Panic/Release

Panic-Release

I am engulfed by a tidal wave,
unable to breathe, unable to move.
Brought to the surface,
then thrust below once again
to fight for air and freedom.

The space around me spins
like a record player out of control.
Suddenly it stops briefly,
then back to the spinning that
makes life seem faster than I can handle.

But when I’m with you
It’s easier to manage
I can breathe for a while
And I’m in control.
Then we part

and I shake uncontrollably
like a leaf on a tree.
And the wind stops for a second
before shaking me harder
and not letting me go.

#DearMe

Dear Beautiful Weirdo (aka 16 year old Beth),

I know you’re (we’re, to be technical, but this will work better if I just say “you”) at a place in your life where things suck. You don’t have your siblings around anymore (and haven’t for a while), you’re in this weird place in your life where you’re in high school and you have little to no friends, you’re grounded (and will be for a while yet; we never do get our crap figured out with that), and life seems to suck. But believe me, IT GETS BETTER.

You’re going to go through some bad times. I’m sorry for that. You’re going to have days where you want to die. You’re cutting (which does stop and you won’t have scars!). You’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to drift away from Mom and Dad and eventually realize your drama-llama-ness and go back to them on your knees. You’re going to do a lot of things.

If I, coming at you from the future, could tell you one thing…. it would be to chill out. If I could prevent anything (which I can’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be the you I am today)… it would be you getting too entwined in your friendship with Lacey. You haven’t met her yet. You will next year. She’ll be awesome at first. You’ll feel complete and like you’re getting the sister that isn’t there right now. But things will change with her. You’ll get dragged down with her, you’ll begin to hate yourself and try to change the amazing person you are, and your relationship with her will be your downfall with a lot of different things.

Keep your head up (you’ll hear that from someone much more impactful in your life next year). STOP SKIPPING ORCHESTRA (despite the fact that you hate Tara and want her to suffer in some pretty gruesome ways). Love yourself.

After all the weird crap that will happen, you’ll get your crap together and get back into school. You’ll realize what you want to do (which I won’t tell you, the moment of realization is so great) through your irritation with your College Comp teacher. You’ll transfer and meet the most amazing group of people you could ever hope to meet.

The picture below will be a common occurrence (that’s us on the right by the window). 

YOU WILL BE OKAY.

I love you.

Love,
ME

The possibilities are endless

So… college, amirite?

I’m currently in the process of applying for graduate school. One of the applications is due tomorrow (and it is done and I feel great). But now I’m thinking of the possibilities in a different way and thinking of the fact that I don’t HAVE to attend a brick and mortar school.

My projected field of study is Library Science. Yes. I get it. I’m not a quiet person. I’m not the traditional stereotype of a librarian. I’ve heard it all before, and it makes me angry. Just because I don’t fit a specific stereotype, does not mean I can’t do the job or that I wouldn’t be good at it/like doing it.

Then, all of a sudden, today it was brought to my mind that I could attend grad school online. The American Library Association has a list of schools accredited by them (which is important because libraries want employees that went to an ALA-accredited school/program) including a long list of schools which offer 100% online degrees (including schools like Florida State University, Wayne State University, Kent State University, St. John’s University, and a bunch more). There is also a school with satellite schools that offers mostly online degrees with 2 weekends a semester of face-to-face classes.

I got supremely excited at the prospect. I could get my Master’s degree and live wherever I wanted to live, whether that was back in North Dakota with my parents, in Minnesota with my family of friends, or somewhere completely different. Then, I started thinking… I could get a job and stay in Morris for a year while starting my degree, then move to Minneapolis with my friends. I started looking around at job possibilities in Minnesota and found a job at UMM’s library as a Circulation and Technology Support Manager. I checked out the requirements, all of which I will have at the end of the semester (only one I’d be waiting on is my Bachelor’s degree). The job is full-time paying almost $20/hour (or approximately $41,000/year).

Another possibility would be doing my degree online and asking for a promotion at the gas station back home. The store I work at needs an Assistant Manager and I have the experience to do it. I could hang out with my parents for a while, get a place of my own, and go to school at the same time. Or I could do my degree online and going to North Carolina and hanging out with family down there. Heck, I could even do my degree and bum around the country for a while, if I really wanted to!

Either way, there is a possibility with some of the schools’ schedules, that I may be taking a semester off (the school with the satellite campuses only admits for spring semester).

The possibilities are endless… and that excites me.

