Yours Truly

I used to love dreaming and the adventures that came with it. Because I listen to Jim Dale narrate Harry Potter every night while I'm falling asleep, a lot of my night-time unconscious adventures include the Potter crew. Some of the best have been a rap battle with Voldemort (which I won), and also a rugby game against Voldemort, and a laser tag place with wands instead of guns (this idea is trademarked by me...so don't even think about it!)
Lately, I've almost been afraid to fall asleep because when I do, I either see people who I have cut off contact with, or people who I miss dearly and live 1000 miles away. I don't fear so much seeing the people I miss, because at least in my dreams I get to spend some time with them.
No, the problem is seeing people, or in this case 1 person with whom I have cutoff contact.
Imagine a past relationship as a gaping knife wound. you cover the wound with salve and bandages and take antibiotics for possible infection. You keep the wound covered, you don't rip off the bandage every few minutes to see if it's healing. After awhile, the wound begins to heal, you remove the bandage because it's no longer needed, and the scar begins to heal, and you don't feel the deep penetrating pain that used to be a part of you. But imagine after the wound is healed if then you get stabbed in the same place everyday, and you have to start the healing process all over again.
This is what it's like when I dream of or am reminded of said person....we'll call her Bertha.
In my dream, we are besties again, and none of the bad stuff between us ever happened. More than anything, when I wake up I am angry. Angry that I still have thoughts of her, and that she still has a role in my thoughts and dreams. I need some bleach for my brain to scour my thoughts and memories to clean away any trace of her.
I have distanced myself from Bertha in every way I know how. Blocked on my phone, blocked on Facebook and Instagram, I burned, literally started on fire everything she ever gave me and every letter she wrote to me, and my favorite shirt that she gave me.
All these things have been therapeutic but it's not enough. it doesn't take away the memories we had together or all the times she made me laugh so hard I cried. It doesn't take away the feelings I've had about how she treated with reckless abandon our 10 years of friendship, and how a lot of the blame was put on me, leaving her spotless.
I would be naive to think that I didn't have any part in the process, but I have endlessly racked my brain on the things that I could have done better, and what more I could have said, and how many more chances I could have given her. In reality, if she were to find some way to contact me, and beg to be friends again, I would give have to give pause before I slammed the door.
I am starting to think that these thoughts will never go away, and honestly I am the person I am today partly because of our friendship. I went on a mission because she got me thinking about it, and I thought about things on a deeper level because of our late night chats. I enjoyed Snow College that much more because of her. But I have grown, and faced my demons without her. I thought that I couldn't survive without my best friend, but I did. I not only survived, but I have thrived in Grad school, and in life without her, in spite of her. I might always have a hole from where she used to be but I focus on the people in my life who didn't leave me behind.
And Now, a poem:
 

Yours Truly

You’re in my dreams but I wish you’d go.

I’d cut open my brain just to let you out the door.

I’ve moved on in life and I’m happy with you gone

But when I close my eyes, my time with you isn’t done

You riddle my nights, which ruins my days

I’m sick of thinking about all the ways

I disappointed you, what more could I have done

Should I have kept quiet, should I have held my tongue?

I’m mad that you still take space in my brain

You are the conductor of the thought train

I burned everything you gave me, blocked you from my phone

But in my brain you still roam

You’ve built yourself a two-story house in my head

Consider this your eviction notice

Take your crap and get out of my mind

For you this is the end of the line

The wall is up with razor wire and a chain around my brain

Don’t expect to be treated kindly if you ride in on the thought train

Let me move on, let me be okay without you

You made your decision, now let me make mine

What it really looks like

     As I sit here preparing to write about one of the most difficult trials in my life I can feel my heart racing, my eyes welling up with tears, and the general feeling of anxiety spreading throughout my body. But here is the thing that I have learned about trials. If we don't learn from them, and share that knowledge with others so that their pain might be lessened, then we have learned nothing.
     I am not writing this post to troll for sympathy, or to seek attention. I am writing this post so that others may learn from my experience, and be able to realize that they are not alone in their trials.


  
I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This disorder is the result of almost drowning 3 and a half years ago, while swimming in San Diego. The symptoms show themselves gradually. For the first 3 weeks there are flashbacks, and nightmares. At the 2 month mark, loss of attention begins, claustrophobia, shortness of temper. After that, they just start rolling in: Mood swings, depression, anxiety, loss of desire, Isolation and panic attacks My first panic attack started at the movie theater while I was watching "The Deathly Hallows Part II"(The crying started around the time that Snape was dying, So people would have just thought that I was really moved by his love for Lily).  This could also be the time when people look for coping strategies. For me it was eating. Lots and lots of eating.
  After 4 months of having symptoms that I thought were just a result of being on summer vacation, and not being busy, I sought help. I was at the end of my rope and didn't know what to do. I was referred to A Psychologist. I also Learned about Emotional Support animals, and got a dog named Vinny who has been my best friend since the day we met. I got on medication that worked, and my symptoms were significantly lessened.
 
   Fast forward to 1 week ago. I have lived in California for 2 months, and I have been in my Masters program for almost a month. Ever since I moved here I haven't been able to sleep(which triggers my depression and anxiety), I get lost a lot, and I hate not knowing my way around. Add that to 13 hours of class a week, and more time spent doing homework... Not the best combination.

    I came to my breaking point. People use any number of coping skills to help them cope with depression and anxiety: Drinking, Eating, Drugs, T.V., Self-harm, yoga, Relaxation, and Deep Breathing. I try not to eat when I'm stressed out anymore because it's not good for my health, or my waistline. Instead I watch t.v. and when the situation is dire, I Hit myself. in only 3 situations have I cut myself.
  1 week ago was one of those situations. I could not get out of my own head, and thoughts, and wanted to be rid of them so badly. So I hit myself with my CTR (Choose The Right) (Ironic, I know) and used a pair of scissors to cut my arm. After that, I knew that I couldn't do this alone anymore. I called my parents and promised them that I would get help.
   I had an appointment with a psychiatrist on Friday, but knowing Friday couldn't come soon enough, I called another office to see if they could get me in sooner. I had an appointment the next day at 2:30. I was relieved and nervous. Tuesday came, and 2:30 came with it. I found myself sitting the office of a therapist named Judd. Judd asked me what brought me here. I told him about my PTSD, my cutting, and my hitting. And then I started hyperventilating and having a panic attack.... good times.
Judd told me a story about when he was a marine.
  As a marine, he would join his platoon in 8 to 10 mile hikes. Sometimes a Marine would drop out of the hike because of exhaustion. The medics would rush upon the man and fill him with I.V Fluids. Judd and his friends decided that they would not let this happen to each other. When they saw a man start to weary from fatigue, the others would remove his helmet, pack, and other gear, So that he could walk unencumbered for a bit.
  One day, Judd was walking along, and felt hands on his helmet and pack. It was his buddies, working as fast as they could to unburden him. Judd had not noticed that he had began to wobble, but his friends had. Judd said That he was pissed. and he tried to fight them off, unsuccessfully. After a few minutes of walking unencumbered Judd realized that he felt better. Judd Told me, that I should be able to walk without my pack for a bit. He suggested hospitalization... Maybe that was when the panic attack started.

