New Beginnings

2012 is coming to an end and my life is nowhere near where I thought it would be.  This time last year, I thought I'd be buying a bigger house, maybe pregnant, getting ready to start a family.  Instead, my house has been put on the market, I'm boarding with my parents and my marriage is over.  I know there are a lot of people that probably think we gave up too soon; people that think we just threw in the towel.  But, it is undeniably easier to stay married.  No "taking the easy road" here.
I've never believed in much.  I don't believe in God, I don't believe in destiny or fate, or soul mates or miracles.  I have, however, always believed in love.  I have always believed that if you loved someone enough, anything was possible.  I suppose there's such a thing as loving someone too much, though.  You can love someone so much that nothing else matters, including your own happiness.  Maybe you're just not seeing the negative side of things, because you're so deeply in love.  Maybe you don't care that things could be a little better here or a lot better there, because love is all that matters.  I suppose we could say that's the trap we fell into.  We believed in love so much that we ignored everything else.  We never took the time to look inward and do some searching.  We never bothered to ask ourselves or each other if we were really, truly happy.
I know I spent a lot of time defending my relationship.  I spent a lot of time telling people that we were "different," that our relationship "just isn't like that."  I've heard a lot recently from people who claim that they never believed we were happy together.  And that's hard to hear, because for a time, I believed we were.  Maybe I was in denial, maybe I didn't think we deserved better, maybe I just didn't know of another way for things to be, so accepted things as they were.  Everyone wants to blame someone.  Everyone wants to know whose fault it was.  The answer is that it's both of our faults and its neither of our faults.  From day one, we had zero in common.  And initially, that worked in our favor.  It forced us both to try new things, to come out of our comfort zones a little bit and meet new people.  But, eventually, it caught up to us.
There were certainly days of denial early on.  There were several false starts, more than a few "let's try one more time"s and an unbelievable amount of tears.  It's hard; really hard; to give up on something you believed in so completely.  To spend ten years of your life building something, creating something, believing in something and then having it just disappear.  There are no words.  And maybe we fell into the trap that a lot of high school sweethearts fall into; "well, we've been together this long, let's just get married."  I wanted that so badly.  I begged for it, I cried over it, I fought about it.  And I finally got it after nine years.  And then, after a year and a half it's over...it's humiliating and it's heartbreaking and it's unbelievably devastating.  I guess there's a point in every failed relationship where both parties know it's over.  I know when that moment was for me, but I won't go into details here, as I'm sure he knows when that moment was for him.
I have days when I think we should have never gotten married.  I have days when I wonder how things would have played out if we'd made different choices before and after we got married.  There were so many moments in the last ten years that could have been game changers, and without fail, we always chose the road that would lead us to each other.  So why, now, are we choosing a different one?   We're too young to be in a marriage that isn't fulfilling.  We're too young to be with people that don't bring out the very best in us.  There was a process of grieving for all of my hopes and my dreams; and all of the children I haven't even had yet.  There are moments when I wonder how he'll make out and what will become of both of us.  I want him to be happy so badly that it breaks my heart to even consider the possibility that he might not be someday.  I have to believe that we'll both be happier.  I have to believe that he'll someday be with someone who plays video games with him for hours on end and rides every terrifying roller coaster at the amusement park.  I have to believe that I'll someday be with someone who can geek out over books with me and spend their weekends watching bad TV with me.  I have to believe that, because if I don't, I won't survive.  There are still some days when I have to remind myself that this is right and why it's right.  There are days when I picture us both years from now with our new spouses and the children we both always wanted and those are the images that get me through.  I still have days of unbelievable disappointment that I couldn't be the person I know he needed and days when I feel like we let everyone down.  We invited 130 people to our wedding...and every single person on the guest list attended.  So many people believed in us, were pulling for us, were cheering for us...and we let them down.  And logically, I know that it shouldn't be about anyone but the two of us, but emotionally I can't always get there.
I still believe in love and I still believe in fairy tales, but I know now that it's not the only thing that matters and it's certainly not the only thing needed to hold a relationship together.  Love was never the issue.  It was never the question.  It was never anything that was doubted from either party.  But, when the excitement dies down and things happen to make you really think about your relationship and analyze it and pick it apart, you realize things about yourselves and each other that you never knew.  You admit things that you never admitted, you finally stop pushing nagging thoughts aside and you start trusting your gut.  And when that starts to happen, it doesn't always end the way you want it to or the way you think it will.  Knowing it's right doesn't make it any easier.  And as sad as we both are and as terrifying as this new "adventure" is going to be, there are no regrets.  We followed our hearts.  We made the choices we wanted to, did the things we wanted to do and loved each other with a fire so bright that it blinded us to everything else.  I will never not care, I will never not worry, I will never not wonder and I will never stop hoping that he's happy.  I want so desperately for him to have everything he wants.  And I know that as long as we both learn from this experience and take as much as we can from it, we will eventually grow to be the people we are meant to be and find the people that complete us.
For the first time in my life, New Years is actually a new beginning.  So, here's to something different, hopefully something exciting and to finding our way on a path that isn't always clear. 

Splitsville, PA

This is a hard one to write and not one I ever thought I'd have to.  I apologize to those who are finding out this way, but it's getting harder and harder for me to pretend that everything is okay.  Most people that should know already know that Ryan and I are splitting up.  It might appear that it's coming out of nowhere, but it's not.  It's been going on for several months and it's been an emotional process of self-discovery.  I will not go into details about what happened or why, but we continue to have the utmost respect for each other and want nothing but the best for each other.  We want each other to be happy and regret that we cannot be the ones to do that anymore. 

Above all, we want our friends and family to know that they do not have to pick a side.  We realize that in any break up, that is inevitable and it is understood if that's the way things need to be, but we hope to remain friends with each other and hope that we can maintain a friendly relationship with all of you.  Over the last decade, we have joined our families together and embraced each others friends and it's difficult to leave that behind.  I hope that the friends I've made through my connection to Ryan will feel comfortable enough still reaching out to me as I hope my friends will do the same for him.  It's nearly impossible to wrap my mind around everything I will be giving up and all of the people I will be losing, but it's a choice we made together and we know it's right.  

I truly appreciate all of the people that have reached out to me already and all of those that have been helping us both get through this difficult time.  With our friends and family by our sides, we know we will both come out on the other end.  Thank you for your respect during this time.  

