...

The tears come in quiet moments.
When the night has fallen and the stars awake in the sky;
when the city goes to bed, and the clock creeps slowly on to midnight.

Finally alone -- and I cry.

I cry for the sorrow, the hatred.
The pain. For the hunger and sickness -- for the loss.
But mostly

I cry for the children.

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.

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.

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.

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.

a weird kind of luck...

I do most of my thinking, worrying, and crying at the office.

That may sound like the craziest, dumbest thing ever. But when you work where I do, meaning I work alone almost every single day for six or more hours at a time, tears just sort of come naturally.

In some ways, I'm lucky for that. No one to bother me. Nobody to judge or ask what's wrong. No need to hold it all back.

The downside? There's nothing to distract me.

just got to write stuff down...

Every once in awhile, I feel so incredibly weak that I can't keep my head up. My limbs constantly shake, and I often can't control my fingers. It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't make it so difficult to type or hold a pencil.

I really love Oreos. That's a bad thing, because Oreos are not good for me at all, but they taste so magnificent! Lots of food that isn't good for me tastes good, and seeing as how I've gained ten pounds since I started dating Adam, I should probably stop eating crap food.

Although, Adam keeps telling me I've lost weight and that I "feel skinnier," which doesn't make sense to me because I'm the one who sees myself in the mirror every single day. 

It's frustrating to have gained weight. I see these super thin girls all of the time, and I just ache inside to look like them. But no matter how much I exercise or eat well, I don't change. In some ways, it breaks my heart. Seriously -- it might sound super shallow and vain, and it probably is -- I can't seem to get past it.

Speaking of food, I made awesome Parmesan crusted chicken last night with lemon-pepper green beans for a side. Super good. So good that I didn't feel guilty for eating it.

Can I just say how much I enjoy the TV show Psych? "I'd rather show with a bear." Ha, Lassie kills me.

Last night I had a dream that there was a war going on between different races of rabbits. They had machine guns that shot carrot bullets, and were fighting over who was going to rule the world. It was weird. As in, super weird. Rabbits wearing camo and leather jackets with helmets and aviators, equipped with cabbage mortar guns and carrot shooters. Weird.

I'm so tired. I have no energy.

Being afraid is no fun. I'm constantly waiting for the ball to drop and for my life to change. The fairy tale is going to end and life is going to go back to normal. And it'll hurt. It's so hard to not be sure.

I'm thinking that I need a new phone. The one that I have is dying -- I mean, it's been almost three years since I got it. First phone, only phone. Heck, it takes five minutes to turn on if I shut if off for a little while. Old, old phone.

Yesterday, I made a candy poster for Adam to congratulate him for his scholarship that he go. He was awarded a $5,500 a year scholarship from the National Science Foundation because he's got such a good GPA and is majoring in mathematics. He's a smarty pants. And he liked the poster. It was so fun to make it for him. And he liked it. Lots.

I just don't want to be sad anymore.

struggling through...

I have a bad habit of looking straight to the end of things. I'm a big picture person, but big picture in the most finite sense of the word finite.

Sounds oxymoronic, right? Oh, honey -- I know it.

Here's how my brain works: I see all of the little tiny details as they should be in the completed picture, all at the exact same time. Right now, I'm looking at a tree -- or at least, a tree that I'm envisioning in my mind. 

I see the entire tree at the same time I see each vein in every single leaf. I see how tall and wide it is, leafy and green with a brown trunk, simultaneously with the intricate ridges and curves in the bark. I see the big and the little in the same moment. 

Then I see what's beyond the tree: the seed, how it grew from a sapling to a giant, the rain and the sun that fed it, the birds that lived there, the snow and sun that laid their weight on its branches, and that the tree will one day fall to the earth -- the ways it can fall, when it can fall, which direction -- so many possibilities. And seeing the new trees that will come from the rotting limbs, and will feed those trees as the limbs were fed while a little tree.

That's how I see life. All of it, all at once. The past, present, future in an instant, all of the tiny details and the infinite elements.

It's exhausting. Exhausting in the sense that my brain is never quiet. I can never stop seeing and observing, thinking and experiencing. Exhausting in the sense that I constantly see the potential outcomes -- the multiplicity of things that might be, could happen.

