what used to get me through life?

Reading. I used to read a lot. Novels. Fan fiction.

Music. I listened to it all the time. Headphones nonstop, whether it was christian screamo or, more recently, pentatonix and their acapella-y goodness.

Then it was drawing. I couldn't go anywhere without my sketchbook and a pen or two.

Now I don't do any of that stuff. All I do is work. Or lie around inside my dark apartment and feel lost. Or overthink and make myself sad.

Life is different, now. I was watching Jane the Virgin and (SPOILER ALERT!) after Michael dies, her abuela told her that her life would be beautiful again, just in different ways.

It feels like I'm still adjusting to life without my mother, even almost two years later. Small things, things that should be insignificant, like seeing a Norwegian word on my car's radio screen, make me fight to hold back the tears that want to brim over. I'll be fine one minute, and then heartbroken the next.

When I'm around my dad, it feels weird sometimes. Because it's just us. There has always been three. Now all I can see is us two.

He works a lot. So do I. Our schedules rarely coincide for us to spend time together. I can be together with him, laughing, but then an undercurrent of sadness will sweep in and all I want to do is sag and sink down, put my head down, stop smiling.

I run out of energy quickly. I don't do well being alone for long periods of time anymore. I used to pride myself on my independence, my aloofness, my "I don't need anyone, I'm fine on my own" motto.

I've become so fragile now.

I hate that.

On the one hand, it's taught me that people need other people. I've learned compassion, I think. But the cost is too great. The cost is heartache and loneliness and a fear of abandonment.

I have no desire to do anything. I don't feel like drawing. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like watching the videos I used to like to watch on youtube. Nothing excites me or holds my interest for long.

I'm really only content when I'm either hanging out with Cal or facetiming with Khrys.

Reading this over, it sounds a lot like depression. Is that what I'm experiencing? I want to get better and feel fulfilled and do amazing things.

I went on a trip to Barcelona with Nia a few weeks ago. We spent 8 days in Europe...went to London, Barcelona and Madrid.

It should have been the experience of a lifetime. It should have been amazing, and great, and eye-opening, and I should have had a blast. Instead, I cried myself to sleep several nights, feeling utterly alone. I faked smiles most of the time I was there. There was a deadness inside...just underneath the nervous undercurrent that trembled in my chest most of the time.

When people ask how the trip was, I tell them it was quite an experience. Because it was. Negative or positive, I won't elaborate on for them, but it was an experience either way.

It was too soon. I was just beginning to settle into a routine here; I had started working for Lyft and was making decent enough money to not have to stress. Instead, I ended up having to work extra hard, every single day, to earn extra money as spending money for the trip, and I now am $1600 in debt to my father and Khrys, who loaned me money for the trip. Not to mention the fact that it was booked on Expedia through credit and Nia and I are still paying that off.

You know what this has taught me? That I should not say yes to anything I don't feel a hundred percent ready for.

This is random, but I wish I lived with Cal.

Bye.

I'm just going to write. Just say everything that's on my mind. That's what this is here for, anyway.

I tend to think I'm not worth as much as someone else. I wonder if it's because of the whole Christian mentality. We are so unworthy, yet God loves us anyway. We are so wretched, and such horrible sinners, worth nothing more than to be cast into hell and burn forever, be tortured, but God loves us anyway. And somehow, doesn't want us to go to hell. That's what's been burned into my mind for as long as I can remember. Literally. As long as I can remember.

One shouldn't have "bad pride." So if you show off your accomplishments, that's bad pride. If you believe you are beautiful, that's being conceited. If you succeed here on Earth, you are getting all your rewards here on Earth and not storing up treasures in Heaven, and therefore you will be cast out with all the other sinners and burn in hell because you were happy here, so you don't get a reward in the afterlife.

Disappointing one's parents generally, growing up, is a direct result of disobeying them somehow. If you disobey your parents, you're disobeying God, which is sin, and no sin can enter Heaven, so you'll go to hell. Translate that into adult life, and if you make a choice that your parents don't agree with, or decide to try something they don't necessarily approve of, you're disappointing them. You're going against their will. You're not obeying them, not honoring your father and mother. You're sinning. This will cause you to go to hell.

In short, every action that I would take, in pursuit of my own happiness, is somehow linked in my mind to a detrimental chain that will drag me down to hell. Add that to my father's experience of having died and visited both hell and Heaven, and being so sure of that they exist...and you have the perfect recipe for my extreme terror at stepping out and doing anything that isn't exactly what I've been told growing up.

However.

I still do plenty of things that I "shouldn't." I cuss in my head when I think...when I'm upset or frustrated or just in general. I do my best not to do it out loud. I procrastinate way more than is healthy, and thereby don't get stuff done on time and I suppose that somehow that's wrong, and probably a sin because I'm wasting my time on this earth. I've cheated in a past relationship, and deliberately been the cause of someone else cheating in the past as well. That's adultery. I still feel like I'm not allowed to have a boyfriend, because as I've mentioned before, I think what my dad believes is that one should just meet someone and get married straightaway, on orders from God. That he would be the one to deliver. I have sex outside of marriage because, well, it's fun. And that's straight up qualified as a sin, totally listed on the list of things in the bible that will get you sent straight to hell.

So as a result of all this, these deep seated beliefs that represent the core of who I've grown up to be, and my struggles with them, any time I try to change it or think otherwise, I feel a horrible resistance inside, as if I'm lying to myself or standing on the edge of a precipice...no, not that last example. It feels completely undoable to reverse this thinking.

If I try to look in the mirror and tell myself that I am, in fact, beautiful, even on days when I like what I see there, I feel as if I'm making myself conceited and going against what is right. I literally get a feeling inside my chest as if I'm about to be punished. The same feeling I would get when I used to get in trouble with my parents, or when I used to do something that I knew would get me in trouble if they found out.

If I try to enact positive thinking and the power of attraction, I'm worried that because the people who propagate that idea don't talk about God and Jesus, that they must be opening themselves up to demons somehow, that the whole thing is a lie from the devil to get people to focus on something other than God...a counterfeit.

What if practicing self-love, telling myself that I'm okay, and worthy, and deserving of love and good things, is just fulfilling the end-time scripture that men will become lovers of themselves instead of lovers of God?

I'm afraid that if I question all of these deep seated beliefs, open myself up to consider other ideas, that the potential is there that all this stuff is actually true, and I'll go to hell because I fell for the devil's lie.

Fear is a powerful thing.

Love is supposed to be more powerful.

The trouble comes where fear is used as the method to teach Christianity instead of love. I was taught it through fear. How do I undo that? It's seeped into and poisoned me.

So this is it.

Hi. I'm Eia. I'm insecure. I'm afraid of making mistakes and being hurt as a result. I'm afraid of taking chances because I know that   believe that bad things will always eventually happen and lead to crippling emotional pain, which is the worst kind of pain. I'm afraid of changing the way I think, precisely because of the way I think. Because what if changing it is a mistake that can't be undone?
I want to be happy, but even typing that feels wrong. I feel like I'm not worth anything besides to be cast away as a sinner, and every time I try to change that belief, it feels like further proof that I am an unworthy sinner, how dare I try to be happy on earth, I should suffer as Jesus suffered and be happy because that means I'm on the right path.

But what if there is nothing after this...and I'm just having a miserable unhappy life (not that I don't have nice experiences, but those experiences are tainted by the fear that by being happy now, I'm setting myself up for unhappiness later. As a direct result.)

Growing up, very often I would have an amazing, great day. Maybe hanging out with my friends, staying out a bit later after school. Maybe something great would happen that I had wanted for a while...or I just had an ice cream cone that I decided to splurge on and then as I walked home I noticed the flowers and the squirrels and the birds, and felt happy.

Very often, to the point that it feels like it ALWAYS happened, I would get home and either my parents would be fighting, or I would get in trouble because I got home late, or I would come home to find my pet gerbil had died, or anything equally traumatizing. So I equate current happiness with a guaranteed painful emotional experience later on.

I don't know how to shake that. I want to. Desperately. I want to enjoy moments without being afraid of losing the thing I'm enjoying later on. The whole time, I'll be worrying about losing it, and then the moment is over and I didn't even get to enjoy it.

When I hang out at my boyfriend's house, I worry that maybe he's getting bored of me. What if he'd rather I go home? What if he'd rather be by himself? What if my "bubble" (aura) is too intrusive and it's infringing on his? What if when he takes his phone with him when he leaves the room it's so he can privately text that girl without me knowing? What if I'm being clingy?

I know all this is stupid. He can be in a bad mood, yet still not ask me to leave. It can be pretty late, and he'll just turn off the lights and crawl into the bed next to me and cuddle up, still not ask me to leave. If I ask to come over, he has actually NEVER, EVER said no. He might say that later on in the day would be better, because he's busy, (which is rare) or if he's not home, he'll call to talk instead. He leaves his phone in the room with me PLENTY of times. Right next to me. He also doesn't have a passcode or fingerprint lock on it, it's totally unlocked. He's told me he's not interested in that girl, they just talk occasionally because she's fun to talk to, but when they hung out once (during the time we weren't together) they just weren't clicking. Which he brought up on his own, not as a result of me questioning him (which I don't do, because I appreciate that he doesn't do that to me and I also don't want to be that kind of girlfriend). If about a week goes by where we haven't seen each other, he'll ask to come over. He's told me that when we've had sex, he's been getting emotional. He's perfectly comfortable just being around me without talking, and then randomly starting to talk about something...basically the ebb and flow of conversation is comfortable and okay. When I stop obsessing and worrying and actually listen, I realize that he tells me both his plans and about things that are bothering him. He accepts me for the way I am, better at writing things out that bother me and texting them instead of talking it out in person, and he's never gotten mad about anything yet. He considers, and then explains or talks it out. I'm able to be around him and the hours fly by without either of us really realizing it.