Let the Music Heal Your Soul

I can't figure out if people have gotten more judgmental or if I've actually started surrounding myself with more people who have different interests.  I remember being in middle school and being made fun of for liking Hanson.  There were kids that even waited at my locker for me, so they could tell me just how much Hanson sucked.  That's middle school, though and everyone pretty much sucks from the age of twelve until eighteen.  It goes with the territory.  That's probably when I built up my thick outer shell, though.  The words stung more than I ever let them know, but I had a close group of friends who shared the same interests.  We were in it together and as a group, they couldn't touch us.  Naturally, as things go, we all grew apart as we got older.  I'd venture to say that all of us still enjoy that music though.  Hanson's been putting out music since 1996 and I still buy every album and see every concert that comes to town.  Just as their fans did, their music has matured over time.  And I've had a few people tell me they give Hanson more respect now since they write their own music and play their own instruments.  Because Hanson and all their fans are just dying for everyone elses approval.  Backsteet Boys is a different story.  My relationship with Hanson goes much deeper and it's much older, but I'd say I enjoy Backstreet Boys' music more.  Why?  I have no idea.  It touches me differently than Hanson does.  It gets to me in a different way.  I relate to it on a different level.  And isn't that really what music is all about? 
I am far beyond the point of exhaustion when it comes to people saying that someone elses taste in music or movies or books or television sucks.  I'm beyond the point of being able to control my rage at the people that think their opinion is the be all end all.  I don't care what your opinion is.  I don't care what you listen to and I care even less that you don't like what I listen to.  I like it and it reaches me in a way that it obviously doesn't reach you.  Why is that a bad thing?  And what right do you have to tell me that that's wrong?  Everyone gets something different out of music.  Some people are touched by the music itself.  It takes them to a place that makes them happy or relaxed or soothes them a little bit.  Some people, like me, relate to the lyrics.  Maybe that particular group was finally able to make me understand something that I never understood before.  Maybe they were able to put something into words that I was struggling with.  Maybe they were able to motivate me in a way that no one else was ever able to. 
I remember one particular Backstreet Boys song "Roll With It" that I played on repeat for a full day in high school once.  Life was pretty miserable; I'd lost many people I cared about, I was constantly fighting with my mom, my friends were all moving on and my grades were the worst they'd ever been.  The lyrics to that song spoke to me and pulled me out of the deepest depression I've ever been in.  As they sang the words "if you ever feel like no one cares; when you try your best, but you get nowhere, don't give in.  'Cause good times will come again" I just knew they were talking to me.  "When they criticize every move you make and you've had as much as you're gonna take, don't you worry.  Soon enough, things will change" made me feel like they really understood me.  It didn't matter that they had no idea I existed.  It didn't matter if they wrote the song, or if they were playing the instruments.  Those words were coming out of that stereo and singing to a girl that so desperately needed to hear them from anyone that nothing else mattered.  I played that song all day long as I studied for my exams, taking the first step that day in getting my life back on track.  It was a defining moment in my life and not one I'll ever forget.  Every time I hear that song to this day, I remember that girl and that promise and the words in the song still ring true.  "And when it seems as though nobody understands, young man, don't you let your head hang down, young woman, just stick to the plan."  It's what I've always done.  First and foremost, I have always stuck to my own plan.  Have I still been discouraged along the way?  Absolutely!  Have there been times when I thought my ending goal would never be reached?  Sure!  But, I've never given up on it.  I've taken the criticism of others and I've used it as fuel.  So, when people tell me that they don't understand why I like Backstreet Boys, it's not something I'm able to explain.  It's gotten to a point where it doesn't even matter what I say anymore.  The words still hurt as much as they did in middle school, because the love for the music is deeper than it used to be.
To say that it doesn't count as music or that they don't deserve as much respect as another artist is not only disrespectful to the group themselves, but to the fans.  I've had other songs along the way that have touched me in ways nothing else was ever able to.  Ashlee Simpson has a song called "Beautifully Broken" that got me through a tough time with Ryan and another one called "Nothing New" that sums up my relationship with my mother better than I've ever been able to.  Taylor Swift's "Mean" relates to far too many people in my life and lets me know I'm not alone.  Maybe the lyrics are cliche.  Maybe the music is mediocre.  And maybe they got other people to write the words for them.  Who really cares?  All that matters is that that music is speaking to someone on a level that no one else really understands.  I have an appreciation for all music.  There are many genres that I don't particularly find pleasing to the ear.  And there's some that I won't even give a second listen to, because it sounds like gibberish to me.  There's some that depresses me a little bit  and some that makes me laugh.  But, every artist on my iPod has spoken to me on a level that no one I know in the real world has ever been able to.  Sometimes it's like taking a page from my own diary and listening to it over the radio. 
It's the same with everything else too, though.  People have different opinions on comedy; on books; on what kinds of TV shows they like to watch.  People like things for different reasons and they hate things for different reasons.  Some people enjoy reality shows for the drama and others hate them for the same reason.  Whatever the reasons are, it's making that person feel good.  For a brief moment in time; for three minutes or a half an hour or for two hours that person is happy.  That person feels less alone and a little bit more understood and there is less than zero wrong with that.  No one should ever have to defend something that makes them happy and maybe we'd all be a little happier if we stopped asking them to!

Sometimes I Just Need to Write

Sometimes I like to write just for the sake of writing.  Sometimes I just need to say things, or to get things off my chest, or just talk things out.  It often helps me to put stuff in writing.  It helps me get some perspective.  There's not really anything in particular I'm trying to work out at the moment, but I guess I have kind of felt like I've been changing as a person.  I was just taking advantage of the new Facebook timeline and going through all of my old posts since my very first day on Facebook.  To say I'm a little dramatic would be an understatement.  I certainly hope that's not exactly still true.  I do know that in the later years of high school, I was nine kinds of crazy.  I'm still amazed to this day that my husband actually stuck with me through all of that (my boyfriend at the time, obviously).  The tiniest little things would set me off and make me crazy.  For no reason, other than I didn't like it.  That part seems to have changed, though most of those things still bother me; I'm just better at dealing with it now than I was back then.  