  The only thing I new about psychiatric hospitals, was what I saw on T.V. "Girl Interrupted", and "Shutter Island" to name 2. I did not want to go at first. I thought about school, and what people would think, and what it would mean for my future in my masters program. Judd told me that all that stuff could wait, I needed to focus on me, and getting better. This would mean getting my meds change if needed. 30 minutes later, I was sitting in my friend Emily's' car, and we were driving to the Behavioral Medical Center. 4 hours and 1 urine sample later, I was admitted. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do, so I paced from my room, to the hall. I hate uncertainty and not knowing what to expect. I stayed up the first night reading because I couldn't sleep. I finally got about 3 hours of sleep.

  I was overwhelmed by the amount of report I received was overwhelming. Emily, who is also my mentor at school, took care of everything. She brought me clothes, she got my car back home, and she let my bishop, and my program adviser know what was going on. there were 2 different visiting hours everyday, and even though I only in the hospital for 2 days, I always had visitors. My roommates, Emily and my friend Courtney who is also the relief society president, the bishop, and his wife. It was the time I looked forward to everyday. I was finally letting people help me, and I tried not to think about school, or anything else but getting better. I was the model patient. I went to every group, and did whatever was asked of me.
     I got my meds changed, I started an intensive 4 week therapy, and I am home. I finally have hope that things are going to be okay. I begged God to help me, keep his promises to me, and make this right. After 2 days of trying to argue that i knew what was right for me, he humbled me, and showed me what I needed to do.
I am grateful for a loving God, who sometimes, takes the steering wheel from our hands, pats us on the head, and says "Don't worry, I got this".
I am not better. I try to take things day by day, hour by hour. I am going to work extremely hard these next 4 weeks to get the long-term fix I need to get back to school, and face life head on with confidence.


If you are having suicidal thought, Please get help. THERE IS ALWAYS HELP AVAILABLE
1-800-273-8255National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

wishin' and hopin'

I've been thinking a lot lately about dating, and the beginning of relationships. How they start, what sparks the match, and what makes two people decide that they're a "couple". But more specifically I've been thinking about the first few encounters, that turns a pile of tinder into a smoking almost beginning of a fire. There has always been a lot of rules, and games attached to dating, that I'm not amazed that many people my age adopt Nancy Reagans' slogan and "just say no". There's not so much dating going on, as there is "hanging out", or "making out". Both fine things, but whatever happened to the thrill of the chase? A guy asking a girl "out" and actually going OUTDOORS not just "out" in the proverbial sense? I honestly don't know the reason, but I know that I don't like it. I have only been asked "out" in the real sense, twice in my life, and frankly I'm getting to the age where I don't want to wait around to get asked out; so I might as well start asking. According to the rule book however, this is taboo. Girls shouldn't make the first move, a guy should be the one to ask for a girls' number or ask her out, but I think I might be a skeleton if I wait that long. My point is forthcoming, but first a story.
We've all seen chick flicks, where they make some great and bold declaration of love. whether it be standing below someone's window with a boom box overhead, or building them house, or toting your love fern on the back of a motorcycle to chase your cab down the road; whatever it be, Most of us think, "why can't that happen to me?" But then We walk out of the dark movie theater, shake our head a couple of times, and realize that those types of things don't happen in real life. While I agree that someone will probably never strap shrubbery on the back of a bike and chase me down, and build my dream house, I think that the idea behind it is realistic. I have this life, right now to make things happen. Hell, I probably only have the next 5 years until my daring bone shrivels up and dies. That cute guy at the Coffee shop isn't going to know you like him until you open your mouth. that guy at the new year's eve party I chatted with has know idea that I was about to give him my number; and who suffers because of it? ME! I've regretted ever since that I didn't give him my number. And even if he would have never used it, I would have known that I opened my mouth and told him I was interested.
Dating is hard enough without all the cultural rules, and taboos. Throw away the rule book, and put away the games. It's time to "say what you want to say, and let the words fall out. -Sara Bareilles" Give some one your number, send that text you've been dying to send, Say hello.
Sometimes, that direct yet subtle move, is what will turn that pile of sticks into a raging fire.

Analyze this

I need someone to analyze my dreams, because they are pretty messed up. I took Ambien to help me sleep during the summer because A: Camp beds aren't all that comfortable, and B: I'm a whack job when I'm stressed out... Which was pretty much all the time. I did have some crazy stress dreams, but those are pretty normal, I think the craziest dreams I've ever had were during finals week, but I digress. I have since stopped taking Ambien, and my dreams are crazier than ever, and there's a theme!
A lot of people have reoccurring dreams or at least reoccurring themes, like being naked in different situations, teeth falling out, flying, things like that; but I've never been a themey dreamer. My dreams have pretty much come willy nilly and I would wake up in the morning scratching my head, but now I dream about things chasing me. Crazy, Psycho animals that stalk their prey, and it's not just your run of the mill panther, or tiger. These are the crazy hybrids that were used for chemical testing or had laser beams attached to their heads, and all for the purpose of scaring the CRAP out of dream me. In one dream it was panthers with crazy bright eyes that you saw right before they chased you down, the second dream was about those crazy Pit-bull looking things from "The Hunger Games", and the dream I had last night was about a crazy looking tiger. It had a huge head, and it's whole body was bald. It still had stripes but they were grey and red stripes that were on the inside of his body. Somehow, I always manage to escape these crazy, lab rejects, but not before they scare the heeber jeebers out of me!
I don't know if this means something, or if all that time hitting my head playing rugby is catching up to me, but I don't know how much more dream me can take. Say what you want about Ambien but at least when I was taking it I was being chased by crazy cats in my dreamsBad  

Let go

Why is there always one person that you can't escape. No matter how much you fight, and say they don't matter, somehow the hold is still there. The imaginary, invisible choke hold still keeps you around. Held against your will, but still you stay. WHY???!!! How do we give people power over us, and what do we do to gain our independence from these, most of the time unsuspecting, uncaring to our plight oppressors. We think that we have found the key to loosen our shackles and grant us freedom, and then they bring us a scrap of bread, and we hand them the key and willingly lock ourselves up again. I pride myself on being perceptive, and a keen observer of human nature, but this is one of those things that continues to blow my mind, and leave me scratching my head.


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Refuge

I used to want to stay with you,

But now you pull me away,

 from moving on to better things

Your leash won’t let me stray.