Basically, everything is going GREAT. Of course, it seems too good to be true, and because ONE PERSON (my father) has told me that it won't work out, it makes me ignore all the signs of it going WELL, ignore how Gemini and Aquarius are listed as a near-perfect match, how the Snake and Dragon years in the Chinese zodiac are listed as a perfect match, how the INFJ and INFP personality types are listed as a PERFECT MATCH, and how we have been friends for an entire decade...and think that something is bound to go wrong. But the funny part is, something has already gone wrong. We broke up. We were separated for 4 months. Each of us tried talking to someone else during that time period, and then realized we'd rather be with each other. We got through it. We got back together. And our friendship remained intact during that time, too.

And that's what matters in a relationship. Not that nothing ever goes wrong, because stuff just does. People probably argue. We might argue sometime in the future. I'm inclined to think it'll be more of a disagreement with a long discussion, not an actual argument, because neither of us is the type to instigate shouting or yelling or anything like that, but the important thing is that we get through it. That we don't break up. Or give up on each other. That we are there for each other when it matters. He's been there for me when my mother died. I'm there for him when he's down financially or needs to vent. I don't know what other big stuff there is up ahead, but I know he's said that if for any reason we were to break up, he'd want to get back with me anyway, but that he doesn't have any plans or thoughts of leaving me. I know I don't want to leave him. That's what matters, right?

Nine days from today make one full year of us being back together.

I'm okay.
And although there will be days where I'm not feeling okay,

I will be okay again.

empty

I know it's not right to think you're better than everyone else, but I think I've taken it to the opposite extreme.

I always feel like everyone else is better than me. It's like a pathology. Every woman I pass on the street, I think to myself, her hair is better, her body is better, her career and life and relationships are probably better, she's probably a better this or that...and I feel so small. Worthless.

There. I've said it.

I know I should say "I'm not worthless," but it doesn't feel that way. I feel insignificant. Unimportant. Like no one would miss me if I wasn't around.

That's not to say I'm contemplating suicide or anything like that. No. Even if I was, I'm much too afraid of sealing my fate in Hell to try and do that.

I saw a quote from Stephen King the other day.

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't."

 I feel like I'm in the blue and lonely section now. I'm surrounded by people...friends who text me, a boyfriend, my dad, ya know, the whole shebang. But I still feel like something is missing. It could be God, or it could be my mom, or it could be both.

I feel like I have no direction. Like I'm just existing, but not moving forward. I see everyone else around me getting married, or traveling the world, or just doing amazing things or living their dreams...or even just having a stable job and able to pay their bills. What's wrong with me?

Why can I write so freely on here, but can't seem to focus to complete my novel or even just September's blog post on my science website?

I kind of want to narrow it down into what I want, now. Although it feels like I narrowed it down too far, and all I want to do is put my head down on the pillow and fall asleep.

I miss being able to sit out on my roof outside my bedroom window. I miss it a lot. I miss the time when my mom came out there with me...it was after we had gotten bad news about the cancer spreading. I made her climb out there, even though she was afraid, and afterwards she thanked me.

God I miss her.

I think that's the problem. I think I'm still grieving. I've got tears streaming down my face right now...

Who will I be at the end of this? When I come out the other side of the tunnel? I'm so much better now than I was before; than I was last year when I couldn't eat, when I lost 30 lbs, when I spent days and weeks at the beginning of this year sitting on my bed and alternating between staring into space and crying my eyes out...obsessing over unnecessary things and being completely unproductive.

I'm much better. But at the same time...it's like the grief has taken a new form. It's on the back burner, because I've gotten used to my life the way it is now, sans mommy. But now it's like a dark monster, lurking in the corner of my chest and mind, telling me that I'm alone, that I'm not good enough for myself or for anyone else, that I'll never get married because somehow I'm doing it all wrong...or other detrimental ideas like that.

I really do wonder what I'll be like at the end of all this. I can see that I've changed, already. A lot. The other day I was scrolling through my instagram, looking at all my old pics, going back to 2014. Even when I was dealing with my mom's illness, I was happy-go-lucky, smiley, joyful. Even when I was stressed, and in a bad mood. There was still a child-like joy that shone through. To the point that I got the nickname "Sunshine" from my director at work.

Then my mom died.

And she stopped calling me Sunshine.

I'm cynical now. Sarcastic. More outwardly independent but inwardly dependent - on others - in an unhealthy way. My personality type (the MBTI) switched from INTP to INFP. I'm less able to control my emotions...it feels like I've lost the on/off switch. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. I think I learned compassion, but I have an escapist mentality now. I run away from what hurts or what's hard.

But at the same time, I purposely do things that make me vulnerable, emotionally, when it comes to my relationship because I think that's important. I dunno. It's just weird. When I talk to my dad, I find myself acting less like his "little girl daughter" and more like an equal adult, and to notice that change, it's weird.

I don't read as much as I used to...well, novels, anyway. I've been doing more reading than usual but it's been research. I think I've read pretty much everything online about MBTI and INFJ/INTP/INFP.

When it all boils down, it comes to this: I just want to be okay.

I haven't been okay in a long time. It's either been up, or down. But it feels like I'll never be okay again.

I talked to Ms. Joholley about it the other day. I had a bad day, that day. Broke down crying, couldn't pull myself together for a while. I ended up going to her house to talk to her because she's the only person I know who has lost their mom and can actually tell me how to get through it...I didn't want to call my dad because he was at work, and I didn't want to ruin his day.

She said you never really get over it, losing your mom. But that it won't always hurt as bad, and that it's okay to be happy sometimes.

You know what I've realized? I may have mentioned this before.

It's possible to feel more than one emotion at once. Like bubbly about one thing but at the same time wanting to lie down and curl up in a ball and not move.

I think I'll write tomorrow. My novel.

Can you believe tomorrow is Sunday? Today feels like it was Sunday because my dad was  home and we went to a wedding at a church and I tutored the little girl who I usually tutor after church on Sundays. Feels like tomorrow should be Monday. I guess I have an extra day in my life, in that case.

I'm going to curl up, now.

Laters.

It's been a long time since I blogged on here. It might not have been that long, but it feels that way.

Since I was last on here, my mother's second birthday in the sky passed. That was last Monday. Hit me harder than I expected...kind of had me down in the dumps for a few days. Doesn't help that my period is starting today, so I know by now that the week leading up to it I'm usually an emotional wreck regardless of outside circumstances.

I've been kind of low on funds...tutoring is not making ends meet since I only have three students instead of eight. I would say I wish I didn't drop the two brothers, because it would have been five, but they caused me so much stress that I couldn't deal with it anymore. It was making me anxious.

The problem is, Uber has been cutting pay, drastically. And increasing the amount of work you have to do to get the measly amount of pay you do get. I've applied to drive for Lyft, but my background check is still running.

Sigh. I'm hungry.

I'm at Cal's house, because I hate being at home lately. Something about there is just so...empty. Dark. Might be the lack of windows, fresh air and natural light. Might be the fact that my mother isn't around. I thought for a while I had gotten used to it...I don't know.

Then I feel bad for my dad being there alone, and so I want to try to be there when he is. But...he works most of the day.

I want to move to a place that has lots of natural light. Isn't it a shame that that costs more? Big windows, being able to enjoy the planet we live on? How crazy is that? Who invented this thing called money and managed to decide that those who don't have as much of it aren't entitled to the PLANET?

Sigh. I'm still hungry.

You know what I want to do? Make the apartment beautiful and homey. Cozy. It might be tiny, but it has the potential to be so nice. I want to keep it clean...to have stuff not be broken and not ugly, dirty doors and holes in the wall and broken down tiles behind the stove and a front door that can't lock.

Just feels so impossible to do when I'm actually home. It's like I can't think when I'm there.

Or it could just be PMS, and I'll be a thousand times better in another five days or so.

maybe it's pms

You know what?

I've been incredibly ill-content. Malcontent. Not content...lately. Nothing holds my interest...nothing excites me to where I say, "yes! I want to go do that!" I've been in a zombie sort of state. Like....I'd rather be staring out into space than looking at my phone...none of the videos I find on youtube can hold my interest, nothing I try to plan out really feels like it is actually going to happen...and it's all escalated to a point where I overthink too much and freak myself out and just generally feel like I'm unhappy and needy and afraid.

I hate it.

But I think I'm expecting other people to fix this. Like, if I spend more time with them, then I'll feel better. But this can't be correct. Because no one else is responsible for how I feel. If I'm mentally healthy and secure in myself, things that people say won't affect me. And I can't expect people to make me feel better about myself, because there's absolutely nothing they can do or say that won't get filtered through my lens of how I feel about myself.

And right now it's not too good. So. Gotta fix this.