Red

I am standing in a line of matching red polyester gowns, red polyester hats, legs, and dress shoes. The only difference between each gaudy red gowned person is the face between the collar and the hat. Everyone else is excited. The air buzzes with voices, excitedly chattering about their plans for the night. I remain silent.

We are finally herded into the main arena. The scoreboard lights are dark. The people in the red gowns frantically scan the waiting crowd for their family and friends, as if to say “I am the center of the world right now. Where are my people?” I do not submit to the scanning of the crowd. I know exactly where the people I want to see are. They are seated about a fourth of the way up in the middle on the right hand side. They wave. I respond in kind.

One by one, other red gowned people orate to the sea of red gowns, as if to say “Look at me up here on display. I am better than you.” Old men in bad suits and twiggy women in bad dresses stand before the sea of red gowns and tell them to seize the future. Then, one-by-one, like dumb cows to slaughter, the sea of red gowns is herded onto a stage while their name is proclaimed and the old men and twiggy women hand each red gowned member of the sea a piece of paper ensconced in a cardboard folder. They limply shake hands as if to say “Goodbye. Your time with us is over. We are responsible for your success but do not screw up.”

Once the sea of red gowns has resettled into their seats in the arena, more old men and twiggy women speak of the present being a gift and more red gowned people speak of the importance of now. I idly gaze towards where I know my family is. My mother looks bored, my father looks half asleep. My gaze is drawn upwards, towards the top of the section of seats. There, above the entry for the concession stand, are faces I did not want to see on this day of leaving. The lady with the wiry grey curls, the woman with the limp red strands, they were not invited. My eyes twitch from them back to my mother and father and back up to them.

Then one of the old men or twiggy women announce the graduating class of 2004. The sea of red gowns erupts into screams and cheers, and red polyester hats are thrown violently into the air. There is hugging and cheering and laughter around me. My world has seemingly just crashed down around me. In the midst of the happiness, I break down and weep.

Those nights

There are days, but mostly nights
Where I just feel so damaged and out of fight.
When I feel as if every last piece of me
Is broken beyond repair and it’s too dark to see.

Nights when the tears flow like a river down a mountain,
Like the rain in the middle of a storm, like water from a fountain.
When they sting my cheek and burn through my soul,
And they mar the flesh and suck in good like a giant black hole.

Nights when nothing in my life feels quite right,
Like watching the disappearing glow of a lover’s tail lights.
Lonely, like the last crumb of dinner on a dirty plate,
Too meaningless, tasteless, and foreign to hold much weight.

 

Changes

Tomorrow is my last day of finals. I have one at 8:30am and then after that I have some time to finish cleaning my room before I leave for the summer. I’m filled with mixed emotions. On one hand, I cannot wait to go home and have a summer with my parents, friends, family, and work; on the other hand, I’m going to miss this place and the lovely people that populate it. 

This year has been one of immense change for me. I’ve felt in-between places for so long that some of the feelings I’m going through today have been rough. I’ve grown up and sometimes that’s scary.

I’ve met so many amazing people. I, for the first time ever, have a big “family” of friends who love me and all my awkwardness. We’ve gone through a lot together this year. From my anxiety, to a friend’s admirable struggle with body image issues (a friend who is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, inside and out), to the death of a friend’s close family member. We’ve struggled with school and stress. We’ve struggled with which movie to watch (which doesn’t seem like much, but can be when no one cares what is watched because, hey, we’re all together). We’ve grown in our faith in God and in each other.

I’ve dealt with an entire semester of not being with my parents all the time. I’ve grown up in that respect too. The time I have with them is so precious, that I’ve learned to ask “Is this a fight that’s worth something?” Usually the answer is no. When I was so down on myself about thinking I couldn’t finish my final paper in time to turn it in, my dad told me I could. And because of that… I did. I didn’t get much sleep last night because of it, but I did it. When I’ve had bad nights that led to bad days, my mom could talk me through it.

I’ve learned that social media isn’t the only way to live life. What matters are the moments. The lunches and dinners with friends. The nights after IVCF where we just stand there for half an hour talking. Being able to ask for prayer from a friend and, with no judgment, getting it. Finding weird little things that I thought were just me and realizing that a friend does the same things or feels the same way. 

I’m not the person I was when I came to this little school on the Minnesota prairie. I know without question that I’ve become a better, kinder person who can take on the world. I know that I am loved by others. I’m kind of apprehensive about going home because of that fact. Will my friends still be my friends? Will things with my parents be okay this summer? Will I be okay this summer?