The year that stuck out the most to me in my timeline was 2008.  I usually tell people that fourteen and twenty-two were the hardest years of my life.  I think fourteen was miserable for most people, for many different reasons and I won't go into mine, but twenty-two was difficult for me, because it's sort of a transition age.  I was out of college and legally an adult, but still almost 100% dependent on my parents.  I was still living at home, working part-time (with my mom, no less) and looking for full-time job.  It took me just over a year to find a permanent job and I lost two other jobs in the process (one was a temp, the other I was basically fired from, since I had no intention of working there full-time).  It's the most miserable I remember being in recent history.  My relationship with my mother was in serious trouble and I had to get out.  But, I couldn't find a job to get me out!  I never felt more trapped.  Then, I finally found a job (where I'm still working) and Ryan and I immediately set to work looking for a house (which, now that I think about it was incredibly stupid, since I'd lost a job only months before after four months).  It took us about two months to find one and we were moved in by my twenty-fourth birthday.  My Facebook timeline leading up to that was one long sob story of how miserable I was and how desperate I was and how everyone had what I wanted.  I felt like I was standing still while everyone else was moving forward.  It was frustrating and scary and more than a little discouraging. 
I wish I could say that had been enough for me at the time.  All I had wanted was to move out of my parents' house.  I thought if he wasn't going to propose to me, then that was the second best thing and I'd be happy with it.  It wasn't enough, though and my timeline went from feeling trapped to just being sad and a little angry.  I wanted him to propose so badly.  I wanted to finally have that commitment after what was six or seven years at the time.  Twenty-four is still pretty young to be married, I suppose, but I felt ready.  We had been through so much together, we owned a house together; we were making a life together.  What was the hold up on getting married?  It was an obsession and a constant sore spot for both of us.  I brought it up constantly to him and on Facebook and reading back over it now, it was more than a little annoying.  I don't think either one of us will ever understand what it felt like to be the other person in that situation.  I don't think he'll ever understand how neglected I felt.  How pushed-aside and ignored.  And I know I'll never understand why he was ready to buy a house with me, but not to marry me.  Buying a house together is no small thing and probably harder to get out of than a marriage.  The time finally came, though, just over a year after moving in together.  Planning the wedding was dramatic, much to my dismay and I can honestly say there were moments when I'd never cried harder in my life.  There were times when I thought that getting engaged was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.  Certain aspects of the wedding brought some family members closer together, but the biggest parts brought the most important people farther apart.  And I was trapped in the middle, where I didn't want to be.  I hadn't quite gotten to that part of my timeline before I decided to write this, but I remember making myself a promise that I wasn't going to be that girl that posted about her wedding constantly.  I'm afraid I was "that girl," though.  It was equal parts excitement and frustration. 
I never considered myself to be someone that needs other people's approval, but from reading back over the last few years, maybe that's true.  Maybe I am someone that thrives on what other people have to say.  I know I enjoy getting into a good debate.  I know I like sharing and hearing opinions.  I know I like to talk.  But, I also like to know that I'm not alone.  I do feel like sometimes I need to know that my feelings are normal and justified.  And I guess Facebook is where I turned to get that.  I'll admit that most of my posts stemmed from boredom.  I remember that I hardly ever used Facebook before I had this job.  I didn't have anything to say and I didn't care that much what other people said.  But, as Facebook became its own world, I opened up to it more.  I didn't want to be the person that posted what they had for dinner, or aired all their dirty laundry on the internet, but I kind of was.  I never seemed to go into much detail about what exactly was bothering me, which is probably worse.  I enjoyed leaving cryptic messages, often implying that my relationship with Ryan was in trouble.  I made him look like the bad guy.  Which I still do...but more in person than online.  I'm not sure why I do it.  It's a defense mechanism, I guess.  It makes me feel less self-conscious if I know the heat is on him instead.  And I know it's not right, and every time I feel it happening, I tell myself not to do it, but people laugh and I feel vindicated.  I like to make people laugh.  It makes me feel like I'm doing something right.  It makes me feel like I'm fitting in.  Which is something that hasn't always been easy for me.  I've spent my entire life trying to fit in somewhere.  My old friends and I seemed to outgrow each other somewhere in high school; I didn't party enough in college to make any new ones; I didn't drink or play enough video games to make friends with Ryan's friends; and I didn't socialize enough to make any friends at work.  My life had a steady flow of part-time acquaintances who stuck around long enough to hear and share some life stories and then they were gone.  And it's taken me until now to really realize that it's okay that I don't really fit in anywhere.  I pretty much prefer to be alone.  I prefer to read a book, where someone elses fantasy can become my reality.  I prefer to write, where the only other people that exist besides myself are people that I created; and they can be anyone I want them to be. 
Maybe that's why I became so obsessive with Facebook.  I'd stopped writing for such a long time.  I used to write religiously; at least once a day, sometimes more.  Whether it was a journal entry, a poem, a short story, a song; you name it, I wrote it.  And then, around the time I got together with Ryan I kind of stopped.  I wrote poems occasionally, completely stopped writing in my journals and never attempted another story.  Until recently.  I still can't really get back into the poetry.  I'm just not at the same place I was, emotionally when I was writing them before.  My old poems are dark and depressing and it seems like a different person that wrote them.  It disappoints me on one hand to know that I reached my poetic peak at fifteen, but on the other hand I'm glad that I've never been in that dark place again.  The pain is there for all to see and it's real and it's raw and it's a little bit scary. 
So, I don't know.  Maybe having that lack of an outlet led me to Facebook.  All I know is that I don't want to be the girl I saw on that timeline.  I don't want to be the girl that tells everyone every single day that I'm tired or that I'm cold or that I'm glad it's Friday.  How redundant and how unbelievably obnoxious.  I don't think I'm necessarily that girl anymore.  I know I post far less than I used to and I try to keep my posts either funny or informative; sometimes I still need to vent.  I've tried really hard to steer clear of controversy lately (though sometimes I can't resist posting something I strongly believe in) and I've even been trying to keep my posts positive.  I was in such a bad place in my life for so long and at this stage in my life, it's unclear why.  Maybe it's because I finally have everything I ever wanted.  I got the house, I got the ring and although I sometimes forget it, I got a hell of a great guy.  There are days when I still feel like I need something else, though and I guess that's what led me back to school to get my master's degree.  The next few years will consist of school, a bigger house and hopefully some children and I know for a fact that this is the part of my life that I've always been waiting for.  As far back as I can remember, I wanted to have my own children.  I always felt like I was trapped in a younger body.  I always felt ready for responsibility and stunted by my age.  Maybe that's what made me so crazy about getting married.  It was the next step in my life plan and it was frustrating that someone else wasn't on board with that.  When I was fifteen years old I said I wanted to get married by twenty-five to a guy I dated for at least ten years.  Which is so funny and so silly to me now, since by the time I was twenty-five, we were together for nine years and I was crazed out of my mind with anger that we weren't engaged yet.  But, I reached that goal of being married at twenty-five; barely.  I've always been a goal-setter and I've somehow always managed to reach those goals and I guess I felt threatened that things wouldn't happen the way I wanted them to.  I have to learn that that's okay.  That's why going back to school was such a hard decision to make.  Ryan and I had discussed having kids before we turned thirty.  This masters program will now have me graduating at twenty-nine, pushing our self-proclaimed deadline back a little further (since he'll be thirty by then). 
Intellectually, I know that life shouldn't be a race.  It shouldn't be a contest.  But, I guess that's the kind of person I am.  Lately, there's been a competitive streak in me that I didn't know existed.  But, I guess that's what all that rage was about when ever someone got engaged before us; I was losing.  I finally feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be, though.  I finally feel like this is what's supposed to happen and it doesn't matter if someone else starts a family before us.  It doesn't matter if someone has a nicer house than we do.  It doesn't matter if someone gets their dream job before I get a chance to.  I'm finally at a place in my life where I'm able to feel happy for people that have more than me.  I'm finally able to sincerely congratulate them, because I finally feel like things are in my control, not someone elses.  I got to choose to go back to school.  I get to choose when I have children.  I get to choose when we buy a bigger house.  There's no more waiting on my end.  There's no more relying on someone else to get what I want.  I don't need to wait for someone to offer me a job to have my own financial independence.  There's no more waiting for someone else to decide when I get married.  I get to call my own shots from now on, more or less.  So, I guess that makes me a control freak.  At least I finally know what my problem is. 