Do I go back to therapy? I never actually got any therapy. I think maybe I ought to look into that. I can't expect to fix myself without any help from someone who actually knows what they're doing. I need tools. Proper methods to apply.

Alrighty.

I think I might just do that.

epiphany?

I think I may have come to a realization, after reading a psych article online about how people's childhood experiences can shape their perception of themselves in the future.

When I talk to others, I've always said my parents were so supportive of me growing up. Or I've told myself that (even though I've always complained about not being allowed to do stuff.) But underneath it all, I always told myself they were great parents (which they were) and that they wanted what's best for me. And they tried to do that. But it seems like...this was how:

Growing up, I wanted to do gymnastics, ballet, and figure skating. I wanted piano lessons. I begged to be signed up for them. We couldn't afford any of those. My mother did try to have an older lady from the church teach me to play the piano, but that lady refused to let me learn at my own pace, which was actually very quick, and that ended almost as soon as it began. When my grandfather gave us money to buy me ice skates, it was spent on ski boots instead (I had no skis) which I wore as regular winter snow boots, and I got made fun of by people everywhere I went for that. When I was around nineteen or twenty years old, my father told me he'd always wished I could be like the little girl who currently lived across the street, athletic and pretty and active, but that I'd shown no interest in that.

REALLY?

When I spent years studying biology and struggling in chemistry with the hopes of one day becoming a neurosurgeon, my father suggested I become a reporter. I didn't like that idea. When I finally settled on science journalism as my career, he said "You see? And I told you to be a reporter all those years ago." He said he never thought I had it in me to be a doctor. A pilot, yes. Something technical like that, he knew I could manage, he said. But not a doctor.

When I wanted to be in a relationship (that I'm currently in) with someone I've known for yeeaarrrss, my father told me they're not for me, told me that God has told him my husband is really in Norway, and told me that I have my heart in a cage and I'm "going to cry when I find out about his secret life."
That's made me question every single aspect of everything with this relationship and even when it's going well, I worry about something horrible possibly popping up in the future or what if I'm setting myself up for heartbreak?

When I had the opportunity to get a piano for free (something we were never able to afford) from a website called freecycle.org, my father said 1. it was probably broken, and 2. it was probably terribly out of tune and if we hired someone to tune it they would probably break the strings and it would be no good. I pushed ahead and got it anyway, and there was nothing wrong with it. We got many years out of it and I was able to actually start getting piano lessons.

My father tends to blame circumstances and other people instead of taking the initiative himself. When he's had ideas for inventions, ever since I was a child, he would rely on me to jumpstart getting the process done. Ideas for a movie, I should write the screenplay for him. I should find out who to contact. I should do all the work. I DON'T KNOW HOW! What if he didn't have me? Who would he blame for lack of success then? He blames his family members for a whole lot of things to do with his lack of success. And maybe he's justified. But for me, I didn't see those experiences. I just grew up seeing him question and dismiss everything before even giving it a chance. And I think that has caused me to be insecure. In a lot of different ways. When I do want to give things a chance, I get told no, it won't work out.

It's gotten to where now, when I'm working on projects or doing things, I don't tell him. When I want to do something new or go somewhere or there's something I like, I don't tell him. Why? Because I'm afraid it'll be shot down. That I'll be told it's sinful, somehow, or wrong. Or just a bad idea. Or that if I do it, I should do it with the purpose of making money, not for fun. That sucks all the joy out of a project. Then, because he doesn't know what I'm doing, I get told that I'm not measuring up, that I'm becoming worthless, and that I don't do what I'm supposed to.

I've expressed before how because of my father's fixation on Christianity and end time events, I grew up terrified that I was sinning and would go to hell. I used to cry myself to sleep being afraid of that. That the rapture would happen and I'd be left behind, a ten year old girl, for having disobeyed her mother.

Maybe that's the root of my insecurity. Maybe. Maybe that really is it.

I know my dad only wants what's best for me. But now I feel like I'm incapable of doing things. I literally just get afraid of actually trying. When I sit down to write my novel, I feel guilty that I'm not writing the screen play for my dad's movie idea.

When I think about moving out, I think to myself that I can't, because how would my dad buy a house without me?

I was shocked, a few months ago, when my father said something to me. Something good. Something like praise. My god-sister, a 19 year old girl who we baby sat since she was six years old, told us she was getting married. (She was still 18 at the time.) I sent her a long text, encouraging her to stay in it for the long haul, explaining that you can't just call it quits when times get tough or you find out something new you don't like about the person. It's a commitment. I read the text to my father, and he said something along the lines of that he didn't know I was capable of thinking like that, and now he knows he doesn't have to worry about me anymore.

Maybe he has no idea what he's doing. Maybe adulthood is just an illusion, a shadow cast over smaller humans to make them subservient.

I just have to remember that it's all a learning process, non-stop. Everything. And if something doesn't work out, well, figure out what went wrong and try differently next time. Eventually I'll figure it out, and if I don't, well, at least I'll figure SOMETHING out before I die.

the reinvention of self

Who is the person I want to be? Clearly I'm no longer the person I used to be...

I found a quote on Pinterest the other day and it rang really true.

So, I may as well remake myself.

I want to be an artist and a writer. Those are the only two things that really make me feel happy or fulfilled. The two things I turn to when I have nothing else to fall back on. When my world is falling apart.

I want to be the woman (not girl...I may as well not be a girl anymore, after all I've been through) who is beautiful and secure in who she is. In who I am.

The woman who is a published author. Who creates beautiful art. Who is in tune with nature and ...sometimes I want to be the boho hippie who isn't afraid to walk barefoot and other times I want to be the classy minimalist who sips a latte in a coffee shop. There's nothing wrong with being both, is there?

Sigh. I don't think I can make myself into someone. I think I'm just going to be whoever it is that I'm becoming.

I dunno.

I dunno.

this is stupid

all my posts are about him.

But that's because most of my thoughts are about him. If I could draw you a diagram of my brain, 95 percent would be taken up with his name, and the remaining five percent would consist of missing my mom, figuring out how to pay off my bills and random sci-fi stuff. And I'm pretty sure that's not healthy.

See, the trouble is, all my emotional barriers are gone. I only have the mental ones left - the ones that when the emotions kick in say "no! Don't feel this! Too strong! Bad idea!" but can't actually successfully build the emotional walls back up.

I haven't felt this strongly about anyone, ever before, which is why it's scaring the crap out of me. The level of emotions that I feel are levels that I feel could push someone away. It makes me feel clingy. So to try to counteract that, I try to go as many days as I can without asking to hang out. In the past, it seems like it takes about a week of not seeing me for him to request that we hang out just for the sake of hanging out...not for us to team up for work. And anyway, if I'm always coming to see him, there's no need for him to initiate it.

I tried. I tried really hard. It's on my mind so much that I made a little list in my phone, to keep track of how often we see each other and whose idea it was. I try not to have the amount of days I request to hang out surpass the number of days he does...to date, we're even. I just don't want to be so available that I lose all appeal. Or that I appear too easy. Or that I seem slutty in his mom's eyes. Like, oh, why is this girl always over here?

Am I overthinking it too much?

I don't think so. I mustn't be dependent or clingy. I mustn't annoy people. Or make them tired of my company.

If I were to get married...wouldn't my husband see me every day? Lord. How would I deal with that? I think that everything I'm going through mentally now is the same way it would be with anyone. Me being afraid to be clingy. Me worrying that I don't have what it takes to keep someone interested.

Do you hear how pathetic I sound? Stupid little insecure girl with no real relationship experience who wants so desperately to be loved because she sees what everyone else has. I never wanted to be this way. But I guess it's a product of my personality (aquarius, INTP female) and upbringing (sheltered, Christian, isolated). You have someone who values independence and logical, unbiased and unemotional thinking above all else, who was taught that boyfriends are bad and relationships should only exist within marriage (like seriously, if someone doesn't propose to you by the second date, all they want is to use you and therefore you're not a christian anymore). Raised as an only child. Practically never allowed to go out and play with other kids in the neighborhood, because they were "bad influences."  And then anyone I've ever shown interest in or who's ever shown interest in me has been shot down verbally...I've been told to hold out for some imaginary person in another country. Maybe they do exist. I have no proof that they don't.

All I've done is talk myself in a circle. I have tears of frustration in my eyes now.

What do I believe? I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I'm drastically different. On the inside. Everything I thought I knew or was sure of has been ripped apart. It's like I'm trying to put myself back together, these puzzle pieces, but I've lost the box..the blueprint for what I'm supposed to look like.

Everything I do, I feel guilty about it. If I stay out late, I feel as if I'm doing something wrong. Even planning to go to Spain with Nia feels somehow wrong. As if I shouldn't be allowed to do that. As if I'm not old enough...as if I need my father's approval for everything. I even feel like, if I were to make enough to move out...to get my own apartment, if I didn't have to worry about him wanting to buy a house and worry about him being lonely without me or what to do about the cats...I'd still feel like I was doing something wrong by moving out. How does that make sense? It doesn't. But it's still how I feel. See why I hate emotions?

It's probably a very bad thing that I'm still living at home. For my emotional state. In a lot of ways, it's like I live alone, because I hardly ever see my dad. Our schedules are opposite. He leaves very early in the morning, before the sun comes up, and when he comes home in the afternoons are the times I'm leaving for tutoring...and then I usually will go and do uber afterwards or hang out with Cal until the wee hours of the morning.