I'm struggling with all of the seeing. My potential outcomes are generally negative -- failure, disappointment, heartache, sorrow -- I see potential negatives at every turn. I feel sadness, shame, guilt, fear -- a dying, twisting, rotting tree, decaying from the inside out because inside, it wasn't good enough.

Failing -- I may fear that more than anything else in the entire world. Not being good enough, not choosing the right things, not having it perfect.

I feel so deeply. I think so hard. I try and try, against all of the ever-pressing obstacles that throw themselves in my way. Yet, it never seems to be enough. 

Will I ever be enough?

holding my tongue...

Have you ever felt so angry that you wanted to break something? Smash something, demolish things into little tiny pieces. Make lots of noise, scream, curse, and shout at the top of your lungs. Let out all of the hurt and anger and sadness. Big and mean and scary -- bigger than ever.

Unfortunately, that's not an option. It's not healthy, and it's stupid.

What I wouldn't give to be able to tell the truth to someone. Especially the people who need to hear it. I wish I could just loose control -- give people a piece of my mind. Make them understand how awful I feel inside. I wish I could let it all go, loudly and irrationally.

Is it weird to want to be unkind? To say everything that's on your mind with no restraint or thought for another person's feelings?

Honestly. I have and always will try my hardest not to do that. It's immature and selfish. And it doesn't help anything, either. At all. 

I hate feeling so angry. I hate keeping so much secret, having no one to tell things to because there are things I can't say and shouldn't say. You know? Because if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. And what I want to say shouldn't be said. Ever. Not fair. Not kind. Not okay.

More sleep would be a good thing. More sleep, more fun, and more focus on the good things in life. Because there are a lot of good things in life. Many, many good things.

Proof, once again, that I am far from perfect, and that I have much to learn. Exciting thought, in some ways, that there is always something better ahead and that personal change is always an option, if you're willing to work at it.

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.

the worst kind of heartbreak...

Disclaimer: all of what I have written may come across as selfish, childish, and ridiculous. It's honest, though. Straight from the heart.

For almost four years, I have set my eyes on serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was one of the only girls in high school who was considering it. Many of my friends would say things like, "wow, good for you -- a mission is so not for me," or "I'm so not interested in serving a mission." Some of the girls would think me a little strange for my desire to go, and many of the boys said things like, "yeah, you'll change your mind when you get into college -- girls don't have to go."

As I grew older, I still desired to serve a mission. Often times that desire was put down by other people (I've written before about what many male friends have said to me concerning my goal). Words like "it makes me sad that so many girls are serving missions -- they're needed as wives and mothers, not missionaries," and the ever present "you'll change your mind when you meet that perfect guy" were thrown at me a lot. It made me so angry -- I didn't want to serve a mission because I wasn't dating (quite frankly, I care more about the status of my kitchen floor than I do about dating -- I hate dating). It also bothered me because the general authorities have encouraged women to serve missions, saying that women are able to reach people that the men can't. A woman who wanted to serve a mission because of a desire to serve the gospel was totally in the right, according to church policies. That's why I wanted to go. It's why I still want to go.

This summer, I began to feel that the timing of a mission was not right for me yet. I received a "no -- not right now" answer from the Lord twice, once in my bedroom and again as a confirmation of that answer in the temple, when I went to "double-check." I felt impressed to focus on my schooling, because I am more than halfway through with my degree, and to get as many educational experiences through BYU as possible.

Never have I been 100% satisfied with the "no -- not right now" answer. I say that I am, and I try to be, but it's been hard. Often times I've prayed for patience to follow through based on the answers I've been given, but it's been difficult. That difficulty was increased exponentially due to the announcement President Monson gave yesterday morning, right at the beginning of the first session of our General Conference.

When I heard that the age for worthy sisters had been dropped from 21 to 19, I was surprised. However, I didn't feel upset -- or not super upset. I felt a little bothered, but nothing important. As the day went on, though, and as I got text messages from friends asking me if I was going to go this year, I began to feel an overwhelming feeling of sadness and disappointment. Most people don't know that I have put my mission plans on hold, almost indefinitely. I haven't told very many people -- around here, many people automatically assume that the reason a person is no longer going on a mission is because a big mistake was made. I didn't make a mistake -- I just got told to hold off.