I’m going to miss my friends here terribly. The good thing is that I know with certainty that when we all get together for the first time next fall, it will be amazing and wonderful. There is absolutely no question.

I miss you guys already.

Friends… and the wall I put up

I have always been a loner. I don’t remember ever wanting that as my life… but I was always the weird kid. I was the one on the playground that the playground monitor had to find someone to play with. I always preferred the company of my brother and his friends or of adults. I didn’t like kids my age because they were usually mean to me. One girl in elementary school even told me she didn’t want to play with me because my mom died and that I was weird because of that. So I began retreating into myself even further. I began trying to please everyone in an attempt to pretend I cared.

In high school, I had few to no friends. I met a girl named Lacey in my junior year. When our friendship started, it was fairly normal. At first we hung out only at school. After I graduated, we started spending more and more time together. Usually I could be found in her basement bedroom with her or in her car, driving around aimlessly stopping only for food. We started drinking and, once in a while, a friend would give us some pot to smoke. I never liked it, but did it because it was time spent with a “friend.” Eventually, she graduated and started getting more and more involved in using marijuana. Our aimless drives became pot fueled binges, stopping only for munchies. She couldn’t work most of the time because she was unable to pass a drug test, so I (who had a job) ended up supplying money for a new bag of weed, gas, munchies, and beverages. I couldn’t even pay my own rent half the time, but continued to pay her way so she would stay friends with me. That was all I was concerned with for the longest time… her staying friends with me. Well, her and her friends continuing to hang out with me.

Eventually, I grew up. I realized that spending all my time and money on marijuana and a person who couldn’t even respect me as a person was less important than keeping my job, family, and the few other people who I had gotten to know outside of her. I was quickly losing the respect of my parents and I was constantly paranoid that I was going to get a random drug test at work, fail, and subsequently lose my job. I stopped smoking pot but continued to hang out with her. Despite the fact that I made it clear that I was no longer going to participate in this illegal activity, she continued to pressure me (and I’ll admit I did give in more than enough times). Finally, I told her I couldn’t hang out with her if she was going to smoke around me. That lasted about a week. I finally had to tell her I couldn’t hang out with her at all until she got sober.

That was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.

After that I started hanging out with a girl named Amy that I met at work. She was funny, spontaneous, and incredibly anti-drug. She was older than me and had gone through a drug phase and come out the other end. We hung out all the time. My friendship with Amy was more equal. We paid for our own stuff and she paid for the gas in her car because it was her decision to go driving around all the times we did. After her husband died, she didn’t want to live alone and she asked me to move in with her. Her only stipulation was that I would get my driver’s license within a certain amount of time. Since I was having problems keeping up on the rent for my apartment after getting so far behind while friends with Lacey, I took Amy up on her deal.

Everything was great when I moved in. We both did housework (usually spending Saturdays doing it together) and we both had extra money because of splitting the rent and utilities (I paid lot rent, she paid utilities). Eventually she started dating a guy (and he moved in rather quickly) who hated me (not that I didn’t dislike him too). He and I constantly fought about stuff and I didn’t want to spend any of my time around him. Eventually, his and my fights bled over into my friendship with Amy and we started fighting. Eventually she told me to move out. I was homeless for about a month after that (waiting for my parents to get moved in to their new trailer) and slept most nights on another friend’s couch and, after leaving her house because her newly moved in boyfriend didn’t want me there, finally sleeping on the couch of my grandparents for a week. I was showering at the gym that I had stopped paying the membership fees for, sneaking in at night with a card that somehow still worked.

Needless to say, because of these “friendships” going so sour, so fast, I didn’t want to make friends. I currently have exactly 3 friends back home: Rachel, Emily, and Ali. These people were willing to push past the wall I built up and weren’t willing to take my crap.

Now I’m 300+ miles away from these friends. I can’t just text and hang out with someone. So I still have this wall built up, and I even reinforced it a little at the beginning of the semester. I didn’t want to get hurt, and if I spend all my time by myself with my headphones in when in public, I won’t have to deal with people I don’t want to deal with.

That hasn’t worked.

About 3 weeks into the semester, I was extremely lonely. I posted something on the Morris Confessions Facebook page saying that I was so freaking lonely. A girl named Eden responded and said to message her if I wanted. I did. It was the best thing that I’ve ever done. I haven’t hung out with her and her large group of friends much, but when I do I don’t feel like an outcast. One of the guys, Adam, has made an effort to include me outside of the group as well, which is new and different. When he sees me in the dining hall he’ll ask me to join him and another girl (Rosa) from the group. I do when I can, more now than in the past.