Humble Father's Day

I wasn't going to write this today, since it's 11:30pm, but I just can't get it out of my head.  I know I won't be able to sleep until I get it out.  Today was father's day and it's not a day I was necessarily looking forward to.  My father and I are not close and have always had a pretty strained relationship.  I haven't seen him since Christmas and haven't talked to him since Easter.  To say I don't enjoy his company would be an understatement.  But, I also have a step-father, who I wouldn't say I'm close to, but I have a very deep respect for.  He married my mother when I was just five years old and my brother was eight.  He's been the father for us that our "real" father was never willing or able to be.  If I'd had it my way, he would have walked me down the aisle at my wedding, but that wasn't a fight I wanted to have, so he walked me halfway (which still resulted in a fight I didn't want to have).  He's been there for my family and he's stepped up to the plate more than he needed to.  And he's been through a lot in his life.  This year, though was the first year I also had a father-in-law (technically the second, but we were on our honeymoon for father's day last year).  I was annoyed that there were three men I had to work into my schedule today.  It was a chore and took the joy out of seeing my family.  So, I made plans to see my father yesterday and we had lunch and it was as painless as it could be.  And today, my husband and I went to my parents house around 2pm.  My step-father has been going through chemotherapy for the last three weeks to treat bladder cancer.  He was diagnosed a couple years ago, but surgery was done and we thought it was being held at bay.  He went in for a routine check-up in May and the news wasn't good.  The cancer had spread and he'd need chemotherapy before removing the bladder completely.  My family doesn't cry (at least not in front of each other), so we all held it together (I broke down that night by myself...) and parted ways.  He hasn't been dealing well with it, though from what I've heard.  He shaved his head a few weeks ago, which was a huge step.  He's always had a gorgeous head of salt and pepper hair, no receding hairline, no balding.  Now, he's going to lose it.  And I keep saying that it's only hair and that it'll grow back, but it's still strange to see.  Admittedly, though it didn't look as strange as I thought it would.  He looks good with a buzz cut.

So, naturally, this year, it was important to me to see him.  It put life in perspective for all of us, I believe and while he's likely to survive this cancer, it still makes you realize that life is fragile.  And today it was proven to me over and over again.  First thing this morning, I saw a notification on Facebook that a good friend of ours was in a motorcycle accident early this morning.  He hit a deer and was in the hospital with a broken wrist and some serious road rash.  By all accounts, the injuries are not nearly as bad as they could be, but still, how scary.  I checked my Facebook page throughout the day, keeping tabs on him and wondering how he was making out.  He'll be okay, but it was scary nonetheless.  This was all running through my head as I gave my step-father the hair clippers he asked for for father's day.  Clippers to shave his head completely, since it has started to fall out.  He's in denial that it needs to be shaved bald and insists on shaving it just shorter than it was, but it's a process he needs to go through and that's understood.

We spent a few hours with my parents before heading to my in-law's.  Every year they have a big father's day picnic with aunts and uncles and cousins, etc.  It's a big deal.  And I somehow always forget about my husband's cousin who has been sick since birth.  I'm not entirely sure what is wrong with this boy, who I believe is about twelve years old now, but he's always had a limp and one leg has always been grossly shorter than the other.  From what I remember hearing over the years, he'd had many extensive surgeries to try and stretch the other leg, but I guess that stopped being reasonable once he started growing more.  How many times can you operate on the same leg?  So, today I was surprised to see him walking around with a prosthetic leg.  I had a vague memory of hearing that he was going to lose his foot, but I'd never gotten the details.  And I never remember hearing this child complain about the deal he was dealt.  Today, I saw him playing with the other children and even swimming with the prosthetic leg.  He seems to still be getting used to it, but it was amazing to see such a young child dealing with something so huge.  He was all smiles and laughter as he mingled with my soon to be brother-in-law's little sister and I was once again in awe of this strong boy.  He never says a word about, he never makes a fuss about it and I've never heard him once get frustrated with it.  Now, I only see him three or four times a year, but I've known him for almost his entire life and I've never heard him waver.  He's incredible and he's sweet as can be and every time I see him it puts my entire life into perspective.  On my worst day, it's never been as bad as his best.  I've dealt with loss and I've dealt with fear, but I've never really dealt with personal difficulties.  I've never had a personal injury or personal issue to overcome.  My life's been pretty easy, by most accounts.  And seeing him handle things so well immediately makes me annoyed with myself for thinking that anything is a big deal.  So what if money is tight this month?  So what if Ryan isn't home as much as I'd like him to be?  So what that my career isn't where I want it to be?  So what that my best friend lives two hours away?  I've got my health.  And I'm sitting in the comfort of my own home, that I own, with my husband, whom I've been with since high school.  There is nothing wrong with me.  There is nothing wrong with my husband.  Our life is pretty damn good.  And it's sad that it took a twelve-year-old to make me realize that.

These are three separate issues that, looked at singly maybe would not have resonated as much with me.  If our friend had gotten in this accident on a different day, it still would have mattered and we still would have worried, but maybe it wouldn't have hit such a nerve if it hadn't happened on the same day that I watched my step-dad's eyes light up after receiving a gift he's never needed before.  Maybe it wouldn't have scared me as much if it wasn't on the same day I saw my husband's twelve-year-old cousin with a prosthetic leg for the first time.  The magnitude of all three of these events didn't really seem to hit me as much until I saw them all happen in the same day.  People get in accidents all the time.  People get cancer all the time.  And people lose limbs all the time, for many reasons.  But, when I see them all in the same day, to people I care about, it changes things for me.  It's frustrating that it takes things like this to make me realize how great things are and how lucky I am.  But, it's pretty incredible that all three of these people have inspired me in ways they might never understand. 

Where Can We Go to Get Away?