Those feelings of sadness increased as I received news from my younger sister that she will no longer be applying for college for next year, but will instead begin work on her mission papers in January and leave as soon as she turns 19 in July. I felt even more disappointed when my 16-year-old sister texted me that she is going to go on a mission as well in two years (she turns 17 in January), and that she was so excited to receive that answer from the Lord. I turn 21 in January, but no mission papers will be sent this year to Salt Lake with my name on them.

Getting on Facebook made it even worse. Countless status updates, pictures, and other posts met my eyes, each from young men who are moving up their mission dates and from young women who had never before considered missions (and some who have even criticized me for my desire), each expressing with enthusiasm and delight that they were scrapping their college applications and working on mission papers, or altering their goals to include a now possible mission.

I scrolled through my news feed until I could no longer see the screen because of the tears falling from my eyes. My entire being felt shattered, left out, even let down. I began to pray, asking God to change His mind, not really expecting Him to do so. I told God how upset I was -- how all of my life, everything that I have ever desired with my whole soul has been taken away from me, or I have been told to wait. I have watched both of my sisters receive every desire I've ever wanted and was never given -- leads in the school musical, positions on the choir council, relationships that have lasted more than four years, more attention and recognition from my parents, dates with good boys every other weekend -- I can honestly say that almost everything that I have ever desired has never been given me. And I was angry -- I was angry and heartbroken, and I told God that.

The more upset and heartbroken I began to feel, the more I tried to force myself to think of all of the good things that have been given to me, instead of the things I wanted. I got into BYU, even though I didn't think that I would and didn't really care to. I received an internship and a job that I didn't even know existed. I've been given friends who, though they have only been in my life for a couple of years, have been better friends than most of the people I knew when I was younger. No, I don't get to be in plays or in choirs, but I get other things.

But it has still been so hard. All day yesterday, and most of the night, found me in tears, frustrated and devastated because of my "no -- not right now." I recognize that it isn't a "NO" answer. It's a wait and be patient answer.

Being told to wait is one of the hardest things the Lord has asked me to do -- and that is what He asks of me the most.

This, for me, is the worst kind of heartbreak, because it's another time in my life where a righteous desire of my heart has been kept from me, and I've had to watch people who were never interested (or sometimes less qualified) receive those opportunities. I'm not saying that a mission is totally kept from me -- but not given to me when for so long, I have felt such an overwhelming desire to go and serve. What is hard is watching the people I went to high school with, who had no desire to serve a mission, suddenly take off and leave two months after making their decisions. What is hard is knowing that my sister, who is two years younger than I am, will be going on a mission before me, when she had little desire to do so in the first place, wanting to focus on school and see what happened as she got older.

What is hardest is to continually be told, "be patient," and nothing seems to change -- not with my health, not with my friendships, not with my family relationships, not with anything.

I will be patient. I won't give up. I'm not going to distance myself from the Lord (for as someone said in conference, moving away from the Lord when faced with a trial is like leaving the safety of the underground shelter when a tornado is in the field next door). I know that this will be for the best -- the Lord told me to wait for a good reason. Everything that He has done in my life has been for a better reason than I ever could have seen.

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths."

I will do it. He'll take care of everything.

Speaking honestly, though...that doesn't mean it doesn't break my heart.

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.

weighing the options...

Three days of talking through pros and cons has left me feeling drained and doubtful. Phone calls in the late (or early) hours of the morning. Visits after work and school. Talking, and not talking -- talking it out, and processing it in silence. Being there when needed as often as possible. Being there to help in whatever way I can.

Lists, mental and handwritten, of information fill my mind and the garbage can. Words of comfort and counsel cross my lips in an optimistic tone, alleviating some of the worry for a little while and encouraging whatever action is eventually taken.

Can I tell you a secret?

I don't feel particularly optimistic. In truth, I feel empty. Empty and lost and unsure and tired.

So many tears. So much worry. 

It's useless to ask why, but I ask anyway. 

Why do these things happen? 

Why do people choose to hurt others? 

Why are people cruel and senseless and irresponsible?