I tell myself I’m done with you,

 your actions leave me no reason to do doubt

But then in the wind I hear you calling me,

the world has shut you out

I open up my door to you, and pray you come inside

To keep you from the elements, I ask you to abide

My one thought is to keep you safe, and away from any harm

You impress me with your kindly ways, your wittiness and charm

The morning comes, the storm has long since broke

You leave with what you came with, I supply you with a cloak

You head on your merry way and thank me for my home

You continue on with your journey, the earth is yours to roam

You changed my house when you came in, it will never be the same

At first it shone more brightly, but then the darkness came.

I pleaded for your guiding hand, but yet no answer came.

I howled into the darkness, yelling out your name

My house is cold, devoid of light it welcomes no one in

To think, if the wind had brought you here

I can only think what might have been.

slow it down

Exciting news! I went to sleep last night without the help of pills!
Now, for the rest of you this news may not be very exciting, but if you were me, and had not be able to sleep for the last year without pain medication or Ambien, you would be very excited... You might even write it in your blog. I have be doing more intensive physical therapy for the last month or so, and every time I go, I feel a little bit stronger. The end is near, and I see a light at the end of the tunnel.
    And now the real reason for this post. I think that as a media connected generation we have been lulled into a false sense of security. We have been led to believe that the world is at our fingertips. Joy, Excitement, and happiness are a mouse click away. Life is one big adventure, all we have to do is live it! I've been watching a lot of netflix lately... Okay, I'll be honest... I've watching GLEE... don't judge me. This may be a bad example, but the message portrayed on Glee is that you can do anything you want, your dreams aren't going to wait, so you have to get out there and do them now. While that is a nice sentiment...it makes me feel bad about myself, and makes me wonder what I'm doing living at home with my parents when I can be on a street corner singing show tunes, or in New York starring in my own one woman show "Look out world, She's coming!"... It's a working title.
The fact is, I think that I know what I want to do with my life, but my plan isn't moving along as fast as I would have hoped. If I had it my way, I would be almost done with my first year of grad school in a profession, I'm not sure I want to do. If we go back to the plan "high school me" had for my life, I would be married with a couple of kids by now...She was a nice kid, but a little naive :)
In reality: I'm 27, I live with my Parents, I have a bachelors degree in Psychology, and I haven't done a thing with it, and I'm no closer to being married than I was just after high school.
But here's the kicker... For the most part, for now, I am happy. I had some things that I needed to deal with. My shoulder pain, my depression, and my crippling fear of the unknown that is my future; and there is no way that I would have been able to do that if I was in grad school, or in a place where I wasn't so close to my supportive family. I do miss being around my friends and closer to people my own age, but sometimes... you just need your mommy.
The thing that Glee, and "high school me" failed to see, is that sometimes, you need to slow it down. I would not trade the last 9 months for anything in the world. I have been able to see my niece go from an infant to a sassy, rampaging toddler. The relationship I have with my mom now is stronger than it has ever been. We can sit and gab like old pals, and before it was just a quick convo about the important stuff.
   I will move on, I will go to grad school(I think I even know now what I want to be when I grow up) I will have adventures, be around people my own age, I will even get married and have children, and my high school self will be giddy with schoolgirl joy. but for now, I will be grateful for this short time I have to be with my family, and the strength they give me to live life. That will be the strength I use to face the world, however far I travel. Life will go fast, and adventures will fade... But I will always have this time.

I am the Panda...coo coo ca choo

Last week I started doing Zumba at my gym, for anyone who doesn't know what Zumba is, I will tell you; it's basically a mix between latin dancing and aerobics. It's a good work out, and I've had a lot of fun so far, but I have made a sad discovery... I am a panda bear.
If you know anything about Latin dancing you know that it is very sexy. You have to be comfortable with your body, and (heat) so to speak, that you put off with your sexy dancing. In Zumba there is a lot of hip shaking, booty bouncing, and chest flaunting going on. To make matters worse, there is a mirror that I can see myself in while dancing, so I can see exactly how un-sexy I am.
B.J. Novak talks about Pandas being an endangered species, not because of anything humans are doing, because let's face it...Pandas are freaking adorable, there is even a lab in China that cooks up little Pandas in petri dishes, but I digress... The reason Pandas are going extinct is because they won't mate with each other. apparently they don't see their own species as attractive, and I have never heard of a panda mating dance, so lets face it, if they don't have their looks to get them by, they're kind of screwed.
For this reason, I am a Panda. People think that I am adorable, and cute, and oh so cuddly, all true things, but let's face it, nobody wants their potential spouse just because of their cute, cuddly exterior. In any relationship there has to be a certain degree of heat, and sexuality, and if Zumba is any indication...I am bound to roam the earth alone, like my friend the Panda bear.

badges of honor

You know how sometimes when you learn a new word, you start hearing that word everywhere, or one of your friends gets a new car, and suddenly you see that car everywhere? Since I wrote my last post I have had the subject matter come up quite frequently in the past few days.. Partly because I asked my friends for their opinion. I wasn't sure if what I had written made any sense, So I needed to ask people who were smarter than me to validate my thoughts. I also have this weird quirk of not reading what I have written right after I have finished. It takes me a couple of days to go back and read over it, then I see all the spelling errors I made. At any rate I have had a couple to think over and process what I wrote in my last post, so if it is okay with you I would like to revisit the subject matter...and even if it's not okay with you, it's my blog and I'll do what I want.

SIDE NOTE: Part of what I have learned in the last few days, I will draw parallels with my religious beliefs I'm not trying to offend anyone, or shove my religion down the throat of my reader, I am simply writing what I know and what I come across in my cultural experience. Please feel free to ask questions or stop reading if you are offended.

In my last post I wrote: "All of us, at some point in our lives are going to have something traumatic happen to us that wasn't apart of our plan that changes us in ways we didn't think possible. We will be left with scars, some physical, some mental. Because of this event, a part of us will die, or be chipped away. in it's place will be a guarded heart, a more sober mind, or a more cautious person all around. We will look at the world differently, and maybe even have a harder time coping with everyday life. We will go through the five stages of grief for that part of ourselves we lost, and eventually we'll accept that that part of us is gone. and even though its replacement isn't the same, either way it's part of us, and maybe it was part of some plan for it to be there all along. I guess what I'm trying to say is this. We are not going to make it through this life unscathed. we are going to be bruised and scarred, and beaten down. but maybe the person we started out in this world as, is not the person we are meant to be when we leave. no matter how painful these bruises are, or how ugly the scars might look, they become a part of who we've become, and they not only show that we were thrown around, but they show that we didn't give up. we came through with a callused, harder shell that helped us survive".