I just went and looked at the NYC affordable housing website. Why does it feel like I can't do it? I think too much and act too little. I did the math...figured out how much I would need to make in a month...per week...to afford the rent...and then pictured myself moving out of here and leaving my dad and thought of how he would feel and...came back to this tab to continue writing.

If I leave my dad and focus on myself, only on myself, then will his life have amounted to nothing? He doesn't have a house yet...my mother didn't help him to buy one. I think he's counting on me. But I don't want to be thirty and still living under his roof. I need to know how to take care of myself. By myself. This all feels so hopeless. I've always felt such a sense of duty to my parents. Not because they've said I should...but because I've seen how much they've struggled, so how could I not give back? When I was working at the school and getting a decent paycheck, I took it upon myself to buy groceries for the home, because why should I be living there and not contributing at all? I know some of my friends who when they got a job, they would only buy things that they wanted and put in the fridge, and then get annoyed when someone else would eat it. That doesn't sit right with me.

But I wonder if I'm taking it too far...this sense of duty. Would I be selfish if I decided I want to live on my own? Before my father has managed to buy a house? But I can see this being a never-ending story. Because when he does, I can totally see myself not wanting him to be all alone in a big house...lonely...when he finally accomplishes it. And then I'd feel like, well, I have a house to live in, so why should I go anywhere else? And I'd be stuck forever.

I want to run away. Not in the childish sense, no. I just feel like hopping on a train and going to the city and sitting in Central Park and being by myself...not here! Not where I am now! I want someplace different.

I also need to do laundry. I'm running out of clean clothes.

Sigh.

My thoughts

I really, really, really want to hang out with him. Just be around him. Am I addicted? Oh God, that's not good. I should detox myself. But right now I don't want to. He's busy. He's probably busy. But he probably wouldn't mind if I wanted to come over. It's not like I have ulterior motives. I'm on my period and I literally only have the one tampon I'm wearing. I just...want to be around him. But it's 8:30 at night. Time is running out. The window of opportunity is closing. Should I just text? But I saw him just the other day. I should also stay online and do uber. But I want to see him. Texting isn't quite enough. I also don't want to FaceTime him because I want to be NEXT to him.

I'm crazy.

things about him pt. 2

The way he texts me good morning every day. The way he leaves apple cores on his windowsill to feed the ants. The way he smiles and suddenly he looks ten years younger and five times more innocent. The way he buries his head in my side when he's tired. How he feeds stray cats and wild animals bits of his food no matter where we are. The way he'll pull me back and kiss my cheek if I don't want to leave. The scar on his right arm that he got from a dumpster but that's somehow really sexy. How he knows to sometimes open doors for me and that sometimes I just want to do it myself. He remembers that I love to write on rainy days and brings it up whenever it rains. I don't even remember telling him that about myself. His willingness to adopt a stray kitten we found in the street. His unbeatable logic. The way he misses a spot in the back of his head every time he cuts his own hair. His crooked bottom teeth that I hope he never fixes because it just suits him. How he refuses to kill even the smallest, creepiest critter, but will instead gently set it free. His nerdy obsession with anime. The way he won't give gifts for birthdays or Christmas but instead will randomly surprise me with a gift or experience that holds a lot of sentimental meaning or is something I would really enjoy. The way he values teaching a child the value of life and how it can't be replaced. His reluctance to try a new dish once he's established a favorite - no matter what restaurant. Except for burgers. He'll try any burger. Even bison. His obsession with toothpicks. And jalapenos. How he always gets whatever version of strawberry lemonade a restaurant offers. The way he uses his fingers to paint his masks instead of brushes. How he never, ever folds his clean laundry. The way I'll find bits of clay stuck to my clothes when I go home. His readiness to apologize if he thinks he's offended or hurt me. How he'll hold me down and tickle me until I can't breathe...and then blow raspberries on my belly. The way he lets me play with his earlobe when I'm bored. The way he repeats stories sometimes, as if he forgets that he's told them before. How he always takes at least twenty minutes to make up his mind what he wants to eat. And then changes it about four times. And then doesn't get anything to eat after all. Until an hour later. The way he's not afraid to admit to not knowing something. How he picked up on my habit of texting good night when he's going to go to sleep. The way he would get worried if I didn't text him to let him know I reached home okay. How he won't drink, even when a friend buys him a beer and puts it in his hand. His sarcasm. And wit. The way he'll go from tickling me to clutching me close and holding my hand.

I could probably go on, but it's one o'clock in the morning. What does the "o" stand for in o'clock?

I think I'll save anything else for a part 3.

It's been a minute.

It feels like it's been forever since I blogged.

I don't think that's true, though. It just feels like it. There's a lot I've been "just feeling like" lately that also isn't necessarily true. But such is life. And PMS.

Nia booked a flight to Barcelona, Spain, for the two of us for the first week of November. We'll be making monthly payments...and I have to get my passport. This is all kinda terrifying if I think about it, so my brain seems to have decided to accept it as a rational fact, but not reality. It doesn't feel real at all. Perhaps I'd better make a list of what I need:

Passport (birth certificate first)
Big carryon backpack
Spending money

There. I think those are the major things. The rest is what is to be packed along.

Still doesn't feel real.

my life isn't working.

This is what it feels like lately. As if my life is not working for me. I'm struggling to make ends meet, and what I'm doing for a living isn't fulfilling.

Sure, tutoring is great and it helps a child and it brings in a good deal of money (when my clients actually pay me on time and don't randomly cancel sessions), but it's actually more of a source of stress for me than something I enjoy doing.

I freak out about preparing for the sessions. About dealing with the kids. About meeting new parents. Maybe it isn't right for me.

So what's not working? And how can I fix it?

Someone told me yesterday that if I know what I want to change, I should start with small steps.

I want to change how I feel about my work. I want to look forward to it. Not dread it. The one thing that I genuinely look forward to doing is writing. There was that time on the bus some years ago when a random woman struck up a conversation with me and asked me what makes me happy, and to my utter surprise, I replied, "writing." And she said, "Do that."

Small steps. The first small step has been to find out how to set myself up as a professional freelance writer. The next is to begin to do that.

Step one. Go to Dunkin Donuts at 6:30am. Starting tomorrow morning. Work on the freelance writer professional website.  Have breakfast. Do this until 11:00. Seriously. Don't leave until 11:00. If I get tired of working on that website, I can take a one hour break to watch some youtube videos, but I need to set the timer on my phone so I stop when the hour is up.

There. That's step one.

I'll be back once I've figured out step two, but let's not overwhelm ourselves.

I have so much to say

So much on my mind. I can't seem to sort it all out, and it's all swirling around like dark clouds mixed with a bit of sunshine but the rays are being distorted and I can't figure it out.

There are times when I'm so very okay and on top of the world and content and mellow and happy and then there are times when I make up scenarios in my head and work myself into an obsessive compulsive frenzy only focusing on negatives and just...it clouds the reality and the beauty of what my life really is.

MY THOUGHTS:
See? I knew it. My gut instinct was right. He was talking to her as more than a friend, he was interested in her, she was a threat. I knew it. And they still talk now so that makes me upset. I imagine and wonder what they did that one time they hung out and think how she's probably got clear skin with no acne marks and she probably has bigger breasts than I do, I know how she texts with perfect grammar and she's got a sunny personality and tries to help him through dark patches with advice about how to list three things you look forward to and comes to him when she's gone through something icky with a guy....it just hurts that he was actually deciding to pursue someone else even though we were broken up and he didn't owe me a damn thing at that time. And anyway, I was about to get back together with Cody during that period anyway.

THE ACTUAL FACTS:

• He said they didn't click. That means he's not interested in her like that. 
• nothing has changed between before I knew and after I knew except for that now I know, and he shouldn't be punished for being honest about who someone is
• Finding out that HE feels they didn't click is GOOD NEWS. Much better than just her thinking they didn't click. 
• He's told me he hates the "barbie doll look" and actually likes acne scars and things like vitiligo. 

• He said he's been getting emotional when we are "doing the deed." 
• According to like, every single compatibility rating I know about, we are perfect matches (chinese zodiac: Dragon/Snake, western zodiac: Aquarius/Gemini, MBTI personality: INTP/INFJ golden pair)
• He accepts me for my weirdness and quirks (not being able to have important convos face to face but preferring text is a big one)
• He doesn't get aggravated or upset when something is bothering me and I send him a text essay about it; rather he genuinely tries to understand and calmly explains.
• We've survived a breakup with our friendship intact and actually got back together again
• On that note, they say if you love something, let it go; if it comes back it's yours and if it doesn't it was never meant to be. I let him go when he needed it and he came back, EVEN AFTER SHE HAD SHOWN UP
• He's someone I can be completely at ease with and I seriously kinda can't get over that...yesterday I discovered I can actually write my novel while around him (I got three whole pages done. When I'm by myself or in a coffee shop I think the most I've ever gotten done was two pages...when I'm around anyone else I'm too shy to write) 

This is actually making me feel better. I have a confession. I got so far into the headspace of freaking out that I actually checked his phone once when he left the room, just clicking the side button to make it light up and see that it wasn't her who had texted him. I'm ashamed of that. I don't want to be that person. I think that the problem is me, because it's my brain that's been fixated on her when she's not even a part of this relationship. And when I'm feeling really secure in myself, I don't care about stuff that would make me freak out at other times.