I'm kind of at a point in my life where I'm just over people.  Maybe I'm too young for that to be the case already, maybe I'm just someone with a short fuse, or maybe I just live in the wrong area.  Whatever the reason, I can't seem to wrap my mind around how self-absorbed most people are.  I spent most of my life in Plymouth Meeting, PA, which I absolutely loved.  When I was little, I always thought I lived in this tiny little town where everyone knew everybody.  That wasn't necessarily the case.  All the neighbors knew each other and all the kids that went to school together knew each other.  That was far from the whole town, though.  And as I got older, the town got more commercialized and more populated and people seemed to get ruder and ruder.  Or maybe, I just got more skeptical and less innocent.  I now live about seven miles outside of Plymouth Meeting, which is far from being on the other side of the world, but at first, it was far enough.  When I first moved here, people seemed nicer.  I distinctly remember two different people holding the door open for me in the same restaurant and telling my parents how it was strange that I didn't know how to react to people being so nice.  My mother seemed to agree that people were nicer "up here."  And now, when we go back to Plymouth Meeting, it's equal parts hilarious and unsettling to hear the obscenities that come out of my mother's mouth.  It almost feels more like a city there than the tiny town I thought I grew up in.  Driving through it is a nightmare and the traffic alone fuels my rage.  I always blamed it on the fact that it was a nicer area and there were some people that were pretty well-off and were out of touch with reality, but it seems to be an epidemic.

This past weekend, my husband and I took a trip to Baltimore, Maryland.  Our trip started out a few miles outside of Baltimore and we did sort of notice that the people seemed nicer.  We weren't as annoyed with people, but we could just chalk that up to the fact that we were somewhere different and on vacation.  Quickly upon entering the actual city, though, we immediately felt "at home."  We're not city people, so driving through Baltimore alone was a nuisance.  But, the first night wasn't too bad; mostly because all we did was sleep in our hotel room.  The next day was a different story.  We took a trip to the inner harbor, where neither of us has ever been (at least that we can remember).  We'd heard how much there was to do and how much fun everything was, so we were excited to get started.

Our first stop was the Baltimore Aquarium, somewhere I'd always wanted to go, since I'd heard so much about it.  Immediately upon arrival, a busload of children were let out...a field trip.  Typical.  This would not have been such a big deal if it didn't seem like everyone else in the world was at this aquarium on that particular day.  Which seemed strange, since it was a Monday and most kids were still in school.  But, it seems like no one cares anymore about other people.  No one cared that we were at that exhibit first or that I was trying to take a picture.  No one cares that there are a hundred other people waiting to see the exhibit behind them.  They're taking their time, seemingly intentionally forming a roadblock in front of the exhibit so no one else can get by.  They're shouting to their family members to come check it out and see how cool it is.  They're taking dozens of pictures of the same creatures.  What gives?  Can't I see it?  I paid a lot of money to come here, as well as you.  Do I get a turn?  We ended up skipping much of the aquarium, because the crowds got too annoying, the lines got too long and the patrons got too rude.  At one point, I tried to take a picture of my husband standing next to a giant shark's mouth, because I thought it was cool how big it was.  I took one picture and the flash didn't go off, so I tried to take another one.  He was uncomfortable, though since there were people behind me waiting to look at it and he put the kibosh on the picture.  That's kind of how it should be, but I was instantly annoyed with him that he didn't give me my chance to be rude.  People had been pushing and shoving me and making me wait all day and I can't get ten seconds to take a picture?  How is that fair?

So, we quickly realized that the inner harbor is still too "city" for us, but made the best of it anyway.  It was nice to get away from home, even just for a short time and it was cool to see something different for a change.  We came home Monday night and went out to dinner Tuesday night in our hometown-Plymouth Meeting.  Maybe it's because we were back there, or maybe it's just because it's typical, but we left there angry as well.  We walked into the restaurant and stood at the podium waiting to be seated.  There was one person in front of us, who was seated quickly and then the hostess never returned.  We waited roughly ten minutes, as it was obvious that the girl was new and learning the ropes; we were patient.  Suddenly, a woman walks in the door at the exact instant that someone finally returns to the podium, walks right past us, says "booth for two" and gets seated immediately.  My husband and I instantly look at each other and say in perfect unison "that just happened."  We weren't even out of the way!  We were standing just inside the door, directly in front of the podium.  It was obvious we were waiting to be seated.  We were more than a little angry and complained about it all through dinner.  By this point we were fed up with being ignored.  Were we invisible to everyone but each other?  What goes through someone's mind before they do something like that?  Why does everyone seem to think they rule the world and they can do whatever they want?  When did other peoples' feelings stop mattering?

I wish I could say that this was true mostly of strangers, but I see it constantly in my own family as well.  It's more difficult when you're married to make time for everyone.  Every holiday needs to be split two ways and since my parents are divorced, ours need to be split three ways.  Christmas needs to include my mom & step-dad, my dad and my in-laws.  Same with Thanksgiving and Easter.  Mother's Day and Father's Day.  Birthdays, anniversaries.  No one seems to care that there's another side of the family to deal with.  No one seems to care that there are other people to consider.  Work it into your schedule or forever feel guilty.  And it takes away the fun of all of it.  It takes away the joy of seeing family and being together.  It turns into an obligation and a punishment instead of a nice family get together.  Don't get me wrong; I love my family.  But, sometimes I wish it was just my husband and I and on one else.  Sometimes I wish we could just run away without telling anyone where we're going.  I'd love to own a secluded mountain house someday where I can runaway and spend my weekends with a fire and a good book.  My heart skips a beat just thinking about it.  But, I'm not like everyone else.  I can't just put the feelings of everyone else aside to focus on my own feelings.  Where does that come from, since it's obvious that's not true for anyone else.  How did we end up to be such nice people when we're surrounded by such selfishness?  And where can we go to get away from it?

I just told my husband tonight that being a writer is the perfect career for me.  Just me and my computer and no one else.  The only other people that exist are the characters I make up in whatever story I'm working on.  It's a career for recluses and that's exactly what I'd like to be.  I don't like to be around people.  And it's not at all because I'm anti-social.  It's because people don't make themselves someone that other people want to be around.  And that's kind of a bummer to me...

In Sickness and In Health

In the nearly ten years that my husband and I have been together, I've been fortunate enough that he's never seen me sick enough that he's needed to take care of me.  That is, until a few days ago.  Generally, I get the sniffles and I'm a little weak, but I carry on and go about my business anyway, feeling miserable the whole time.  On the flip side, when it's him that has the sniffles, it seems like the end of the world.  On more than one occasion I've tried to prove how obnoxious it is by ignoring his complaints and forcing him to do things for himself, as I have to do when I'm sick.  Being sympathetic is not something I've ever been accused of.  However, a few days ago, he finally had his chance to show me what he's made of.  To say that I've underestimated him throughout our entire relationship would be an understatement.