I still hold to the belief that we are all going to face traumatic events at some point in our life, that will leave us with a memento either physically or mentally. I also hold to the belief that we are not meant to be the same people when we leave this life as we were when we came into this life. If so, what was the point of coming to the earth in the first place. if we learn nothing, while we are alive, we lose out on the vast opportunities we are given to learn and progress while we are here.
With that being said, I think that the way we deal with problems is up to us it is not necessarily our choice when bad things happen but it is our choice of how we deal with them.
Story time: Almost two years ago in March I was in a swimming accident. I got caught in a riptide and I was being carried away from the shore, and my friends that were trying to help me. I was being slammed by waves, and I couldn't catch my breath because the waves just kept coming, and the exact moment that I was ready to give up, a lifeguard handed me a preserver and swam with me holding on to the preserver for dear life, safely to shore. When he handed me the preserver, the rope got wrapped around my arm, and gave me some nasty rope burn. Each time I looked at that rope burn, it was a reminder to me that life is fleeting and I needed to be more careful. day after day the rope burn faded and I began to panic. How was I going to keep myself in check without my rope burn reminder?
We all have scars. some we look at and remember a misadventure as a child, others we look at and remember a rogue tin can. I was so scared for my rope burn to fade because I wanted it to serve as a symbol for my life. All I would have to do is look at this scar, and I would remember to be careful, to always think of the important people in my life before I did something dangerous. The rope burn faded and I was left with mental reminders of the accident. Most of them were negative, and I let them eat away at me at make me bitter. I  am still reminded of this traumatic event, but instead of letting the negative reminders remain, I am hoping that it will eventually serve as a reminder that life is precious, and that sometimes things weren't in our plan happen.
We all face adversity, and our left with marks. But we are the ones that choose how these marks will affect us. Will they serve as an ugly reminder that we did something terrible? Will we lock ourselves away from the world because we are too ugly to be seen? or will we let it be seen as a badge of honor? a sign that we faced adversity, and conquered.
I have thought about Jesus Christ the last few days, and the scars that he bears. He has scars on his hands, wrist, feet, and in his side where he was pierced with a spear. These scars remain, so that his children will know that he died so that we could live. When he returned to his apostles after his Resurrection he told to look at his hands and feet and to thrust their hand in his side so they would know it was him. I am grateful for those scars and that even though he had a perfected body, those scars were left as a symbol of his eternal love for his children.

I have a scar on my thigh of where a girl cleated me during a rugby game. I love that scar and I show it to anyone who is around when I have shorts on...I'm really proud of it.
 In this life it is inevitable that we will face pain, tragedy, and bitterness; on the other hand we will also know pleasure, moments of pure joy, and we will taste sweet things. Let us not be afraid to live because of the trials we will face, but let us remember that our trials will make us stronger. let us wear our scars with pride, and be a symbol to others that we chose to fight. Remember that to get to the light at the end of the tunnel, we must first face a little darkness.

Be well and stay classy my friends. 

stop this train

I like to listen to music that makes me think about the lyrics I'm listening to. Sometimes I will stew over a particular song for days. The most recent victim caught in my bear trap of a brain, is a song by John Mayer. If you have never heard the album "Continuum" I highly recommend it. The whole album is great. The particular song I have been thinking about is called "Stop This Train". It's about the things in life that we can't control. I've provided the link here.
John Mayer uses a train as a metaphor for life. "stop this train, I want to get off and go home again, I can't take the speed it's moving in". Ever since I can remember I have been afraid of death. I remember vividly, having panic attacks as a child because I couldn't wrap my head around the thought of death. I now accept that death is a part of life, and now I just worry about life after death. In my religion we believe that there is life after death, we believe that we can be with our families for eternity. This thought is very comforting and extremely scary to me at the same time. I would love nothing more than to be with my family forever, but I not unlike most other humans, can not possibly wrap my head around the idea of forever. When I think about it I feel the panic attack coming until I direct my thoughts elsewhere...moving on.
I've thought a lot about my life; the things I've already accomplished, the things that have yet to happen. I haven't taken a lot of time to reflect on the last year, until now. I graduated from college, I left the place I lived for 3 years, friends, a job.I began to see the light at the end of a very very dark tunnel, that had been my life for the last year. I went back to a summer job I hadn't been to in 3 years, A place that I never thought I would return to; not because I didn't like it. On the contrary, I credit the Wyman Teen Leadership program for making me the person I am today. without all of the people I met, the lessons I learned, the tears and the laughs, I wouldn't be me. I thought that I had learned everything I needed to from that experience, but I was wrong. Through divine intervention I was able to return last summer. I had just given my two weeks at my other job, and a member of the supervisory staff had found another job, they were in a bind... I needed a job. It worked out perfectly. I met people that I'm so glad to have in my life, and had adventures in the hills of Tennessee I wouldn't trade for the world. The end of 2012 wasn't so hot, but I'm becoming optimistic about 2013.
I feel like there is something great I should be accomplishing. I'm currently looking into graduate schools to pursue my masters degree in social work... I think. My mind always seems to change. That's what feels right for now.
I know that at some point in my life I will do great things. Right now I can't see it, I spend a lot of time regretting the past, ruminating on the person I used to be. The past is gone, I cannot bring it back, the train has left the station and continued on it's track.
I know that if I let myself, I will find the thing I need to do, and I will let myself have the adventures I need to have. there are a couple things I am excited for in 2013

1- road trip to Missouri with one of the only people if not the only person who understands and laughs at 95% of my jokes
2-Returning to Wyman for a jam packed summer
3- getting a job (fingers crossed)
4- getting in shape, and feeling healthy
5- cutting my arm off, or finally finding out what's wrong...at this point I'm ready to take the first option
6- skinny dipping...or for me...chunky dunking

and many other things to come.
I know that I have gone off on many tangents, but I would like to leave you with a thought I have started to form....hopefully it will sound somewhat coherent.

All of us, at some point in our lives are going to have something traumatic happen to us that wasn't apart of our plan that changes us in ways we didn't think possible. We will be left with scars, some physical, some mental. Because of this event, a part of us will die, or be chipped away. in it's place will be a guarded heart, a more sober mind, or a more cautious person all around. We will look at the world differently, and maybe even have a harder time coping with everyday life. We will go through the five stages of grief for that part of ourselves we lost, and eventually we'll accept that that part of us is gone. and even though its replacement isn't the same, either way it's part of us, and maybe it was part of some plan for it to be there all along. I guess what I'm trying to say is this. We are not going to make it through this life unscathed. we are going to be bruised and scarred, and beaten down. but maybe the person we started out in this world as, is not the person we are meant to be when we leave. no matter how painful these bruises are, or how ugly the scars might look, they become a part of who we've become, and they not only show that we were thrown around, but they show that we didn't give up. we came through with a callused, harder shell that helped us survive.