A LIST OF THINGS I LIKE ABOUT MYSELF:

• My freckles. I also like the fact that they're where no one can see them but me and someone I'm in an intimate relationship with.
• The shape of my toes.
• My hair.
• The fact that I'm good at listening.
• I'm good with children.
• I've been told I give mature, relevant advice.
• My art.
• My ability to figure out how to play just about every instrument I've laid hands on without much/any help.
• My storytelling skills (when it comes to writing).
• I like being weird and different when it comes to things I like.
• I'm good at explaining things so people can understand.

I am lovable. I am worthy. I am enough.

I am perfect the way I am, because everything about me is what makes me, me.

Finding Yourself

The most difficult thing about life is figuring out who you are.

That should seem easy, you think. I'm born who I am. I have a unique personality that defines me, likes and dislikes, quirks and habits.

But it's not that simple. You realize that the first time someone asks you, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Now is the time to pause, because whatever you say next will define you in the eyes of that person; it will shape your image and put ideas in their head about your worth and your character and your intelligence.

But you're only four years old, so you're not thinking about all of that. And you promptly say, "I want to be a princess." They laugh and they smile and they tell you you're so cute. And you soak it up.

Next week, you've seen a fire truck go blasting past, sirens blaring and lights flashing, and your mom has told you that they're going to save people from danger. So you decide that this is a noble profession and the next time someone asks what you want to be, you tell them "firefighter."

Years go by, and maybe, if you're lucky, you've settled on something that you're fairly sure you want to spend your life doing. You dream about it and you do research on it...but by now you're a preteen and your peers don't judge you by your career prospects. They judge you by what music you listen to; whether or not you've kissed a boy. They judge you by the price of the shoes on your feet and how many followers you have on social media. And your priorities begin to change.

Suddenly, your future isn't that important anymore. After all, it's always just that...the future. Always just out of reach, never quite arriving.

How can you comprehend something that you've never seen? How can you plan for it, when there is so much going on right now, so many new things, forbidden things, a life to be lived here? Now?

But this is only the beginning, you realize. There is still high school. College. A whirlwind of faux responsibilities and first heartbreaks and first jobs...and then one day if you're lucky, it hits you. This was never the beginning. This is it. This is your life, whatever you're doing right now.

Your life was never the future. It's not "what you'll be when you grow up." It's not going to begin when you buy a house or when you graduate with a degree. You are alive now.

You have been, since the day you were born. Your four year old self knew that - instinctively. This could all end at any moment. And if it did, would you say you hadn't lived your life? But oh, my friend, you did. You lived it in the movie theaters when you were fourteen, eating popcorn and Skittles that you had smuggled in. You lived it in the hours spent at the playground, running through sprinklers in the hot summer sun. You lived your life in the stolen moments with lips meeting each other in an empty stairwell, in the time spent laughing with your friends, hugging your pets, arguing with your parents.

Every moment that passes is your life, right now. This is it. This is you. And yes, when you look back you will see who you have become, and you will remember who you used to be. But when you try to find yourself, and think that you will begin to live when you have finally reached the ideal version of "you" in your head, think again.

And understand.

You are YOU, right here, right now.

And that is okay.

a realization or two

It's nice, having a best friend. One that's a guy. And that you like as more than a friend.

I can't believe it. I'm admitting to feeling happy. I'm always afraid that admitting that will cause a crash and burn scenario. But...this year I think is going to be all about experimenting. Giving chances to happiness. Spontaneity. (I spelled that word wrong twice before I got it right, lol)

It's funny, because I didn't label him as my best friend inside my head at first. It was like, he's one of my best friends. I knew I was his best friend (when a guy's girlfriend tells you that...wow).

It's still funny. It's almost like the title "best friend" doesn't feel right. Maybe closest friend? Yeah. Best friend sounds a little childish. But the thing is...I started thinking about it.

And I realized:
We can be together for hours in complete silence and neither one feels the need to break it, nor is it uncomfortable.
Then, if someone feels like talking, all of a sudden we'll be deep in conversation about either something philosophical OR randomly telling the plots of marvel movies or anime. Or trying to figure out how time travel works. Or what Daleks eat. Or whether you can have an infinite number of tardises inside of tardises.
He can be sculpting or playing video games and I can be drawing or reading and it's just nice to be around each other.
I actually feel like I can tell him most things, even the things that I hold dear to my heart. He's told me things that, well, I don't think he would have if he didn't trust me.
When I get excited about even the littlest things, he's the first person I want to tell.
We work really well together...the way we are around each other and interact.
He actually understands and is okay with me expressing important things via text rather than in a face to face convo...he's called it "acceptable," lol. Even to the point where he said it would be "acceptable" if I'd have broken up with him via a text. (He said that last year...when he was in the process of breaking up with me)
On that note...he doesn't blow up or get clingy or question where I've been or who I've been with like I've seen other guys do.
We're comfortable just randomly leaning on each other if we're both sitting on his bed..using the other person as a cushion/pillow. (I'd always wanted that)
He's literally my favorite person to be around.

So with all that...I thought to myself...what other qualifications would you have for someone being your best friend?

But after all that...that title still doesn't sound right.

I think I'll stick with "favorite person." That sums it up nicely.

Funny how it's all turned out and how far we've come. From being friends for nine years, (this month makes ten...wow, a whole decade) to deciding to give "more than friends" a try, to a break up, to break up sex, to deciding to try again...to where we are now, which...I mean, I admit it. I'm f*cked. Seriously. My walls are all down. Smashed to bits. Matter of fact...no. Not smashed. Dismantled. Neatly taken apart and the bricks have all been tidily put away.

I am so screwed.

maybe i should tell you about the day my mother died.

I don't remember waking up that day.

My memory of the day starts with me sitting on a stool in the kitchen, across from a representative from hospice. She may have been a nurse. No, I think she was a social worker. She was a plump, white woman, who tried so hard to be gentle and kind and understanding, but I was bitter.

I learned that, that day. That when I'm really, truly hurting, I become bitter and sarcastic. I make crass jokes. I didn't know that about myself.

She was trying to convince me to book a funeral home.

There wasn't long left, she said. Not days, even. Hours. My mother had been in a comatose state since Saturday. It was Wednesday. Once my brother left on Friday, she went to sleep and never really woke up.

I didn't want to book a funeral home. I didn't want to preorder a casket. She told me Costco sells them at a discounted price. But you see, I knew. I'd read the booklets and pamphlets they'd given me, those hospice people. The pamphlet said yes, they'd sleep a lot. Yes, they'd summon the energy to have one last meal and you, the family members, probably wouldn't realize it until after...that it was their last meal. But it also said that when the body prepares for death, it will begin to draw heat from the extremities into the core as a last resort. Their hands and feet would be cold. Their arms would be cold.

My mother's hands were fire, just like they'd always been.

Yes, her face was skeletal. Unrecognizable. But I'd grown used to that. When it happens slowly you don't realize it. When you love someone with all your heart, changes in appearance don't matter. They're still as beautiful to you as the day you first laid eyes on them. It's like the Rocking Horse said in The Velveteen Rabbit, "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

I was relieved when the social worker left. I think now that she probably meant well. They all do, don't they?

I went to make myself a cup of tea, after checking to make sure that mom was still breathing. That had become a habit. I'd started sleeping on the couch so that she didn't have to be alone in the hospital bed that hospice had provided. I'd wake up with a start, several times a night, and stare over at her through bleary eyes, checking desperately for the rise and fall of her chest. It remained steady.

I wonder what kind of tea I had. Was it raspberry leaf? Probably. It was a comforting flavor, smooth somehow even when it scalded the tongue. I took it with me out onto the back steps, but left the door open. I don't know how long I sat out there before Cal showed up, locking his bike to the fence in the back.

I lie.

That's not how it happened.

I went out back without any tea. I remember now. I was in a zombie-like state, staring off into the distance, when he showed up. We sat out there and talked for a while, until I started to get antsy. Nervous. I had an awful feeling in my chest that I just needed to go and check on mom. My excuse to go inside was that I wanted a cup of tea.

Yes, that's how it went.

Did I ever make myself that cup of tea?

I don't know.

The next thing I remember is being in the kitchen with him and suddenly hearing my mother's breath become labored. Almost like she was wheezing.

There are no words to describe how quickly I found myself at the head of her bed, trying to help her sit up, trying to clear her throat...did I try wetting her lips with one of the little pink sponges? Maybe.

Somehow I was at the side of her bed, and Cal was standing at the head. I took her hand and held it, started whispering, "it's okay. I love you. It's okay." I switched back and forth between English and Norwegian. She grew agitated, pulled her hand out of mine and tried to stuff it into her nightie collar.
I took it back, held on.

After a little bit, something clicked in my brain. I asked Cal to find my phone. I'd left it in the kitchen. When he gave it to me, I dialed my father's work phone number and told him I wasn't sure if mommy would be there by the time he got home.

"WHAT!?! Put me on speaker," he demanded. He later said it felt like something exploded in his brain when I told him that. Her breathing had grown erratic. She would go for several seconds without taking a breath in.