I woke up at 4:00 Wednesday morning sweating so heavily that I feared I would pass out.  I had severe stomach pains and knew I was going to throw up.  Thinking and hoping it was going to be a one time thing (I have acid reflux, this wouldn't be the first time), I quickly did what I needed to do, brushed my teeth and got back into bed.  Twenty minutes later, I was back on the bathroom floor, bowing down to the porcelain god.  I tried hard not to wake him, as he needed to be up in less than an hour for work, but he heard me anyway (horrors!).  I remember hearing "are you okay?" and weakly responding "I don't know," before seeing him enter the bathroom.  I told him I tried not to wake him and he said he wasn't sure what he was hearing at first.  It seemed only minutes later that his alarm clock went off the first time and I said "why don't you turn it off, since you're awake anyway?"  "I  might be going back to sleep!"  Yeah right!  He was up now, and he was wonderful.  He sat on the edge of the bathtub and rubbed my back while I heaved into the toilet bowl, sobbing and telling him I wanted to go to the hospital (it was my turn to be dramatic).  I was shivering uncontrollably and he ran downstairs to turn the heat back on and brought me the warmest blanket in the house.  He wrapped it around me, rubbing my arms to calm my shaking body and I yelled "turn it off!!!!" as his alarm sounded for the second time.  "Okay!  This time I will!"  As he came back into the bathroom, I could tell that his stomach wasn't quite settled either.  I am eternally grateful to the architect that designed this house with two bathrooms, as they were surely needed at that moment.  As he used the bathroom downstairs, he came back into our upstairs bathroom, trying to convince me to go to bed as he found me lying on the bathroom floor curled in the fetal position.  "Laying down makes it worse!" I cried, as my dinner revisited me for the third (or fourth) time.  He decided he was going to attempt to go into work, assuming he'd just be in the bathroom a lot and he made sure I was tucked into bed with some Gatorade and a trashcan nearby before he left.  It couldn't have been twenty minutes later before he returned after pulling off the road twice with the same fate I had been dealt.  Fantastic.  We were both sick!  Now, who was going to take care of us?

Knowing how awful he was feeling himself, I was glad to have him lying in bed next to me that day, as he rubbed my back every time I leaned over the side of the bed releasing the demon that infected both of our bodies.  It was obvious early on that he wasn't nearly as sick as I was and he was out of bed hours before me.  After several hours of sleep (well into the afternoon), I crawled downstairs to attempt to make something to eat, hoping it would make me feel better, but never made it farther than the couch.  I fell asleep for an additional two hours before his calls for me woke me again.  I heard him get in the shower, jealous of the fact that he felt strong enough to do so.  What I wouldn't give to believe my legs would support me long enough.  After the longest shower in the history of the world, he came downstairs, forced me to drink some water and made us both some chicken noodle soup.  He poured himself a tiny bit from the larger bowl that he gave me and didn't complain when I didn't finish it.  I then watched as he took out the trash and emptied the trash can that I had been throwing up in for most of the day.  I was amazed at how well he took care of everything without question, without prodding and without complaint.  I can't honestly say I would have been able to empty that trash can (and hose it out!) without losing my lunch again.  I distinctly remember saying to him as he carried it down our two flights of stairs "you'll make a great daddy someday," something, I'll admit, I'm not always sure of.  He responded with "thank you" and continued on his business.  And later that night, after I had finally managed to shower and dress, I mentioned that we needed to clean up the tea and the toast that neither one of us had finished from earlier in the morning.  He told me that he had already taken care of it.  I can't remember him ever doing something without first being asked.  And maybe my mistake was always that I wasn't sick "enough" for him to show how well he could take care of me.  Or, maybe the problem was that we just were never home together on days when I really needed to be taken care of.  Who knows?  But, what I know is that on this particular day, I felt more miserable than I've ever felt in my life and I knew that he wasn't feeling so peachy either and he rose above it all and showered me with "are you okays?" and "how are you feelings?"  He was exactly the man I needed him to be and 100% the man I wasn't sure he could be.  And not that there was ever any feelings of insecurity, but I now know that I am unbelievably safe with him and I will never again underestimate his potential to provide and protect.  I know that someday, our children will have someone (besides me) to sit by the side of their bed when they're feeling sick and someone who will clean up their messes without question, someone who will put his own feelings aside for the well being of those more important than himself.  This is the man I married, "in sickness and in health" and I will no longer wonder if he's capable of that first part.  While it's difficult to admit one's own faults, this was definitely one of my own, and it's unfortunate that it took something like this to make me realize it.  But, in a way, I'm glad it happened.  Sometimes it takes something bad to make you truly realize the good.  And my husband...he's "the good."

World peace, please?

I recently finished reading "Fahrenheit 451" and I can honestly say that I've never read a book that affected me quite as much.  And this past week, I've seen so many parallels to the book, that it's concerning and infuriating me at the same time.  A friend and I always enjoy debating back and forth about controversial subjects.  We've touched on religion, abortion, drugs and even music.  We often disagree, but we never waiver from our views.  And while I believe that it's incredibly important to stay open-minded, it's just as important to stand up for yourself; but only when necessary.  My friend and I do it for fun (and it's only once ended in genuine anger) and it's interesting and informational to get another view point.  I respect his views and his beliefs and I understand where they come from; I just don't agree with them.  Which is fine.  Two things happened today that made me think.  One of the issues angered him and one angered me, but I supposed they're not all that different.  The first topic was the new documentary "Bully."  I don't know if many of you have heard about this movie yet, but it's a documentary about the effects of bullying in schools.  Unfortunately, this is a rising issue and it's something that desperately needs to be addressed.  Today's debate started over an article that was written stating that the movie is being released in the U.S. without a rating, which makes it virtually inaccessible in theaters.  The issue is that the movie features a lot of questionable language that some see not fit for children (even though it's being said by children in the movie).  My argument was that, while this is annoying, I don't see it as that big of a deal.  It will still be rentable and parents will still be able to show it to their children.  In fact, it might actually have the opposite effect.  I know that if I was a teenager and a movie was released, but not being shown in theaters, I would be incredibly curious about what was in it; therefore making me go out and rent it.  The rating may also cause such an outrage that it brings to light an issue that isn't talked about enough.  I believe that by not giving this movie a rating, it's going to get more attention than it would have gotten if it was released quietly with a "PG" (or higher) rating. 
The other article was this one:  http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2012/03/26/war-on-words-nyc-dept-of-education-wants-50-forbidden-words-removed-from-standardized-tests/
Basically, the New York Department of Education is trying to remove certain words from standardized testing that might offend others.  The word 'birthday' is included, so as not to offend Jehovah's Witnesses, who do not celebrate; as well as the word 'dinosaur,' in order to not offend creationists.  I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my entire life.  It concerns me on a level so high, I can't even put it into words.  It is a direct parallel to "Fahrenheit 451."  It's a blatant attempt to remove all diversity from schools and continue to teach ignorance.  I don't celebrate Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or even believe in God, but I would not, in the teeny, tiniest little way be offended by the mention of any of these things.  They're things that others believe in and it's those differences and the fact that we all have the freedoms to believe in whatever we want that makes this world so beautiful.  Now, I don't believe this is something that will ever get passed, but the very fact that it was brought up in the first place is disturbing.  How far does it go?  We may as well remove all pictures from the internet and textbooks, so that men aren't offended by pictures of women and blacks aren't offended by pictures of whites.  We shouldn't have any pictures of heterosexual couples, because gay people might be offended.  Let's not have any pictures of animals, because we might offend the vegetarians, and we should really just stop selling anything with sugar, because I'm sure the diabetics are angry about that.  Where does it end?  It's one thing to decide that a movie or a book or a TV show is inappropriate for a certain age group, but to try to argue that certain WORDS are going to offend people.  I'm sure you can find at least one person who is offended by every word in the world.  I, personally hate the word 'kumquat' and I know many people don't like the word 'moist.'  Should we remove those too?  At what point do we all just do what we do and stop worrying about everyone else?  If you don't like what someone has to say, talk to someone else.  If you're offended by a book, don't read it.  If a TV show touches on subjects you don't agree with, don't watch it.  It's really and truly that friggin' simple.  It is absolutely necessary to stand up for your beliefs, but ONLY if you have to.  If someone is intentionally and maliciously attacking your beliefs and telling you that they are wrong, then definitely defend yourself!  If someone is bullying you because of how you live your life or what you believe in, stand up and be heard!  But, don't do it just to do it.  No one cares and no one wants to hear you whine.  Once we can all realize that it's our differences that make us beautiful, maybe there will be a glimmer of peace in the world...maybe.