I'm sorry if this was fractured, and didn't make a bit of sense. I just felt like it needed to be written.. if for no one elses benefit but my own

Stay classy

VInnie the boo

Do you ever just get so overwhelmed with feelings of love or joy, that in that moment you can't imagine life with that someone that produces those feelings of joy or love within you? I had that feeling tonight as my dog was laying in my lap and looking up at me with his big black eyes. I know that you all probably think I'm crazy, because I'm talking this way about a dog; but let me tell you about how he came into my life.
Last year, was the worst year of my life. I was working 40 hours a week, I was in the last semester of my undergrad, and I was also in a horribly deep depression. Without delving to deep into my personal life, let me just tell you that I had never felt so hopeless, and lost in my whole life. I was trying different medications, but nothing was helping, and the side effects were just making everything worse.
I had heard that having a pet was helpful in the treatment of depression. There's not a whole lot of research out on the subject, but there have been studies that have shown, that people who own dogs live longer healthier lives.(don't quote me, I could be wrong.)
Everyday for a month I Looked at dogs on the internet. We weren't allowed to have pets where I lived, so I was basically just torturing myself. I started going to the disability resource center on campus because I didn't no where to go, but I knew that I needed help. I started meeting with a man named David. He told me about places I could go to on campus that offered counseling. He also told me about emotional support animals. an emotional support animal is not a service dog that you see from time to time with the little blue vests on. although there are service dogs that are trained to help those with chronic depression; they can find your keys, wake you up if you stay in bed too long...but I digress. An emotional support animal is just that. they are a companion, they are that light in the darkness that you other wise wouldn't have. It's in the name, they provide emotional support. They don't require any training, but they do have certain rights under the rehabilitation act. If you live in a place where animals are not allowed, the owner must make an exception for emotional support animals, if you can prove in a letter written by a physician or mental health counselor that this animal improves your quality of life, that could not be improved without this animal. I had found a glimmer of hope. I threw myself into doing research on emotional support animals and whether I would even qualify. In the meantime I was still torturing myself, looking at dogs, for sale or adoption. One day I came across an ad for a free dog; his name was Vincent, a 7 year old, salt and pepper schnauzer... I fell in love. I had found what I was looking for. I immediately contacted the owner and let her know  that I was interested. She told me that Vincent had been abandoned by his previous owners, and that she had rescued him, but because she was moving to a place that didn't allow dogs, she had to get rid of him.
To make a long story short, a lot of things came into place, and I was allowed to adopt Vincent. He is my best friend. He barks A LOT, and sometimes jumps on me when I am sleeping, but I would not trade him for anything in the world. When I adopted Vincent I had something else to live for. I didn't just have myself to worry about anymore. I'm not going to tell you that I was cured and I was never depressed again, but I was so glad that I had another living being to focus on. whenever I got panic attacks, Vincent was there to let me pet him, or he would simply lay his head on my chest. He was the answer to my prayers. I don't know what would have happened had he not come into my life. Every day I am so grateful for him, and I can't imagine the thought of being without him. He brings me so much joy, and asks for nothing in return except that I pet him more.

Let us honor the victims

When I was a child I used to worry about a death. I would worry so much that I would have panic attacks and run to my mom crying, and asking her what I should do. Being the wise woman that my mom is, she would tell me that I shouldn't worry about things that I had no control over, and then she would tell me to watch a funny movie to get my mind off of whatever I was worrying about.

    I have cried at least once a day since Friday. I have never been more saddened by an event than I have by the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting; and no amount of funny movies have been able to get my mind off of it. Even though this is one of those things that I have no control over, I can't help but think about the pain and anguish that the town of Newtown Connecticut is experiencing right now.
 I think that when something like this happens, we examine our lives, at least I do. I think about how selfish I am, like how I've been thinking about how much I dislike Christmas, and how my life isn't going exactly how I planned, and how at this point in my life I thought that I would be married, maybe have 1 or 2 kiddos waddling around. there are 20 kids who were killed at the most innocent stage of their lives. they don't get to open their Christmas presents waiting under the tree. they don't get to learn how to drive a car, experience high school or college, or have a family of their own. There are 6 women, who left children, husbands, parents, and friends. they were in the career they loved, and they risked their lives, so that their students would have the opportunity to live and experience the things they already had.

      The only thing I'm worrying about right now is how I can make sure that the deaths of these 26 people won't be in vain. What can I do to be a better person and make a contribution in the world. I'm not quite sure what that is yet, but I'm not worried, about the things that seem so small and insignificant right now.

   I take comfort in the fact that I know that God lives, and that on Friday he welcomed home some of his children and took them his arms. I know without a doubt that his angels are watching over the families, of these beautiful people, and that he sent them feelings of comfort and peace.

   I hope that this event will make us all reexamine our lives, and think about the things and the people in our lives that are important to us. I hope that this won't be one of those things that we forget after a month and go back to the way things were. Let us tell our friends and family what they mean to us, and help our neighbor a little more. let us be patient with the cashier when we've had a bad day. I hope that we might all be a little bit more observant and find little ways that we can help strangers we come in contact with; let us look outside ourselves, and find ways to make the world a better place to live, not only for us, but for the generations that will inhabit this world when we are gone.

 This is my prayer, and my plan of how to honor those who had their lives taken from them much too early.

short and sweet...Like me when I eat a lot of sugar

Well Kids, I know it's been awhile so I thought that I should throw the dogs a bone.
I got my shoulder scoped! everything went well, recovery is moving along speedily, and optimal sleep is being achieved..WOOT.
I've been in a weird mood for the last week, and I'm not really sure what I'm feeling, but I feel like I need to change a few things in my life, and you know what they say..there's no time like the present. Getting healthier is one of those things, figuring out what to do with my life is another. Focusing on the positive relationships in my life is yet another. I have a very tight network of people who have been there for me these last few months. My family being one of them. I look at other families, and realize how incredibly lucky I am to have such a close relationship with all of my siblings and Awesome supportive parents who go with the flow.
I don't know what I would do without my friends. I'm grateful that I've been able to reconnect with friends from high school and college, and that I've been able to stay connected with my kindred spirit even if we live 2000 miles apart:)

Enjoy the poem. this is one I wrote tonight. a product of residual feelings

Stay classy

FLEE

I don’t miss you anymore

The aching has found an end

Even though I thought we would always be

Friends

The only thoughts left are sadness, and occasional anger

Sadness, because you will never fully know what you lost

Anger, because I think of wasted time, and energy spent obsessing and caring

Obsessing about whether or not you would ever talk to me

Caring about what you thought, and whether you would call or text me

I wouldn’t be the same without meeting you, and I’m grateful for the time we spent as friends, but I owe it to myself to call an end an end.

Because that’s what we do when we get older and mature

We put away the childish things and move far away from the things that have potential to cause us harm.