I did as he asked. I put the phone on speaker. "Laila!" he shouted through the phone. "Laila! Say Jesus!" She took a sharp breath in, and her breathing came a little more steadily. I told him so. "I'm coming home, Laila!" He told me he was leaving right away, and we hung up.

Her breaths grew shallow again. Few and far between. I found myself wondering if each one would be the last one I'd hear. I started murmuring to her again. "It's okay. Det er okay. Jeg er her. Jeg er glad i deg."

Eventually, it looked like she'd stopped breathing. I say looked like because I wasn't sure. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I couldn't hear breaths. She wasn't moving. But her chest had to still be rising and falling, right...there. That was a movement, wasn't it? I asked Cal to get the stethoscope. I may have even sent him into the hall closet for it...inside the cloth first aid kit we have.

I was so calm.

When he gave it to me, I slipped it on and placed the round piece flat against her chest. But my own heart was beating so loudly in my ears that I couldn't tell whether it was her heartbeat or mine. He was watching me, carefully. "Do you hear anything?"

I could feel my pulse throbbing in the thumb that pressed the stethoscope against her silent chest. "I don't think so...I can't really tell."

I think I may have taken the stethoscope off and given it to him. I don't know where he put it.

The doorbell rang. He went to answer it, let in the home health aide who had only just started the day before. A big, older African American woman. She reminded me of Madea. Just as big and just as unfriendly. I was still holding my mother's hand.

It was still warm.

He said something to her. Maybe he said "she just died."  I don't know. I know he got the point across. She got out her phone and called my mother's nurse, Roseanne. She called the social worker. She did whatever proceedings are necessary in these cases. Cal returned to the head of the bed...I think. But why do I remember him standing across from me...on the other side of the bed in the dining room?

All of a sudden, without warning, my mother's hand grew ice cold. I let go with a start. Stood there. It felt numb. There was no feeling. There was no sadness...was it shock? It was like...I was sort of just there. And then I clapped my hands over my mouth, and saw out of the corner of my eye that he rushed over to me and grabbed me and then I was all tears and snot and bawling and my stomach felt like it was trying to claw it's way out of my throat and there really isn't a description for pain...it wasn't pain. It was emptiness. A deep, gnawing emptiness inside my chest that was raw and cavernous and he was holding onto me but my throat was still growing sore from the sounds I was making.

I don't remember how we ended up on the couch. I know I was there by myself for a little while. Maybe he got up to let the nurse and the social worker in - it was the same lady who had been there only a few hours before. I wasn't crying when they walked in.

Roseanne came straight over to me and sat down next to me. I don't remember if she hugged me or not. But I know she took my hands in hers, and she said some stuff to me. It was meant to be comforting. I may have felt comforted, I don't remember. I know I always liked her. She sat there with me for a while, where he had sat, and said words. Then she said she had to go and "call it."

That got through to me. "Call what?"

"The time of death."

"Oh, but it was at 2:24."

"I know, but I have to call it when I see it. That's the way it works."

I didn't think that was right at all. And then she got up. And then it got real.

It hit me. She was going to confirm my mother's death. It wasn't real up until that moment. No one had confirmed it. No one with any authority, anyway. I didn't want her to do it. No. No. NO. After a moment I realized I was actually screaming those words and I turned away and suddenly I was in his arms again and he was holding me as tightly as he could while I buried my face in his lap, the sofa, anywhere that was away from looking at Roseanne and her little watch...the social worker and her little notebook.

My dad walked in then.

He later told the story that he came through the door and saw me on the couch, crying my eyes out, and Cal holding me with tears streaming down his face too. I didn't know he'd cried.

They called the time of death at 3:00pm. It was Wednesday, March 9th, 2016, exactly one month after my twenty-seventh birthday.

My dad went straight over to her bedside and threw himself down across her. I think he cried. I couldn't hear him over the sounds of my own body gasping for breath. At some point I picked up my phone and started texting everyone I knew. My brother was on his way over. My friend Tomieka left what she was doing to come. I don't know who opened the door for them, but suddenly they were there. Our pastor was there. I had joined my dad at mom's bedside. We were whispering things to her, things we weren't sure if she could still hear but we had to say them anyway. I told her to dance with Jesus. I know she'd always wanted to.

My brother showed up. I remember Tomieka asking for permission to kiss my mother's face. And then the people from the funeral home were there, with a white van and white sheets and they wanted to take her away. They said it was time. What the hell is time, anyway? There's never enough of it.

The social worker wanted me to leave the room when they took her body out, but I couldn't have done that. How would I have coped with her being there one minute and not there the next? I needed to see where she was going.

I don't know how I ended up on the floor behind my dad, but I remember looking up at him when he stepped away and nodded to Gaffney and Co. that they could take away her body. I really don't know how I got on the floor, but at that moment I had a strange out of body experience. It was like the sane, rational part of me was in the back of my brain watching this play out. I had no control over what I was saying or doing for the next few seconds...it was like instinct took over. I reached out towards my dad "No, daddy, no, please, no." I was aware that I was screaming those words. It seemed so foreign. I watched myself with a detached, almost clinical sort of interest as I felt the words tear their way out of my throat, because that's what they did. They tore their way out.

And then there were people trying to pick me up. Cal. Tomieka. I fought them off and kept screaming. They tried to lift me. I pushed them away. Someone finally managed to give a giant heave and pull me off the floor, shoving me straight into my dad's arms where I hung like a sack. I didn't want to stand. I didn't want to move out of the way. He pulled me to the side and the people went by with their white sheets. They rolled her body this way and that, maneuvering it. It was stiff. I found myself crying "Mama, mama," over and over again, and then there were more arms around us. Tomieka squeezing me from the side and Cal wrapping his arms around my dad and I. I saw him desperately scrubbing at his eyes and cheeks. I think my brother was on the other side of me.

The pastor was standing off to the side, filming it all on my dad's phone. I have NO. IDEA. WHY. To be fair, my dad may have asked him to record it. It seems like something my dad would do.

Later that night, It was just my dad, brother, Dynesha, Cal and me left. It was maybe two in the morning. People had come by. Khrys, Nia (she brought me oreos), Ms. Joholley and Chiara, church folk, my uncle and his family...or did they come the next day? I don't know. We ordered pizza. I don't remember if I ate or not.

My brother and I sat on one of the church benches that had been brought in to accommodate all the extra bodies. Dad and Dynesha were on the other one. Cal was on the sofa. I heard my dad replaying the video to show Dynesha...the one with me screaming.

Eventually Dynesha and Chris got up to leave, and Cal began to gather his things. I tried to be quiet. I tried to let him go. But every step further that he took away I began to feel a madness creeping in. I was going to be alone, alone in the room where my mother had died and the house was empty and my chest was empty and it was beginning to fall apart.

I asked him if he had to leave.

He stayed.

He wore my pajama pants, red checkered flannel ones that wouldn't stay up on his waist because I have hips and he doesn't. I know I went and put something else on, but I don't remember what. We sat on the couch together, him behind me and holding me tight, and the long night wore on. Neither one of us slept. My legs grew numb, his arm grew numb, and somehow...impossibly, the sun came up the next day. My eyes were closed and he flicked my lip to wake me. I was already awake, but what's funny is that's the last thing I remember.

The rest of the days passed in a long, drawn out blur. I know he was there every day. When I couldn't move from the couch he was there behind me, holding my ribs together. When days had gone by and I hadn't eaten a thing besides gummy bears, he peeled a tangerine and pressed it to my lips to try to get me to eat. But he didn't force me. People brought all sorts of things to try to entice me to eat. Popeye's chicken. Jamaican food. Chicken soup. But I didn't eat anything until Kim and Joan came and brought organic tofu and brown rice.

That tasted like home. That was comfort food.

This was all over a year ago, now, but it still feels like yesterday as I write about it. I'm not entirely sure what made me decide to do this now. I just woke up this morning and was ready to tell my story. So there you have it. I don't have a poetic way to end this...but I'm stopping here because I said I'd write about the day she died. Not the weeks following. That's for another time.

Time. There really is never enough of it.

Do I need to write?

Do I?

Maybe I do.

I'm not sure.

It's hot, and my brain feels kind of empty, which is a new thing for me. Usually it's going a mile per nanosecond, and is full of things that don't make sense yet make too much sense to me.

It's funny that I'm typing.

I swear my brain feels empty and I don't know which keys my fingers will press until they do it.

Let's see what's in an empty brain.

....

My fish made a bubble nest. I read online that that's a sign of a healthy, happy male betta. That's good. And my bullet journal is actually coming along nicely.

The weather has been in the mid-nineties these past few days, and today it hit one hundred in Laguardia airport. At least it hasn't been humid.

The sudden summer weather has me feeling rather strange. It reminds me of last summer, which was, uncontested, the absolute worst summer of my life. Everything fell apart back then, and although some things have fallen back together, there's this strange subconscious feeling of discomfort. Like...the weather reminds me of it. The sound of the ice cream truck outside or the Pokemon Go theme playing in the car as we drive through Brooklyn.

It's like I'm being reminded of a time when everything was so horrible and i was trying so desperately hard to be okay...and now that it is okay (even though mom's not here so it will probably never be fully okay again), my brain has to get used to that.


I need new batteries for my Tardis. The light's beginning to get rather dim.