These people are helping to crumble that wall. And to them I owe a huge thank you. Past friends have put me in the role of second-class citizen. They have required things of me like money, time, some sort of devotion to them, and have made fun of me for being “weird”. These people are okay with my differences. They are more than happy to be okay with my Christianity, in fact they almost celebrate it. It helps that they are Christians as well, since they have a lot of the same beliefs as I do. They don’t drink, do drugs, or swear. They just have fun being together… and I love that.

I’m working on my willingness to be around people. Yes, I have been hurt in the past and, according to some people, it is totally conceivable that I would want to push people away, but I cannot get through life like that. I don’t want to be alone. Someday, when I die, I want there to be people to miss me besides family. Plus, if I refuse to be around other people, I won’t have the chance to meet my future spouse. I’m starting to feel my age (despite people saying I don’t look 28) and I want to get married and have a family.

Mental Health Story

Today is the first day of Mental Health Awareness week here at school. Inspired by this, I am going to share my mental health story. I have not been officially diagnosed with anything, but am going to work on getting counseling and, hopefully, get the help I may need.

When I was 2 years old, my biological mother died from food insufflation brought on by a Grand Mal seizure. I don’t remember her, but I know the fact of this affects me pretty much every day of my life. My sister and brother (who were 10 years old and 5 years old, respectively, at the time) say they don’t remember her either. I don’t know how true that is. My earliest memory is my mom, shaking on the floor by the back door (by the washer and dryer). Then I remember the paramedics (guys in black uniforms in my memory, as I didn’t know what paramedics were then) taking her out on a stretcher. I remember my sister crying hysterically and me not knowing what was happening. All I know now is that my mom was gone and things were never quite the same.

I remember Brenda always being the one there. She started babysitting us shortly after my mom died. My dad had 3 kids and had to go back to work so he could provide for us. I remember sitting in our living room as a kid, with my sister, brother, Dad, and Brenda, doing family devotions and talking about Mom. We did this for a while, but stopped (I later found out it was because my parents didn’t think we wanted to do it anymore). I wish we had kept doing it, because my sister and brother should have had memories of my mom to share with me so that she could stay alive somehow. It kind of angers me that they say they don’t remember her.

My mom’s death created a fear of getting attached to someone. I don’t want them to leave me, so I push them away until they prove that they aren’t going anywhere. According to Focus Adolescent Services “In every situation that children experienced their parent’s love being cut off (e.g., divorce, abandonment, abuse, neglect, death, imprisonment, or their love becoming conditional), the emotional bond was broken” (http://www.focusas.com/Attachment.html). When this emotional bond is broken, children can develop a sense of being unlovable or that they were somehow at fault. I, personally, developed a beginning of being unlovable. I knew I was still lovable, but the foundation was cracked.

The next thing that contributed to the complete obliteration of that foundation and made me feel unlovable was things that happened to me as a child in Sunday School. Jonathan Hartman was 12 years old, I was 6 years old. He was my Sunday School teacher because I was the only one in my age group. Things happened. I found out a couple of years ago that he was arrested, convicted, and imprisoned for molesting girls at the church he was “volunteering” at (his parents were the pastors). Within a month of finding that out, I was inundated with nightmares and memories resurfacing about things that he did to me. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but there were things that he did to me (and, I found out later, he used me as a way to prevent girls from telling people… saying that I had tried telling, but it didn’t do anything to stop him) that were beginning stages of sexual abuse. This went on for 3 years. I am his first “victim”.

One of the things he did to me was to tell me “no one will ever love you like I do, not even your parents do”. This line was repeated to me on a regular basis. I heard him say that in my mind for the next 20 or so years. Whenever I would get an interest in a guy, or a guy would express interest in me, I would hear those words and retreat. Jonathan Hartman did not, in any way, love me. He loved the control he had over me.

I have worked on forgiving him and have finally moved past that. The nightmares that I’ve had for the last 2 years have finally subsided, for now. But his actions pushed a wedge in that cracked foundation and crumbled it completely.

I have lost more people in my life than any one person should lose at a young age. My mom and Grandma Betty didn’t have a choice in the matter as the loss of them was by death. I believe firmly that if they’d had the choice, they would still be here.

Other people, however, were completely by choice. I’ve explained the relationship with my Dad’s parents and his sister before. But there were others who made the choice to be out of my life for extended periods too. I don’t know their reasoning, but it contributed to my issues as well.

