I was absolutely stunned at the answers I began to receive. Sunday's meeting had the same underlying theme, that of waiting on the Lord's timetable. It was repeated over and over again in different ways and by different people, that while the desires of our hearts may be correct, the time may  not be right. Elder Dallin H. Oaks, one of the apostles, said that it is just as important to do the right thing at the right time as it is to do the right thing at all. It is imperative to do the right thing at the right time. The choice may not be wrong, and the desire may be righteous, but the timing of the choices and desires may be off. Elder Oaks emphasized the importance of having faith in the Lord no matter what we are faced with, saying that "faith in the Lord Jesus Christ prepares us to face life's experiences," and that "faith will give us peace and knowledge of God's constancy in our lives. We will not need to plan even the important events in our lives at times, for He will guide us and direct us until those events fall into place, according to our faith."

It's like the scripture in the Bible, the one that says to "trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths" (Proverbs 3:5-6). Yes, I don't understand why things aren't happening, and why I receive the "be patient" answer. I want to serve now! I want to do what I've been told is good and right and true now! But what I want and what the Lord knows is best aren't matching up. Heavenly Father's timing is not my timing. His timetable is different than mine. He knows that I'm frustrated sometimes, and He knows that my frustration stems from a desire to do as He has asked. However, as Elder Oaks reminded, the timing is just as important as the righteousness of a desire. For me, the time has not been right. The Lord still has things for me to do at the place I am right now, and knows that there are things I still need to change and learn before I can take new steps in my life.

For now, I focus on the things I can control: my pursuit of an education, my relationships with my family and friends, and my commitment to the gospel and the Savior. What I must do is be the best person I can be, being faithful and diligent in what I have been set to do, and in the desires that at this present time can be realized. It is my job to rely on His guidance, and to trust the revelation and direction that He gives me. I have to trust Him, and commit my way "unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass" (Psalms 37:5). Because if I do as He asks to the best of my ability, He will take care of me. He will make sure that my desires are realized, if I trust Him and align my will to His.

bedridden...

Have you ever thought about the word "bedridden?" There's the word "bed," obviously, and then "ridden." If you look at them separately, it seems like the whole word should mean "rid of bed."

Because I was curious, I looked up the actual definition of the word "ridden" and found that there is no connection to "rid of" at all. It's more like this: full of, overwhelmed by, past tense of the verb "to ride." You get the idea.

So now I wonder, am I full of the bed, or is the bed full of me?

Duh. I know the answer to that, promise. In any case, I'm stuck in bed again. I got up and started getting ready for New Student Orientation this morning (which is what I've been doing all week), but found myself getting progressively worse. The four Ibuprofen I'd taken an hour before I actually got out of bed weren't doing much. After fixing everything up with the other two group leaders and making sure things were taken care of for the day, I went back to bed and have been here ever since.

It's not so bad when I'm not moving. Once I start walking around and doing stuff, good grief. Not sure what is going on in there! This body of mine has got some issues for sure.

Bedridden. I almost wish it meant "rid of bed." Being in bed is boring! Or as Parker says, "Bed is merely a place one goes to waste time."

Really, though. I have so much to do. The house is a disaster (or at least it is according to me and my outrageous need to keep things spotless -- to others it looks just fine), I don't know where any of my classrooms at school are, I need to pick up my paycheck and go grocery shopping, I don't have a backpack (the one I've used since third grade is long past retirement) or any school supplies, my housing waiver isn't finished and I don't have a printer at my place to get it ready, I'm totally ditching my NSO students, GAH!

The other thing is that worrying makes the pain worse. I just need to stop worrying and rest. Oh, and by the way. I just got off the phone with the receptionist at the doctor's office. My appointment is in two weeks. First time ever scheduling a doctor's appointment for myself. I made one for Hannah last week at the clinic, but never one for me.

Growing up, people. And now back to bed. Peace.

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?

jumping on the zombie wagon...

Ever since the beginning of the zombie craze that has swept the world of cyberspace, I have wondered at how something so gruesome and creepy could ever be popular. Zombie books, zombie films, zombie TV shows, zombie memes, zombie zombie zombie everything -- all packed full of brain-seeking, limb-twitching, face-pulling, moan-making living dead creatures.

Not appealing. Not at all.

I'll admit that I've read my share of zombie themed YA fantasy and sci-fi novels. The Forest of Hands and Teeth is a particularly interesting read. It was fascinating because of the detail and, well. The title and cover art alone were enough to make me pick it up off of the shelf (yes, I do choose books based on their covers). But other than that, I've never been into the "genre." It's always creeped me out.

Thanks to Parker, though, I took my shot at entering the zombie media. He invited me to auditions for a music video that is being put together by his brother. I had no desire to audition, but since I only get to see Parker every once in awhile, I decided to go and say hi, maybe watch some people show their stuff. No way in heck was I going to try out though. Do you have any idea how stupid people look when pretending to be zombies? Pretty darn stupid. In a highly entertaining sort of way.