We flee from the darkness, in search of the light

We leave the critics and join the supporters of our plight

Enjoy your new life

Enjoy your new friends

I’ll enjoy my new beginnings

And the ends of the end

Limbo...and not the kind with the stick

Great News! I can sleep! YAY! it's a friggin' miracle and i don't know how it happened, but for the past week and a half I have been going to bed around 10:30 and sleeping until 8. It's Amazing. I haven't been able to sleep like that since before my first surgery in April. It could have something to do with the fact that I am working in a butcher shop and have to be on my feet for 8 hours a day, but I'm not going to tempt the fates with questions... It is what it is.
 So why may you ask am I awake right now? because my brain is going at warp speed and if I don't get my thoughts out in some medium, then I will have weird dreams and restless sleep...and no one wants that.
Since 2005 my life has been a whirlwind of awesomeness. I started school, that summer I went to work at Camp Coca Cola in Eureka Missouri, 2 weeks after that ended I was back at school, 1 month after school ended I was back at Camp, a month and a half after camp, I went on a mission for a year and a half. 1 month after my mission, it was back to good ole Missouri, 3 weeks after that I went to Utah State Where I worked full time, played rugby, went to school full time, helped with research, mentored peers in the counseling center, helped plan outreach events, and attended a slew of meetings. I graduated, moved away from Logan and went back to camp this last summer... and now? I live with my parents...
for the past 7 years I have been GO GO GO and for the first time in that long I am dormant. I feel like I am in Limbo. I see the light, but for whatever reason I can't go towards it. in my case, the light is graduate school, living in different cities, being around friends. And my limbo you might ask? A tear in a part of the shoulder called the Labrum. This is only part of Limbo, but consequently the biggest part. I chose to move back home, so that I could regroup, figure out my next move, apply for grad schools, so that, come fall of 2013, I'm gone, back to the tornado that is life, and grad school. But because of my little labral friend, plans are being rethought. I found out yesterday that my surgery will be on Halloween! WOO HOO! I am excited to get my noodly appendage back. I can't wait to be able to lift weights, horse play, and all the other good stuff you can do without worry of something popping or hurting.
So it looks like Grad school is on hold until 2014, that is if I can decide what I want to do. I also would like to live in a different city while I'm figuring it all out. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in on a really cool party that all my friends are having a blast at, and I'm just outside freezing my butt off. I love this precious time that I get with my family and the opportunity I have to see my niece get older, but things can only last for so long, and then its time to move on to the next stage. in this case, the next stage is living closer to friends, and other people in my general age range.
But for now I shall find Joy in limbo, and focus on nursing noodle arm back to health. I'll find meaning in the present, and look towards the future with hope.
And for now I shall join the ranks of the well rested, so I shall end this post with simply
Keep it classy

The Muse is Mute

Is it only me, or does it seem like there has to be some Major life events for inspiration to come? A break-up, marriage, the birth of child, death of a family member, traumatic life circumstances. It's no surprise to me that some of the greatest poets, artists, and musicians have lived pretty crappy lives, but have found inspiration through these events to write books, poetry, and symphonies. in my first my 23 years of life I probably wrote a total of 10 poems, if that. In the last 4 months, I have written over 25 poems, and that's just the finished ones. I have a lot that have been started.
My point is this; My life hasn't been a cake walk for the last year and a half, I would compare it more to a cake walk where the cakes are made out of broken glass and I have to walk on them without shoes; But I have been able to process these experiences through writing, and poetry... But now, I've got nothin'. Bupkiss. Goose eggs. My life isn't by any means perfect, but it's a lot better than it has been in awhile. The problem is, I have nothing to write about, no inspiration comes to mind. I can throw a rhyme together as good as the next incredibly word minded person, but it used to be that I could just start typing and words would cascaded onto the screen, but now I just stare at an empty word document.
I just got a job working a few hours at a butcher shop, but that doesn't exactly inspire the next great American poem. Not many things rhyme with Goat hamburger, or Elk jerky. I guess the next step to finding inspiration would be, falling in love, because I'm sure not going to wish for any tragic happenings, I know better than to tempt the fates. They've screwed with me enough for awhile. Maybe I need to see a baby animal be born, or witness a marriage, or get my heart broken and cut off my ear....wait... that would be art...not my forte
Well, I guess I will continue to ponder on how to get my groove back, maybe I will ask Stella how she did it...Until then,
Stay classy, my well rested friends

                                                               

Inspiration’s Vacation

Where’s the inspiration gone, and why isn’t coming back?

Why did it take the first train out on the one-way track?

I wish I were an engineer to turn the train around

I wish my muse would return

And fill my soul with something profound

To think about,

 To write about,

 To speak a meaningful word

But all that comes out when I open my mouth,

 is what has already been heard

The originality is missing,

The creativity is gone

The sun set on new ideas

Nothing rising with the dawn

the bouncer

My parents house is overrun by two things: animals, and small children. We have 2 cats, 3 dogs, 6 grandchildren, and an adopted grandchild my mom has tended every weekday since she was 6 weeks old. For these reasons we have gates put up throughout the house. these gates serve a number of purposes. 1)They keep the babies away from the stairs. Nobody wants a kid with a cracked skull, and as funny as it is to watch the stick figure baby fall down the stairs on youtube, it isn't real life..this is.
2) keeps the animals out of certain parts of the house. This second one isn't all that useful. the cats can jump over the gates and my mom's 3 lb. miniature Maltese can squeeze through the side of the gate.
3) make my life miserable! this purpose is served very well. if the door is open just a little bit, then my dog can push it open the rest of the way with his head; but if it is shut, he just stands there and barks until I open the gate for him. For this reason I feel like a bouncer at a night club. I have the power to grant or deny access. I could leave him on the other side of the gate, and go about my tasks in peace. Just kidding, he would just bark until I let him through, or stare me down with those sad, "my former owner abandoned me" eyes, and I just can't handle those eyes. So I breakdown every time and leave my comfy armchair to grant him entrance to my bedroom. It's times like these that I wish my dog had apposable thumbs, or a stronger head so that he could push his way through the gate.

Stay classy my well rested friends

Opposable thumbs

This is what separates us from other animals

Sure we can talk, drive cars, and go to McDonalds to get big bums

But nothing compares to opposable thumbs

It puts us in a class all of our own

With one movement we can flag down a car

Or show disapproval.

When combined with a sticking out of the tongue

We communicate disgust to others

Think of how impressive it would be if dogs could give thumbs up to their mothers

Imagine, dogs, gerbils or cats trying to do menial tasks

Holding a fork?

No way!

 Stirring some soup?

Forget about it!

But it would be funny to watch them try.

 We never know how important thumbs are,

 but what if one day, your thumb just up and died?