I've been mostly okay lately. Sort of mellow and neutral. There have even been a few genuinely happy days in between. Been trying to teach myself that life is made of a whole lot of ups and downs, and just because there are guaranteed to be downs doesn't mean that you should ruin the ups by fretting about the downs.

The ups can be rather nice, and after all, the only thing that ever happens is RIGHT NOW. And right now, I think everything is quite okay.

I'm also beginning to realize that grief does this weird thing where it pops up COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED. Feelings are so fleeting. And it's possible to feel more than one at once, and more than three in the span of about twenty seconds.

For example. I'll be content with life, and happy about how things are going with Cali, and all warm and fuzzy because well dammit I can't seem to shut that off lately, and I'll walk past a photo of my mom or suddenly think of her and suddenly my chest feels like a cavern and there are tears in my eyes, and I'll try hard to think of good times but the tears will still slip out but at the same time the fuzzy feeling is still there or I'll also be stressed about getting ready for tutoring.

All that.

Today, I went from feeling indifferent to confused to disappointed in myself to anxious to neutral. So many feelings.

And you know me. I hate having feelings.

I kind of want to watch Doctor Who's latest episode (I recorded it) but it's eleven pm and I think I may be sleepy. I'm so not sure. I also kind of want to save it to watch with Cali.

Dunno.

And then you have that tiny voice that goes "But if you try to save it to watch with him then he will magically suddenly get bored of you and not want to date you anymore or be your friend anymore and then you will be stuck watching it by yourself because you dared to get excited about something."

Little things like that always pop up in my head. That's why I always shoot down feelings. I get burned sooner or later every time. Last time I got burned terribly...and for every dream I had there was a moment when I realized it was dying and I cried specifically for its loss. Like when I realized there would never be a Norah. I love that name, and it's lost to me now. Forever.

Or when I felt there was no point to have seen the milky way, because what good did that special memory do me? It only caused me pain when I looked up at the sky.

So now I'm afraid. Afraid to dream, afraid to expect anything or hope for anything, because if I do, it feels like i'm inviting the universe to rip it away from me while laughing manically.

I'm tired for real now.

Good night.

thoughts.

I think my problem is that I lose myself in people.

I take so long to let them in, that when I do, I wrap myself up in them and begin to see myself as an extension of them. I can't see my life without them in it.

It's the reason I'm so afraid to move to another state. How would I get to see Khrys? Or Nia? I can't think of a time when I wasn't completely caught up in another person...once I started to socialize. I grew up very sheltered, and was homeschooled until the 6th grade.

In middle school, my world revolved around a girl named Hannah. She sort of took me under her wing, but didn't need me at all. She couldn't have cared less if I disappeared...yet I was desperate for her approval and to be as cool and confident as she was.

High school...there was Betsy. It was mutual there; we were inseparable from 10th grade until senior year, when she joined the S.O. and got inexplicably popular and began to hang out with the in-crowd and I was left in the dust.

In college, I don't know actually. Ah, yes. Mary.

It seems that I fall for strong personalities and then lose myself in them. It's like my sense of self isn't strong enough to stand on its own. I begin to worry what these people think of me, and think that I'm not measuring up to their standards. I compare myself to some imagined version of what I think they think I should be, and of course I come up short.

And then I feel bad about myself.

Oh gosh. Am I one of those pathetic girls who leeches onto someone who is unattainable and tortures myself?

I need to figure out who I am and become secure in it. Yes, I'm constantly changing, and growing and evolving, but who I am, is who I am, right?

I'm a dreamer who thinks too much and loves to read, who loves poetic, sad things and things made of wood and earth, who thinks that words can be the most beautiful and the most deadly of weapons. I am someone who likes to be alone most of the time but still gets lonely without some form of communication from people I care about. I'm a girl with regrets up to here, and a bucket list that seems impossible. I love nature and pine trees especially, and if I go too long without a pen and a sketchbook I start to go insane. Give me time travel and aliens, coffee and tea with milk in it. Skip the sugar. I fill my room with scented candles and I can sit and stare for hours and just think. I believe that understanding is the key to solving all problems and patience is the most important virtue. I'm convinced the earth and the cosmos didn't just "happen" on their own...no. Life is much too complex for that.

These are the core elements that make me who I am, and I don't think these will change much. So why do I often feel like this is not enough?

I think the question here is, enough for who?

It should be enough for me, and for me alone. See, when I was younger, I was questioned and ridiculed for being different. For being the dreamer when everyone else wanted to gossip. For smiling too much. For reading Ender's Game in middle school when everyone else was reading Zane's sex novels. For having curly hair. For being taller than most of the boys and all of the girls. For not having a C-cup by the time I was fourteen. For speaking "like a white girl." For not dressing in tight clothes.

When I got older, I was "too nice." I was "not independent enough," because I had a close relationship with my mother and valued the morals my parents taught me.

I think I've always felt looked down on by others.

Recently, Nia told me that in school, people tried to make me feel bad because they were jealous of me. Well, they succeeded. They have me questioning what on earth they even had to be jealous over. I didn't feel pretty, didn't think I was pretty, I was always too skinny and flat chested and had unruly hair and an acne-riddled face that progressed into an acne-scarred face.

And I know these things are only external, but then consider being criticized for not wanting to disappoint your parents. For going to church. I don't have a big personality or presence that takes over a room when I walk in. I'm mellow. Why is that a bad thing?

Maybe it's not, but why do I feel like it is? What went wrong? When did the world start judging people for not being harsh and rude and bold and over-confident?

I guess the people who want to stick around, will. Whether I have acne scars or not. I'm always really polite, and don't speak up for myself enough I suppose. If that irks someone, too bad. When I get upset I withdraw. I can't help it. It's better that way, because I need time to process my feelings. Usually, I come to the conclusion that I'm overreacting in my mind, and it's saved me from blowing up at the person who offended me. How is that a bad thing? HOW? I've lost a friendship over that. I don't understand. Apparently I'm immature for doing that.

Do you see what I mean? Good God, it's like everyone has an opinion on how I should be, on how I should think, dress, act...why can't I just be me and be accepted for that?

Funny thing is, I have a core group of people who do just that. Accept me unconditionally and are there for me when I need them.

So why is it that the negative thoughts can get so loud?

I miss the days when I believed I didn't need anyone. I know now that I was wrong; life - or rather death - has taught me that I can't get through this journey alone. But I still wish I could.

untitled

I'm afraid.

I think that's the best way to sum it up.

Feelings, man. Not bad ones...good ones, I think. But I don't know how to handle them. They sit there in my chest, like a flame...literally like a flame, licking at the corners of the castle that I've built up over the years. And I wonder whether there's a twin flame in his chest.

Just because I feel something doesn't mean he does. And I can sit here all day and try to justify and rationalize to myself of why he should feel the same...or maybe does feel the same...or at least similar....I can recite to myself everything he's said to make me believe he cares (that word scares me, too)...but in the end I have no idea.

Unless he says it outright.

But his personality type is not the kind to do that, and neither is mine. I know I won't say anything. I thought about asking him..."hey, when we're intimate, are there feelings involved for you? Emotions? Or is it strictly pleasure?"

Because this is twice now that there have been feelings bubbling inside my chest during "the deed."

That scares me, mainly because IT'S HIM. Cal. The guy I've known for a decade and who is just himself and is my friend and who is actually my favorite person to be around and it's always been regular and okay and now suddenly there is this FLAME....in my chest, and I don't know how to handle that.

In a way, I almost can't picture it. Like, I think to myself...okay, so when it was our 1 year anniversary and I told him it was the longest relationship I've ever been in, he said he guessed the next milestone would be his; four years for us would be his longest. Four years. I can't even imagine that...not because I can't see myself staying with him for that long, but because I have no idea what that's like. I don't even know what two years is like. And after four years...one would think that a couple would grow closer...and maybe grow to love each other...and to take him and me and put a label of the "L" word on what we've had so far...it's scary. It's like, I could totally see it happening from my end, but to picture it coming back, how could he ever love me? Would he?

It's a weird thought.

I know he loved his ex...and I'm pretty sure he's not fully over her. Heck, I'm not fully over Cody. Sometimes I think what if we had actually tried to be together from back then...and sometimes something will remind me of him and I'll miss what we had.

But I wonder whether he could ever feel about me as strongly as he felt about her. Or will I always come second? Of course, this is entirely my own imagination in overdrive, but these are the thoughts I have. Or maybe I'd be even more special, because I'm the one he chose to be his best friend, and now he's dating me, so does that make it better? Argh. I don't know. I wish I could ask, but that would come across as insecure. And pushy.

Could it be that the same way I've gotten used to talking to him every day and think about him pretty often is the way it is for him with me? I mean if I'm talking to him every day, he's talking to me every day. That's every single day for fourteen months with only one full 24 hour period of no talking. Jeez. If this goes south it will SUCK. The thing I try to console myself with is that we survived one breakup, friendship intact.

I don't want to be annoying, I don't want to be insecure, and oh....I also don't want to hurt him. My dad being sure that there's someone else out there meant for me worries me.