Why are people seemingly so incapable of accepting the fact that what they do effects others, and that the consequences of their stupidity and viciousness leave indescribable amounts of pain in their wake?

Why?

More importantly, what do we do now? No path will be easy. No journey will be short. No direction will be free from pain. Mentally, emotionally, physically -- maybe even spiritually. Nothing about this is, or ever will be, easy.

And another question: not just what should we do now. What do I do now? Two days until a decision must be made. Two days. But then after that, it's not a mere two days. It's every single day for the rest of our lives.

This sounds so dramatic and childish to me -- but it will be every day. That's why being a part of the decision making is so hard. That's why being asked to help is so frightening. The consequences will be life changing. The healing process will be long.

I don't know why I feel so alone right now. I'm not the one who has to make the decision. I'm not the one experiencing all of this. All I've been asked to do is help, listen, offer my thoughts, and run the occasional errand. I just need to be there.

So why do I feel so alone? Let down? Afraid? 

Tell me how you would answer this question: "How can you be sure that you're doing the right thing when what you feel is right goes against everything you've ever known?"

I'm running out of things to say. And we're running out of time.

finally Friday...

This has been one of the hardest weeks I've had in a very long time.

It hasn't even been school that's been the biggest stress (until this morning). It's just going to classes, going to work between classes, and doing homework. Same old, same old. Sure, it's not easy, and it's hard to read textbooks when your head hurts and your vision blurs, but you know? There are worse things than school. Much worse things.

Being stressed like this is no good. I keep trying to relax and focus on the good things. Every time I turn around, though, it seems that something goes wrong. I keep being put in positions where I must stand up for what I believe, and then am faced with the consequences for my actions -- friends being hurt and angry, being embarrassed in front of classmates and coworkers, feelings of guilt and insecurity -- each time I do the right thing, I end up being the bad guy.

Not always, I'll admit. The people who really matter haven't been upset with me so far. In fact, they've told me multiple times that I did the right thing, and that I have their complete trust. Others I'm not sure of, because at this point I don't know what their reaction to my decisions have been. I wasn't there to see the reaction. I just did what I thought was right. And it was so hard. Let me tell you, it was so hard.

Get through one more day. At five o'clock, the week is over. I'm going shopping, and I'm doing chores, and I'm going to bed early. Why? Because I can! And because I want to. After all...I'm the girl who looks forward to mopping her kitchen floor every week. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it goes along with what a new coworker told me yesterday at the Writing Center. She commented that I was a nice person, and I asked her how she could tell. "Dude -- you held hands for the first time this summer, you're wearing lavender nail polish, you smile at everyone, and you don't want to kiss anyone unless it really, really means something. Those are nice people things. Especially the lavender nail polish. You should wear it all the time."

I don't know if she was being serious or if she was making fun of me a little bit, but I like to think she was serious. I'm sure if she knew that I like to mop floors she'd add that to the list of reasons why I'm easily recognized as a nice person. As for the lavender nail polish, well. I like it. I think it's pretty. But...I think I'll try baby pink next. Just to shake things up. Because, you know, baby pink is so rocking it creates earthquakes -- didn't you know that?

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?

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?

someday we'll know...

Love is something that I don't get. There are so many definitions of love -- I, however, can't seem to define it. There are so many ways that people show love -- sometimes it's hard for me to recognize those ways. And sometimes, it's hard for me to grasp that someone actually loves me.

Take physical touch. I don't know what it is about me and physical touch. I go for days and days without it, and I start to forget that it even happens. No hugs, no high fives, no nothing, and it's no big deal. I rarely miss it or seek it out. I just tend to forget about it.

Then out of nowhere someone will scoop me up in a hug or place a gentle kiss on my cheek. It often shocks me, and I'm left standing there looking surprised. Like today -- a family friend who I've known since I was a baby came into PartyLand tonight. She asked me how my dad and my family are doing, and then she asked about me. I gave the usual "I'm fine" answer. All of the sudden she leaned over the counter and gave me a hug, then kissed me on the cheek and told me she loves me.

I was completely thrown off guard, so much so that I could hardly respond. Standing there behind the counter, I felt tears come to my eyes and a voice in my head said, "Oh, yes. That's what it feels like to be loved. That was kind of her."