Gallons of Milk

Superman is...Super. He can catch bullets, run faster than speeding trains, fly higher than a bird, bend steel with his hand, and to top it all off, he has x-ray vision. But even Superman has a weakness. Kryptonite; That green stone from the planet Krypton, that when put within the same city block as Superman, brings him to his knees. A rock! a green, glowing rock, brings the Man of Steel to his knees, and renders him utterly incapable, and absolutely useless! All of his strength and skills means bupkiss when pitted against this glowy stone of death.
    Gallons of milk are my Kryptonite. One gallon to be more specific, but multiple gallons would also be bad. Making a bowl of cereal is quite the task; I grab a bowl out of the cupboard with ease, and open a bag of Marshmallow Mateys with such finesse that any gymnastics judge would be brought to tears. But as I waddle closer to the refrigerator I feel myself becoming weaker; beads of sweat start to form on my forehead, my arm begins to tingle, starting in my fingertips and moving all the way up to my shoulder. As I grab the handle I'm already breathing in and out like I'm about to clean and jerk 500 pounds. I know that Superman never just reached out and grabbed some Kryptonite, but lets face it...I'm awesome. I stare my enemy down, I reach out my hand and grab my arch enemy by the clear neck, I slide the jug across the clear surface so as to save my strength for the "big lift". I reach the edge of the shelf, "the Big Drop", "The point of no return". I can't turn back now, I've tackled, or at least made a valiant effort to tackle 300 lb Polynesians...I will not be defeated by a gallon of milk. I feel the muscle in my upper arm start to pull as gravity takes it's toll and the gallon gets the better of my baby arm strength; I regain power, and lift the jug just long enough to fill my bowl with milky nectar.. No time to think, the pain has already happened; time to go back to the shelf; I do some quick Lamaze breathing and return the milk jug to it's rightful spot. My arm feels like a limp noodle, sweat is dripping from my forehead into my bowl of Mateys, but "By George"!! i have done it.. I have conquered my kryptonite...suck on that superman

Stay classy my well rested friends.
 

Righty

Milk jugs, soup cans, 12 packs of soda,

And big boxes of soap

These are just a few things that have

Blasted a big hole where there used to be hope

I used to be hardcore; you’d never see righty mope

Lifting weights,

Tackling rookies  

Getting slammed to the ground

Get hit,

Get back up again,

Righty could take a pound.

One hit was all it took,

And righty was out of commission

All the beatings before,

And this one little hit didn’t even ask righty’s permission

Now righty hangs like a noodle,

Doing menial tasks

Typing on a keyboard,

And maybe lifting a box of Apple Jacks

But righty will wait for his chance to get back to the gym

To lift 25 pound weights,

Even though right now the future looks grim

Righty is a fighter and won’t ever give up

Even if he gets cut off,

At least his place could be taken by a badass titanium nub

The best time of year

For as long as I can remember, fall has always been a favorite season of mine. the leaves are changing, the weather is just cold enough that you can wear hoodies, and sweaters, but still warm enough that you can wear basketball shorts and flipflops..LOVE!!
It is also the beginning of school. I have always been one of those nerds who loved school, and couldn't wait for those last couple weeks of summer to end, so that school would start. So many good memories attached to this time of year: Hot chocolate, family pictures, raking leaves into a giant pile before jumping into them, Sunday drives through the canyon (there is also a lot of nausea attached to that particular memory.)
  There is another reason That I have come to love this time of year. RUGBY!! pretty much the greatest sport ever invented. This may sound crazy, but I have a very special place in my heart that is cordoned off with velvet rope, and a metal sign that "reserved for rugby". The reason for this goes deeper than a borderline obsession.
  Picture this: the time: August 2009. The Place: Logan, Utah (Utah State University) The person: Me of course. I had just returned to Utah in April 2009 from an 18 month mission for my church In Maryland. I spent an awesome summer working at Camp Wyman in Eureka Missouri, and two weeks after that I had my new Hyundai Elantra loaded to the brim with my belongings. I was going to Utah State to Start My junior year in Psychology. I had been tossed from one adventure to another for the last 4 months and I was glad to start school and get some stability in my life. My apartment was almost literally the size of a shoe box. I unloaded my car, and 5 minutes later was putting half of it back in my car, because of my shoebox of an apartment I shared with one other person I had never met before. I was terrified, and ready to get back into the "Normal life". The past 18 months had been full of selfless service, knocking on doors and studying. The only thing I had to worry about was not killing my companion; but now I was thrown back into the world of class schedules, car payments, and television...scary. I was looking for something besides classes and a job that would let be a part of something and feel the same sense of purpose I had felt for the previous 18 months.
On my second day of school I was drawn to the Quad by throngs of people crowded around various booths. All of the clubs had gathered to give information, and recruit fresh meat for the upcoming year. As I was walking around the quad imagining all the good I could do in service clubs I saw a tall brown girl handling a curious ball that looked like a bloated football; The first words out of her mouth were "wanna play rugby?" to which I replied "is that the sport where you get to hit people?...I'm in". She told me when the practices were, and for the next two days it was all I could think about.
 There were a lot of things I had to get used to when I started playing rugby. there was a lot of swearing, lots of talking about sex, and a lot of playful but sometimes stinging insults. I say again that I had spent the last 18 months of my life as a missionary, I wasn't distracted by t.v., radio, or news, I was pretty much like Bambi: doe eyed, innocent, and naive. The two other things I had two get used were the shortie shorts, that were my uniform, and the running...lots and lots of running...so much running, that when we got tired of running, we did some running for fun. I wanted to die after my first couple of practices, but as much pain as my body was in, and as much as I hated the running, I couldn't let myself quit. I was home.
I had played sports in a city league as a kid, but I had never been involved with a competitive team sport at the collegiate level, surrounded by teammates and a coach that despite, my turtle pace, and a first quiet demeanor, wanted me to succeed, and were always willing to answer my questions and help me in any way they could. I wasn't very good at first, the only thing I had going for me was tackling. I had so much pent up aggression bottled up for 22 years that I could give and take a hit. That was my favorite part. I loved tackling drills. I wore my first bloody nose as a badge of honor. I almost didn't wash my shirt because I wanted the blood to remain a reminder of how hardcore I had become since playing rugby. 
I played rugby for 2 seasons. I scored 4 tries(touchdowns)in those 2 seasons, and actually became an okay rugby player. I was still the slowest runner on the team, but I could turn on the jet packs when it was important; more importantly I was finally part of a team, and seen as an important part of that team.
   I've thought a lot about rugby in the last couple of weeks. I always get jealous when my friends start practices and games. I feel a little sad because I love the sport so much, and also a little envious that I have a stupid shoulder that makes it impossible for me to play. It was actually because of rugby that I hurt my shoulder.
   I was thinking today what would have happened if I had never met Shannon on the quad, and if I had never played rugby. My shoulder wouldn't be hurt, and a couple other aspects of my life would be drastically different. But I also started thinking about the things I would have missed out on. I woudn't have had that feeling of camaraderie and accomplishment that comes from being part of a team; I also wouldn't have lost 35 pounds, and gotten into awesome shape.. I looked Smokin' Hot!.
 Sure I might have saved myself a lot of pain, not playing rugby, but the things I gained mean so much more to me than a stupid lifeless limb.
And so my friends in honor of my lady Aggies, I share with you tonight a couple of rugby poems. I recited each one before different games, to get my team pumped up and ready for war.
Stay classy my well rested friends

 