My sister and brother both walked out of my life for around 10 years (my brother was less time, but he also has little to no contact with me now, his choice). My sister and I have talked about this. I have told her how angry I was at her for what she did. My brother won’t listen to what I have to say, because he doesn’t want to hear it.

Shawn: I love you. You are my brother. We had amazing conversations as kids and I miss that with you. I hope you can someday finally grow to a place where you can listen to my feelings about everything that happened and how you disappearing from my life for so long affected me.

My biological mom’s mom also effectively walked out of my life as well. I tend to focus more on my dad’s parents, because they were so vocally adamant about it, but this woman also left a hole in an already crumbled foundation.

One summer day, while sitting at home with my mom (Brenda), my dad called and told us we should come up to his work (Wendy’s up north, next to a hotel). My Nana, Aunt Becky, Uncle Eddie, and cousins Tracey and Archelle were up there. Apparently, he was doing something in the lobby and, upon glancing out the window, saw them in the parking lot of the hotel. Somehow he got their attention and they came in.

They had been in the area for a few days. About a year ago I found out that they had taken my sister, her kids, and my brother up to see my Grandpa in the Veteran’s Home and they had spent a couple days up there at the lake, going water skiing and such (believe that when I found this out, I was immensely unhappy, but unable to say anything because I didn’t want to upset my sick Grandpa). They had no plans of seeing me. If they hadn’t gotten caught, I wouldn’t have seen them.

*Disclaimer: NO ONE TOLD ME THIS. I FIGURED IT OUT ON MY OWN.*

Turns out they had talked to my dad’s sister while they were in town. Apparently my aunt had nothing good to say about my parents (big surprise, not) and somehow the grandmother that supported my second mom (Brenda) and her relationship with us all of a sudden turned against her and my dad. I was, once again, unwillingly tossed aside. This woman packed up her piece of foundation and went to do her own thing. She sent a card once in a while saying happy birthday or happy graduation, but it was never the same.

So there went most of the rest of my foundation. I was left with my parents as the only piece of foundation left.

People that took pieces of my mental health foundation:
Grandma & Grandpa Rants
Mom
Nana
Shawn
Margo
Jonathan
Grandma Betty

Most people can live a fairly healthy mental and emotional life with a few pieces missing. But I had already had one piece of foundation removed and replaced (or grafted in if you will) when my mom died and Brenda came in.

I constantly felt out of control. In order to control these things I resorted to controlling every single thing I could, and some I couldn’t. I became angry when something wouldn’t go the exact way I wanted it to go (which was a lot, I had extremely high expectations and very detailed plans for things). My parents, even this summer, were at wit’s end with my irritability and constant anger. I kind of forgot how it felt to be happy. In a previous blog (here) I discuss my monotone emotion of sadness.

In high school a teacher and I discussed some of the things I was going through. Panic attacks (that no one else knew about. I still have them sometimes), depression, fear of people. He also struggled with panic disorder and depression and said that he would sit down with my parents if I wanted him to do so. I talked to my parents that night. They thought all I wanted was attention and medication. I don’t completely disagree with them. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted from them. Maybe an agreement from them that I was mentally unstable? I’m not quite sure still.

I was also a cutter for a long time. Even after I told my parents and promised I would stop, I continued to cut. I hid it, I claimed it was from other things. All I knew was that when I cut myself, I felt better. I could sleep, I could function. My mind was more focused on hiding and caring for my cuts, so I wasn’t focused on what was going wrong around me or on what I couldn’t control. I finally quit for a while. It wasn’t easy and someone coming into my first solo apartment would have been confused by all the strings tying drawers shut. I did slip up once. I was sitting on my bed, crying about my friend who decided not to be my friend anymore… and the next thing I knew I was looking down at my arm. It was bleeding from about 10 different cuts. I had blacked out, ripped apart my shaving razor, and cut myself. That was 5 years ago.

I’ve begun working through some of my issues. I’m working on forgiving the people who walked out of my life and moving forward.

I’m not sharing this to hurt anyone or make them feel bad, but rather as a story of what I have personally gone through. I really hope it can help someone else in their own quest for mental stability.

Weirdly weird

I don’t know quite how to express what exactly I’m feeling right now. I’m going to try the best I can, but if it is hard to understand… I warned you.