And then I felt all funny inside, and vulnerable. Lately I've been trying to keep a sort of protective shell around myself when I'm among coworkers and friends (close friends and room mates excluded -- they've figured out how to get through the shell). But I'm beginning to notice that when I'm offered verbal and physical affection from someone, especially someone I don't know very well or see very often, the shell starts to crack.

Knowing that someone loves you is a strange thing -- for me, it's one of the most astounding sensations in the world. I often worry that the people I love don't love me as much as I love them, and that they'll go away (still working on that one). Realizing that someone really cares about me and loves me hits me like a lightning bolt -- the lady at the store literally left me speechless.

Love is a hard thing for me to understand. It's hard for me to explain why -- I'm not even sure that I know. I only know that it's a tricky thing for me, slippery and hard to grasp in my mind. It frightens me -- it keeps me up at night, or wakes me up.

Like last night -- I know I was having a good dream, and that I was with someone who made me happy. I know it was a man, and that we were laughing and having a good time and were happy together. Then, I lost him. He was there one second, and then he was gone. I couldn't find him -- he was just lost. I woke up crying, not really sure why because the details of the dream faded very quickly -- but I felt so scared and so alone. I do remember that it was 4:15 in the morning, and that I haven't felt that devastated in a very long time.

I think I loved the person in the dream. I don't remember who it was. I don't even know if the man was a person that I knew. Losing him, though, was the worst thing ever.

Love. I don't get it. Not just romantic love, either. The dream is just an example of one of the things that worries me. The other loves, like sister, parent, daughter, brother, friend, neighbor, and all of the others -- those worry me, too.

For what is it to love, and to be loved? What is it really?

Hopefully I'll begin to understand it someday.

people are more important than things...

First, I would like to say thank you to all of the people who have written their thoughts about the shooting in Colorado. Each one of you has had different insights that have helped me gain a larger perspective. You have helped me keep anger and sorrow in check, and have helped me begin to move forward again.

I will admit that I have not been kept in check enough, however, to keep from feeling frustrated and upset by the lack of compassion and tact that many Internet users, political lobbyists and campaigners, column writers, and casual conversationalists have shown during the past few days.

May I just say how very tired I am of seeing people use the Colorado shooting to further their own ends. Be they political, religious, whatever -- the things I have been reading and viewing online and hearing in conversations are ridiculous. There's a little something called empathy, that being the ability to place yourself in someone else's position and attempt to see and feel things the way that person is to gain an understanding of what that person needs. I do not believe that empathy includes turning someone else's horror into an advertisement, a sarcastic meme, or a campaign slogan to carry out personal aims.

Timing, people. It's all about timing. Now is the time for prayers, for letters, for people to take an interest in not just the horror, but in the welfare of those victims of the shooting. Now is the time to focus on what can be done to help the families and friends who are left with empty spaces in their hearts that no poster or promise can heal. Now is the time to think of those who were injured, whether by physical bullets or emotional shrapnel. It is not the time to be funny or sarcastic, or to attack. The attack has already happened. It is in the past -- that cannot be changed -- and the witty comments, snarky remarks, and biting insults are doing nothing to help anyone move forward.

It is about healing. Yes, we must learn from this. We must take into consideration the measures that should be taken to keep something like this from happening again. But it is about the timing. And now is not the time for insensitive words or photos.

Forgive me if I seem close minded or unfeeling. I am not angry, not about the shooting or about the responses to it. I am sure people don't mean to be insensitive. There are so many ways that people deal with tragedies such as this, whether they were there or read about it in the paper. But the focus must be on what can be done for the people who are left to remember the horror they experienced, rather than dwelling on what someone should have done or should have said or what measures should have been in place before. There is no "should have" anymore. There is only "can do."

We live in a society that is all about the moment. We take a situation and try desperately to use it to show how clever we are, or how right we are, or how obvious "the point" of something is. I feel that we as a people are too quick to the punchline and too slow to notice the effect an event has on the individual. We aim to impress the masses, rather than to comfort the one.

We must think before we speak, post, text, and share. We must think beyond the punchline, beyond the political agenda, beyond the religious ideal. We must think of the person -- the person with a face and a name and a family and a future -- for people are always more important than things.