Give it a Try

When the kit goes on

The switch is flipped

The match comes into play

And everything else goes away

The perfect tackle, the perfect scrum

Watching for the kick to come

This could be the last time

The last ruck, the last try

So go all out

Until you feel like you’re going to die

Let your legs burn and your breath go shallow

The sir, the fans and your team could be gone in a blink

You don’t have time to think

Be the game

Be the ball

Be the tackle and hit the deck like a bomb is coming

Make a try like its laden with gold

The fight isn’t against the other team

Its against yourself

So shut yourself up, and play the game

that your aches and bruises know how to play

Play with heart until it wants to come out of your chest

Play with heart or don’t play at all

Give it your all or keep your hands off my ball

Saturday’s a Rugby Day

“Saturday’s a rugby day”

That’s not what you’re going to say when you get in my way

Your words will be similar to

“I don’t want to die”

As I bust out the Tongan shield and blow on by

You think you came to play rugby

But you came to feel pain

When I step on the field with my rampages

I just go insane

Just watch what happens when I get you in a scrum

The way I drive you all day

Will make you feel dumb

What are you going to do when we get another try?

Are you going to get MAD?

POUT? Or even CRY?

Attempt to push us around

But won’t you be sad

When you keep falling to the ground

Tell me again what today is?

A day of pain, of reckoning, a day to be defeated?

When you walk on my pitch

You better come prepared

Because at the end of 2 halves

You’ll be living in despair

Saturday’s a rugby day all right…for my pack and me

For you it’s day you wish you could take back

My Brain Needs An Off Switch

Why is it so hard to open up to people? To tell another human things that you would never tell another human? Aside from the obvious trust issues that a lot of people have from being screwed over by people who were obviously not hugged as children, what makes us keep some things locked up in a top of the line safe with barbwire and c-4 ready to blow? I have a theory.

            Call it being religious, call it old school, call it what you will but I believe that some things I life need to remain sacred; whether it be religious experiences or personal experiences happy, or sad, some things need to be kept sacred. These experiences cannot be kept sacred however, when everyone knows about them. The more you talk about them, the more value they lose, and the less real, and sacred they become to you. Soon enough they are just another story that is put in the artillery belt to be used in a game of one-upmanship.

            Another part of this theory included the sanctity of relationships. In this case friendships, because I have never dated anyone, but I think the theory could apply interchangeably to both except for the whole making out thing.

Deciding what to tell certain people is like a game of poker. In poker, you don’t just lay your cards out on the table for everyone to see. If the other players want to see your cards they have to pay for it. Sometimes you make some work harder than others to see your cards, but other times, you fold before anyone can get a peak. You never want to give up too much too fast. If you let people know what kind of hand you have before the betting even begins, they are going know how to manipulate and beat you in future hands; but if you keep your cool, and make people pay to see what you have, even if you have a hand full of crap, they will never under-estimate you. This is similar to friendship, because there are certain things that you will let certain people see. You let co-workers see your work ethic, and maybe share mundane “how was your weekend stories”. School friends you talk about parties you went to, how bad the professor sucks, and how much you didn’t study for the up-coming test. If you laid everything out on the table to everyone, you’d be seen as that one girl who “over shared” and talked way too much

            At this point I also integrate my theory of pals, buddies, and friends. A pal is a casual friend that you met in class, or see at a work. You might talk about your weekends, or talk about how you should totally hang out and then never do; the relationship basically consists of intense head-nods as you pass each other in the hall, or a loud “dude what’s up” across the quad.

            A buddy is someone you get along well with and probably even share similar likes and personality traits, but you still only show certain sides of yourself. You go to the gym with your buddy, watch you tube videos, talk about stupid things you did as a kid, what guys you think are hot, and who at school or work you would want to pounce on.

            The friend is the Holy Grail. The friend gets the 360 views. It’s not always clear how the friend relationship starts. A buddy could turn into a friend. It’s more rare that a pal could turn into a friend, but it has been known to happen.

A friend is that person you tell EVERYTHING to. You talk about you relationship with your siblings, why your mom and dad don’t sleep in the same bed anymore, your first kiss, first crush, and the nicknames that people called you in high school. Sometimes we have secrets that we don’t even tell friends; not at first at least. We have to test the waters and make sure that we can trust them. That’s why we divulge the superficial stuff first to see how they’ll react. If we can trust them with those things, then we can move on to topics with a little more meat, like why we get a little glisten eyed every time we hear “everybody hurts” by REM, and how we actually got that scar on our forearm.

When they pass that test, more often than not they move into best friend status, and we divulge the things we’ve “never told anyone else”. These are the topics that are sacred. By sharing these things with the people closest to us, we are telling them “I trust you, and I now know enough of you that I know that you won’t betray me or hurt me, and if you do…well you remember the stories I told you about my uncle who just got out of prison…Ha ha… No but seriously”.

I’m not sure why it is a human impulse to “share” with others. I’m sure that it has something to do with intimacy, and bonding, and building a strong relationship, and the fact that we are the only lucky species to have that whole verbal thing goin’ for us. But when was it decide that sharing secrets would be what brought us closer to others? I’m sure that I have my own logical answer, but for the sake of being contrary, just go with it.

So for the sake of building stronger bonds, we share with people. We share those things from our past that we have conquered or the things we still struggle with, and sometimes we even share our sacred experiences. Sharing with someone can in itself, be a sacred experience. Why do you think that people only have 2 or 3 “best” friends? Because any more than that and they would just be called “friends”.

That’s also another reason that people have “best” friends for many, many years, because after those bonds are formed, they are not easily broken, and when they are, well it’s not just like you can go pick up another one at the best friend store. People also only have 2 or 3 “best” friends because these relationships take a lot of work. Real friendships require communication, compromise, and accepting the other person in spite of their faults (not unlike a dating relationship). 

Having a best friend is like having your own superhero. They know what you’re going to say before you are, they’ll bring any fool to justice who tries to mess, with you, they’ll be your personal warm shield, or human pillow, they have supersonic hearing when you need them to listen, they bear the gift of pity food in the form of chocolate or ice cream, they have x-ray vision that can see into your soul, they teach you the language from their planet that only you two know, and they have the super duper BS detector when it comes to your dating relationships.

I had a point to this spiel and then I started writing and forgot…Oh yeah! I originally started writing this because I was thinking about how hard it is to not be able to always be around your best friend. It’s the greatest thing to be able to share those things you’ve “never told anyone else” with your best friend, but the stronger the bond you form with someone, the more it’s going to hurt when you aren’t constantly around that person anymore. It made me start thinking about why we even put the effort into having a best friend if you just have to be ripped away at some point; any significant relationship for that matter.

It’s that whole inherent need that we as humans have to form relationships with others, to share our deepest secrets, and hopes with another human. I guess, somewhere deep inside, we think that letting 1 or 2 other people know who we truly are is better than letting a thousand people know how our weekend was.