Scrappy Valentine's Day

I'll admit that this post is probably my most petty, but between being attacked on Facebook and being passed over for a promotion (for the third time) I'm angrier than I should be.  First and foremost, I just want people to understand me.  It seems that most people believe I get into Facebook fights and get angry when I'm disagreed with.  This isn't true.  I do not mind, in the least, being disagreed with.  I welcome a friendly debate.  Being as it's hard to show emotion via Facebook post, I feel my arguments are always seen as angry, instead of informative.  I try hard to keep my arguments calm and rational and I definitely don't get personal.  But, others do.  And it's the personal attacks that irritate me.  There's a distinct different between a debate and a fight.  What I do is debate.  As soon as someone else makes it personal, it becomes a fight.  After implying something about my logic (which is still unclear), this person then proceeded to tell me to stop posting "one-sided opinions" on Facebook.  Opinions are one-sided; otherwise, they'd be called facts.  So, nice attempt at an insult, but failure on their part.  That being said, I realize my opinions sometimes hit a nerve with people.  As far as I can tell, most people agree with what I post, or they don't comment at all.  Apparently I'm wrong about that as well and I've been observed more or less throwing temper tantrums when I'm disagreed with.  It's obviously natural to defend your point of view and I will apologize if I come off as angry or judgmental, as that's never my intention.  That being said, I get caught up in it far too often.  I started an argument (debate, if you will) just yesterday on someone else's Facebook wall.  I was more annoyed than I should have been, but basically calm, until it was dragged to someone else's wall and I became the butt of everyone's jokes.  I know I'm better than this and as annoyed as I was at the conversation, I was more annoyed with myself for starting it in the first place.  I should have turned the other cheek and went on my merry way.  Especially when the discussion was about as something as stupid as Valentine's Day.  I'd like to take this time, though, to clear up some misunderstandings. 

The debate got started when I noticed too many people posting about how Valentine's Day is a stupid holiday and it's just like any other day.  One person in particular posted one too many posts about it and it set me off.  I can't understand what the big deal is if people want to celebrate a particular holiday.  If you truly feel that it's just a "regular day," then why do you feel the need to make that comment in the first place?  If it was a normal Tuesday, would you have posted "Happy Tuesday?" or "Happy Regular Day?"  Most definitely not.  So, by posting it in the first place, you are admitting that you don't think of it as a regular day.  If that's how you see it, then treat it as any other day on the calendar and don't say anything at all.  Why is it necessary to make those that celebrate it feel silly for doing so?  Why is that fair?  What right do you have to tell someone that they shouldn't celebrate a holiday that they believe in?  I've heard a lot of arguments about why it's a stupid holiday and I understand where they come from.  But, I'm concerned about the world we're living in when people can't let others celebrate a day dedicated to love.  It's not a religious holiday and it's not hurting anyone by celebrating it or not.  My favorite argument is "I show my significant other every day that I love them.  I don't need a day on the calendar to tell me to do so."  Well, good for you!!  You should show your significant other that you love them every day.  It's not that Valentine's Day is the only day you should show them, but it's the day that you always should.  I'm not sure where the idea came from that it's designated as the one day to show your love.  That's ridiculous.  For me, it's that day to take it that little extra step.  It's the day to do something a little extra special and hold them a little tighter.  Do I feel obligated to?  No.  Do I make a big deal out of it?  No.  Do I expect something?  Definitely not.  Is it nice anyway?  Absolutely!  What about Mother's Day and Father's Day?  Shouldn't your mother and father be appreciated every day?  There's a day set aside for each one of our parents, to show them we appreciate them a little bit extra that day.  Somehow, I never hear anyone complain about how those are stupid, made up holidays.  Would flowers mean more to your mother on a random day of the year?  Probably.  But, would you feel like a dick if you didn't get her something for Mother's Day?  Definitely!  So, why don't you feel like a dick when you don't get your significant other something for Valentine's Day?  Why is it okay to celebrate our mothers and fathers, but not our loves?  Aside from that, who said Valentine's Day is only for couples?  Why can't you send a valentine to you mother, or your father, or your best friend?  Or just someone who seems a little lonely?  Why does it have to be about being "in love?"  It should just be a day to spread love. 

Another favorite argument is that it's a madeup holiday designed for companies to make money.  News flash: EVERY SINGLE HOLIDAY ever, was made up.  They all started somewhere.  They all have their story.  Christmas is as commercialized as they come.  It's supposed to be a day to celebrate the birth of Christ, when many believe He wasn't born until the spring anyway.  Somehow, that's not what it's about anymore.  It's not even a religious holiday anymore.  It's about stressing out over what to get people.  It's about buying things for people we don't even like most of the time.  It's about trying to out-do each other and making sure you got that person the best gift.  It's about stress and bills and a whole lot of insanity.  We shop for months, then pay off the bills for months before we have to do it all over again.  If you think that Valentine's Day is stupid and that you shouldn't need a certain day to show someone you care, then why bother with Christmas?  Or birthdays?  Why indulge this person, ever?  Just pick a random day during the year and do something nice for them.  Ignore their birthday and blow off all other holidays.  If you're going to protest, do it the right way!  If you believe it shouldn't be about doing it because "you're supposed to," then don't do anything that you're "supposed to" do.  Show them every single day and make sure that there isn't a single day that they feel more special than any of the others.  It's one day.  One day to indulge each other and to celebrate the love you have for each other.  How in the world could that possibly be a bad thing?  Someone actually told me that they found Valentine's Day offensive, because it was receiving something because society told them they were supposed to.  Yet, that same night, they were given a Valentine's Day gift and did not protest; did not take offense.  They accepted it graciously.  Hypocritical much? 