Moved in at college on August 25th. It was hard. I missed my parents and cried a lot that first week. Classes started with no problems and I had very few issues with my roommate. She was messy and noisy and a little annoying, but she didn’t have a problem with me being up late at night with my laptop on. She ended up having to leave school due to a family emergency. 

I had the opportunity to go home Labor Day weekend (thanks Erinn!) and I took it. I was (and still am) broke as a joke, but I missed my parents and our dogs. It was nice. The only reason I even went was to see them. No one else. I enjoyed my time with them, but found myself wanting to be back at school.

I got hired at the on-campus C-Store. Right now it is just Saturdays and on-call, but it could very well work into a more regular gig. And I don’t need much money (just for phone, car insurance, and gas to go home next month). I had to talk to Financial Aid because my aid seemed off. Turns out it was. Somehow I wasn’t offered the right amount. Plus my cost of attendance was about $1000 too low (mandatory health insurance wasn’t calculated in). So they’re working on fixing that. I also got offered a job at the Cenex in town, but if my aid goes through and I get some back I’m not going to take it. Between homework, work study, the C-Store, and trying to find some friends… I don’t know if I’ll really have the kind of time they (probably) want. So fingers crossed on that whole thing. (Another plus is that at the C-Store and library I can wear whatever I want and have my hair my happy colors.)

Today I was talking to my dad. This is where things get hard to explain. Apparently he and my grandma got into it again. She denied (again) that my aunt had a drinking problem. He told her about the crap I went through when I was little. Me standing in the aisle at Wal-Mart crying and watching her work. I just wanted to have my grandma in my life. Brenda’s mom died when I was 10, my biological mom’s mom was never around… She was the only one close. And yet, at the same time, she was so far away. I longed for that connection, but was not allowed to have it.

When I was little, I liked my grandma. I loved going to her house in Beulah and going on the slide and listening to the ocean in her seashell and getting spoiled and having MEMORIES. Then all of a sudden it was gone. Not by my choice, not by my parents’ choice. By HER choice. NO ONE MADE YOU CHOOSE. YOU DID THAT YOURSELF YOU SELFISH… I won’t finish that sentence. Her belief that my aunt was a healthy human being with absolutely no problems led her and my grandpa to choose to walk away from an 11 year old girl. “We’ll have a relationship with her when she’s 18” is not a phrase that should EVER be spoken by a grandparent about their grandchild.

Even when I turned 18 I didn’t have a relationship with them. I didn’t WANT it. I wanted it when I was a kid. I still remember (like it was this morning) arguing with my dad about whether or not to invite these “strangers” to my graduation party. I was adamant that I did NOT want them there. There was no middle ground with me. I despised these people. Especially at my actual graduation ceremony when they showed up and acted like the past 8 years hadn’t happened.

In 2007, my aunt died. Tragic right? Not to me. I was over it. Yeah, it sucked at the time. I thought I was supposed to react a certain way and so I did. I got stoned out of my mind that whole week. Drank like being wasted was going out of style. Barely slept. Argued with my parents and accused my dad of pretty much being a robot who couldn’t cry over the death of his sister. Eventually, I got over that. It took some time, but I couldn’t grieve over someone who had not been in my life for 10 years. 

I felt unwanted for so long.

After my aunt died we started having a relationship with my grandparents. I hated it. They had no idea who I was, what I stood for, where I wanted to go in life. They still denied any problem with my aunt or with what they did. 

I can’t move past that. I want to… but I don’t know how and I almost hold that dislike of them close to me to keep me from getting hurt in the future. I don’t want to be an angry person, but my anger does sometimes get channeled out in my writing.

My dad wants me to call my grandma and talk to her.

She could always call me if she wants to talk to me. Is that so hard? I think that after 16 years… she could call me.

Their Lives Will Never Be the Same

Today, April 15, 2013, was the 117th annual Boston Marathon.
Today, three people were innocently watching the marathon with friends, family, and/or strangers.
Today, those three people died.
Today, someone woke up and put bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.
Today, dozens of people were injured, some facing amputation of limbs.
Their lives will never be the same.

Today, heroes emerged.
Today, random people helped strangers in their time of need.
Today, there were selfless people who started the day normal and ended it having changed lives.
Today, people were amazing.
Their lives will never be the same.

Today, thousands of people were watching, transfixed to their Facebook/Twitter newsfeeds, watching for news.
Today, a nation was horrified at the images crossing their computer, cell phone, and television screens. Today, a people mourned loss.
Their lives will never be the same.

Today, a world was forever changed.
Today, a planet is just a little less innocent.
Their lives will never be the same.