Of course, Parker tried to get me to audition. So did his brothers, sister, and sister-in-law who were there. I was too scared though, and too afraid. I watched and found myself wishing that I could have a shot. It was a short-lived wish, though. Too scared. I didn't want to look dumb.

After saying good-bye to Parker and heading home, I started re-thinking my decision to not try out. I inventoried the reasons why I hadn't done it. 1) I was afraid I'd look like an idiot, 2) there was a very good chance I'd look like an idiot, fear aside, and 3) the only thing I know about zombies is from books and memes -- I've never actually seen a film or show that has them in it, so I didn't know how they moved or sounded or anything.

Sitting at a stoplight, I realized that the main thing holding me back was fear of looking stupid. Then a new fear crept in. It was a fear that if I didn't try out, I'd get home and regret it, especially when the video comes out. I'll see it, and it'll probably be cool, and I'll think "Girl, you are so stupid. You totally could have had a chance at being in this -- and you chickened out. Just like everything else you've ever not done."

That was it. I turned the car around and drove back, thinking up potential movement I could do when I got back. I ran into the room, and when Parker's sister Whitney asked if I'd changed my mind, I said, "YES. Because I'm tired of missing out on things because I was too afraid to try -- I'm not doing that today."

And guess what? All of them clapped for me! All of these grown-ups who had been trying to get me to try out for two hours clapped. One of them, I don't even remember her name, told me that she was proud of me. They didn't even know me, but they didn't treat me like I was dumb or silly or immature (which I am).

So I tried out! I had no idea what I was doing, and my face was red the whole time, and I kept giggling -- but I did it! It was scary, and my legs felt like jell-o, but I did it. And now I'm sitting here in my house not feeling sad or regretful -- I feel good. 

Was I scared? You bet. Did I look stupid? Of course. But did I do it? Yep. I did. Take that, zombies. I'm not scared of you.

the House...

Guys. Guess what?

I am officially moved into my new House, complete with awesome roommate Natalie and All-American dog Kala.

And yes, I did say House. Not apartment. House. Meaning there is an upstairs, a downstairs, and a basement. Four bathrooms, one unfinished at the moment. Three bedrooms upstairs (one being used for storage) and two in the basement (also being used for storage). Washer and dryer. Garage. The kitchen has tons of counter space, lots of cupboards, a dishwasher, fridge/freezer, microwave, oven/stove, pantry -- it's actually a kitchen. I mean, it is a House, after all. H-O-U-S-E.

Wait. It gets better. I have my own bedroom, and my own bathroom. The closet in my room is epic. I have my own shelf in the pantry with my own food, a shelf and a drawer in the fridge, and orange juice in the freezer (courtesy of my dad).

I've a ten minute walk to PartyLand. It's about four minutes more to the library. The parks are either five minutes or fifteen, depending on which direction you walk (unless you go to the neighborhood park, then it's two minutes tops). The other park and the gym are about eight minutes away. If I were to get a bicycle, I could reasonably get to the grocery store without needing a car as well (Natalie has one though, so carrying groceries back will be much easier).

But those things aren't the best parts. The best part is this: I am OUT. I'm on my own, answering to myself. I'm living well because I want to, not because I have to. And it feels so. Good. I have a friend who is more eloquent than I am, so I will use his words to describe this feeling:

"There is honestly no more affirming feeling than the one you get when you know your time is invested rather than spent... It's not that you have more freedom, (which you do) but it's that you have more liberty. By this I mean that you're able to do the things your parents would have wanted you to do in the first place, but now it's because it's what you want."

This is a dream come true, in more ways than one. Literally. I'll give you one example. Ever since I can remember, I've always dreamed of having the means to live in a house, rather than an apartment. Everyone (or almost everyone) always said I was crazy and naive and "good luck with that, sweetheart -- you'll get your wake up call soon enough."

Well. I woke up in a House today. Let's just say I skipped the apartment and went with the House instead.

the Move...

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

Things I learned:

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

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

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.

do you want MLA with that?

I got a phone call this morning. It was a really important phone call. It was a really, really important phone call.

Guess what?

You are getting this message from the desk of the newest BYU Writing Center intern (!!!).

I am beyond excited.

So excited that if I had money I'd go out and buy myself a pair of red high heels to celebrate.

St. George tomorrow morning, my friends. This girl is ready to party!

more...

...goals for my life...
...talk less, listen more
...think less, do more
...social media less, face to face more
...plan to be less, be the plan more
...laze less, study more
...fear less, hope more
...change less for others, change more for me and the Lord
...worry less, act more
...fight less, accept more
...complain less, rejoice more
...cry less for sadness, cry more for joy
...walk less, dance more
...silence less, sing more
...forget less, remember more
...frown less, smile more
...dress down less, dress up more
...get less, give more
...spend less, save more
...waste less, use more
...watch less, read more
...ignore less, observe more
...doubt less, believe more
...make from box less, make from scratch more
...copy less, create more
...surf less, write more

Ready...go. :)

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.