Another favorite is the implication that my relationship is somehow not a good one, because I feel special if I receive something on Valentine's Day.  The implication that Ryan is doing a shitty job the rest of the year if I feel so special for receiving something on that particular day.  My biggest issue with that is the fact that this person felt the need to tear someone down that was feeling special.  Someone was happy and excited about something they received from someone they love and this person needed to tell them that they're relationship must not be that good if that were the case.  How dare you?  How dare you make such an assumption about a relationship that you know nothing about.  Maybe that person's significant other wanted to do something nice for them.  Maybe they wanted to send them flowers, or buy them chocolates or get them a nice card expressing their love.  Maybe they wanted them to feel special.  Maybe they didn't want them to be the only person without something.  Ryan and I celebrate Valentine's Day in our own way, but we certainly don't make a big deal out of it.  However, I would be offended if he completely ignored the holiday's existence.  As I mentioned earlier, this person said they find the holiday offensive.  I personally, would find it offensive if Ryan ignored the only day of the year intended to celebrate our love for each other.  Knowing that day was coming up, knowing what it represented to me, knowing how I felt about it and what it means, and then not doing a single thing for me?  Completely ignoring it and pretending it doesn't exist?  It's a day about love and we're in love.  To not even hear "Happy Valentine's Day," would speak volumes about how he felt about our relationship.  If you're in a relationship and find the holiday stupid and meaningless, then I think that you're probably the one with the problem and not the people that celebrate it.  Again I say, I show Ryan every single day, in small ways how much I love him.  But, the idea of a day designated for proving it by taking that extra step is the best thing I can think of.  A day for us to ignore the rest of the world and just be together and appreciate each other.  It's a day for love and I'm in love, so why in the world would I not celebrate that love?  And if you're one of those people that feels so depressed because you don't have someone to spend the day with, then you have self esteem issues that being in a relationship won't fix.

What kind of a world do we live in where people are okay criticizing those that choose to celebrate a holiday based on love?  Because that's what it is.  A choice.  No one is forcing you to celebrate it, or not celebrate it.  It's a choice.  And a perfectly harmless one.  And for those that say it's just an ordinary day, here is my response:  When you're in love, there is no such thing as an "ordinary day."  Just knowing that person exists makes every day extraordinary.  And that is what I celebrate on Valentine's Day.

Writer's Rants

I'm pretty disappointed that I haven't been able to keep up with this as much as I'd like to.  I feel like I ran out of material pretty quickly, mostly because I strayed too far away from my intended purpose.  But, it's also because I've started writing again.  Seriously this time, with an intended purpose.  I remember being in third grade and constantly writing something.  I always got the best grades on short story assignments; I wrote a story involving the characters in my dollhouse (and showed it to the school principal) and I even remember writing a song for every holiday!   Late in middle school (eighth grade) I started trying my hand at poetry.  I got inspired during English class, when we listened to a story about a homeless girl and it resulted in my first official poem.  After that, it was songs I tried to write for the band I was in that I was convinced would be famous.  Then, in high school, I started taking myself more seriously.  I went through a tough time my freshman year, for various reasons and poetry was my outlet.  I wrote one at least once a week, sometimes every day and it helped me through a lot.  And during that year, several people I know were diagnosed with cancer, so I wrote a book about a fifteen-year-old girl who died from cancer.  It was my therapy and it always helped.  Because of this, I have volumes of poetry that I've never done anything with.  Most of it is pretty bad, but the most recent stuff is pretty good.  However; once I started dating my husband, my writing virtually stopped.  It was hard for me to write when I was in a good place in my life.  I was happy for once, things were good, so the writing stopped.  There's a few scattered throughout the last few years, when Ryan and I hit a rough patch or when my college roommates pissed me off and even some for my parents and my in-laws. 
I started to miss writing and I found that I really had a lot to say.  At the encouragment of a few friends, I started this blog and it got me motivated again (thank you to those that convinced me this was a good idea).  Since then, I've started writing a novel.  I won't go into details, as I don't want to give it away, but there's a lot of myself in it.  It started out as one thing in my head and has turned into something completely different; in the best way possible.  There's a lot of details that are semi-autobiographical and the feelings and the relationships are real.  I started it with the intention that I was going to get it published, but as time has gone on and I've put more of myself into it, I'm starting to feel like it's not good enough again.  It's what led me to stop taking myself seriously before.  I never tried to master my poetry, as I didn't think it was good enough to become anything.  I never tried to publish any, or anything I've ever written, to be honest.  I've been told by many people that I'm a talented writer and I appreciate the kind words and the encouragement.  However; it always comes from someone who isn't a writer themselves.  It would be like me telling an amateur painter that they're good.  It's better than they can do, so naturally they think it's good.  I always wondered if these compliments meant that I really was good, or if I was just better than the person saying it.  And at twenty-six years old, it's hard to suddenly start taking myself seriously.  I keep thinking back to all the things I should have done in high school and college.  I should have been on the school newspaper, in the writing club, etc.  I should have been taking it seriously before now. 
But, it feels good to be writing again.  It feels good to be working through emotions that are still pretty deep, but at the same time right on the surface.  I would still love nothing more than to have my work published and be a professional author, but I also feel like it's adding too much pressure.  I'm holding myself to a higher standard than I would if I was writing simply for pleasure or for therapeutic reasons.  But, the encouragment has been amazing.  My Facebook friends (from far and wide) have been incredibly supportive and incredibly excited.  My husband has given me more silence and more space to focus on my novel and everyone keeps telling me they can't wait to read it.  I'm just not sure if I'm ready to show it to people.  For so long I've written for myself.  Since high school, my writing has always been for me; as my way of dealing with things.  And they say that a writer always reveals more about themselves than they intend to.  I believe this to be true.  So, while I have no secrets, there are many things in this book that I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to show people.  There are certain scenes that actually happened in my life and are painful to see on paper.  There are relationships with people close to me that got written in to the story and there are characters that are completely made up to meet my ideal.  It's scary to think that so much of myself will be out there and I'm never sure if people will make the connections between themselves and the characters in my book.  But, I look back at my life and think of all the professions I thought I'd do.  I wanted to be a teacher, then a writer, then a performer, then an editor and then finally, a writer again.  It seems, no matter what I choose, in one way or another, I intend to touch a mass audience and I intend to inspire people.  Let's face it.  We all know I like to talk and argue and debate.  And we all know I like to do it publicly.  But, I'm not sure I'm ready for my work to be turned down.  I'm not sure I'm ready for such a hugh rejection.  Because, it's not just my work that would be getting rejected at this point, it's my feelings and my thoughts and the very things that have made me who I am.  But, there is still that part of me that wants to touch people and inspire people.  There's still that part of me that wants to the world to know my name.