By the way, my dad and I have finally had a heart to heart....and he understands where I'm coming from, and I understand where he is coming from...his fears and worries about me and how he feels he's not measuring up as a father because my mother could have done a better job...it breaks my heart, but I understand now. And I finally explained the whole thing about Cal to him (well, 99% of it..I left out that he's my boyfriend) and he gets it, too. He was shocked when I pointed out that we've been friends for so long, and he got the point when I pointed out how he was there for me when mom died. So we're cool on that topic. He even said that if it wasn't for the fact that he's convinced he's demon possessed, he wouldn't mind if I wanted to fall in love with him, cause he's a good guy. (That's about as good as it's gonna get, lol).

Finally.

But back to these feelings. The ones that scare the foolishness out of me.  Well, maybe not. Maybe they're proof that I am foolish.

Who knows?

Anyway, TMI alert here, but today I spent the day with Cal because 1. I wanted to, and 2. There were too many darn spiders in my room. I'll tell you more about that later. And while we were doing the do...he was very...gosh, I can't find the words for it. But sometimes it's like playful and fun...and other times it's serious and passionate (ewww that sounds so...ewwww! *immaturity alert*). But it felt to me like it was a slightly different type of serious. Or it could have just been really good and he was enjoying it a lot. Who knows? I don't want to project my feelings onto him. And afterwards, he just sat and acted normal...so...either he clammed up from feels overload or it was nothing.

I was def on feels overload. And so I probably projected it.

Back to the question of...when he says "I still feel the same about you," what is that feeling? And would he be sad if I went away? Does he think about me and want to spend time with me but doesn't say anything the way I do?

Oh dear. I sound like those stupid love songs I used to listen to on Radio Disney when I was a kid.

About those spiders. First a giant one on the INSIDE of my window's mesh. Slammed the window shut and hoped he'd go back out the same way he got in. Went in the shower. Came back out. Put my undies on my bed. Went to reach for them, and saw A FREAKING BLACK JUMPING SPIDER ON MY BED ABOUT TO CRAWL INTO MY BLACK PANTIES.

NOT OKAY.

And yesterday I killed another one of those in the hall.

Do you see why I fled?

Good.

Oh, also, I got a fishy today. He's a blue and purple betta fish like my first one, and his name is Blue.

I am ill content

I want to be doing more...but less.

I'm pretty sure that makes sense.

My room is starting to look cluttered again. There's stuff in here that I don't use/need.

I don't want the corners to have stuff stuck into them...and I need my wall space back. I'm going to take down that wicker shelf and possibly throw it out. I picked it up off the street, anyway.

I really miss my mom. It hits me hard sometimes. Like, it shouldn't just be my dad and me here.

Let's see.
Money for California: $700. (200 down, 500 to go)
Curlformers or ...meh. I have bills to pay. I need to pay my health insurance and the thingie...the internet/cable. The gas bill is also coming up in about a week.

So....that means by next Friday I need about $270 that isn't part of my regular income. WAIT! no, that's not true. Eh. I don't know. I need to pencil it out on paper.

Topaze looks so comfortable with his head on my pillow.

I'm going to Yonkers tomorrow...that should be interesting. My dad's job is sending him up there to pick up a truck, and they would have had him take a taxi...so he convinced them to give me the money instead and I would drive him all the way up there. Somehow that worked out to only $30...not sure how that makes sense...but yeah.

I've never driven that far north before, so it should be cool. =)

I feel like reading a book. Actually, I haven't read any fan fiction in quite a long time. Might check that out...but it's so hard to find any GOOD ones.

Laters.

Focusing on ME...and a sudden turn.

I've been thinking.

I'm way too lenient. I say yes much too often. And I do it at the expense of my own happiness, progress, and well-being.

NO MORE! (Doctor Who reference...Gallifrey Falls)

But really, though. The reason I'm always exhausted is because I spend what SHOULD be my days off helping Cal work (because he couldn't be bothered to go to work when it counted) (That's really annoying me...it's a major character flaw. I won't be the one to support him if we're together in ten years...what...will there be diapers that need to be bought and school uniforms and a mortgage that needs to be paid and he will just say "I don't feel like working today?")

Starting in May, my days off will be my days off. I planned them a certain way because I knew what I needed in order to rest and recuperate. Instead, I've been spending them driving all around town or just sitting down in a car, not getting anything done.

Mondays and Tuesdays I could have been organizing the house. Sorting through my mother's things. Giving away what's not needed and putting up sentimental items. Taking bottles to the recycling location. Cleaning. WRITING.

My days off are Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday.
Monday was supposed to be a relaxing day where I just stayed home (can't tell you the last Monday I actually spent at home) and Tuesday a prep day for tutoring for the week. Saturday should be my day where if someone invites me out I can go, because I don't have anything else to do. The rest of the days, I don't have tutoring until 3:30pm at the earliest, so I just need to wake up early and I can do chores in the morning. Two hours of that each day and the house will be spic and span. Another two hours of working on my blog, and TADA, look how much I will have


**I just got a text from a friend/colleague that my former co-worker (her mom) passed away. She had breast cancer. I just spent the last ten minutes bawling my eyes out**

I was really cool with her...Ms. Burris. Gave her two cats...came to her house to tutor her granddaughter...she was cool at work...never one of those petty gossiping kinds. I knew she was sick and I bought some stuff for her and wanted to go visit her in the hospital but I couldn't bring myself to do it...it was too close, too reminiscent of what my own mother had just been through. I didn't want her to die. I mean of course, why would I want her to die? But I mean, it's cancer. WHY!?!?!?!?!? And now my friend is going through the same thing that I did just last year. It feels like there's a boulder sitting in my chest now.

I don't even know what to say or do. I have to think of what helped me when I was going through it. I didn't like all the people showing up and saying to ask if I needed anything, ones who hadn't been there...maybe I could offer to watch her girls for her for free for a couple of hours...I dunno.

Oh gawsh.

boyfriends, lol

This evening I was thinking about how many exes I've had.

Not sure why, except I was trying to figure out who I actually had feelings for versus who was just...there.

Let's see. There was Claude, in sixth grade. He was my first boyfriend. I asked him out, and he took three days to make up his mind. He used to bring me Baby Bottle Pop candies on Thursdays, and we never kissed. That relationship lasted three months, until he broke up with me one day in Literature class because "we never do anything." Eh. That was interesting.

Then there was that guy Christopher, who I couldn't stand, in seventh grade. I honestly have no idea how that relationship started, ended, or anything. Nothing ever happened there either. I really didn't like that guy. I used to kick him a lot. In the balls. Uh, sorry?

The summer between middle school and high school I met a boy at sleep away camp named Dorian. We called him Dee, and he was adorable and had the cutest smile with braces. All the girls in my cabin had a crush on him, but he chose me for some reason. He was also two years younger than me. That pretty much fizzled out a few weeks after we went back home.

Not sure exactly when...but I know I was fifteen. I dated a guy I met at church named Calvin (heh heh, I know, right?) and we had an "open relationship." I never took advantage of that (at least I don't remember doing so) but I know he did...I remember my friend Tiffany coming to me in shock and going "Your boyfriend just tried to kiss me!" Funny how I didn't care.
He has twins now, I heard. A wife too, I think.

Tenth grade there was Jean Paul. I didn't deserve him. Our relationship lasted over the summer from the end of ninth grade into the beginning of tenth. He told me he was falling in love with me. I cheated on him and then broke up with him. I wouldn't have broken up with him had it not been for a church member telling me that I had to...I didn't want to take communion because I had a boyfriend and wasn't allowed to. She told me to go take care of whatever I had to and make sure I was ready to take communion next time. So I dumped him. I still regret breaking his heart to this day...even though years later we talked again and I explained why. We're on good terms now, although we haven't spoken in years. That was my first real relationship.

Eleventh grade. Hmm. There was Stevie. I can't remember for sure if his real name was Steven...I think it might have been. I met him on Sconex, the social media website that connected high schoolers around the country. He lived in Brooklyn, and I spent one incredibly hot summer afternoon (was it summer? Or late fall?) wandering through the streets of Brooklyn (lost) trying to find Schenectady Avenue. Boulevard? No wonder I got lost. He loved drama, and used to try to pick fights with me by saying I was insecure. Never worked, lol. I'm not a person who likes to argue. That relationship lasted three months as well...once we met in person, we both agreed that we weren't actually attracted to one another. My friend Nia started to date him after me.

After him there was another Steven, except it was spelled Stefan? Stephen? Stephan? I think it's the last way. My secret nickname for him was Sekaj, because those were his initials. My even more secret nickname for him was Starer, which was what my high school bestie and I called him. We had weird nicknames for most of the guys in our school...Yellow Shirt, Starer, Pasta, Duck, Free Porn...the list goes on. Starer was a complete jerk. He was a year older than me, and basically just used me. He used to ask me for money, and I gave him about $200. I also spent like $60 on a hoodie for him for Christmas. To top it off, he tried to steal my phone, and then stopped talking to me and started fooling around with my teammate from volleyball. She was terribly apologetic once she found out, but eh. Hey. I wasn't mad at her. She didn't know. And he was a dick, anyway. I ran into him on the Ave maybe a year later, and he acted like he didn't know me. I still have the stuffed dog he gave me for valentine's day. It's cute.

The next one is the infamous Lee. The name all my friends know and hate. I lost my virginity to him a few months after I started college. Then he cheated on me on my birthday, and I decided to completely cut him off. I contemplated vandalizing his car. Never did it.

I haven't had an official boyfriend between him and now. Although there was that pseudo-relationship. But anywhoo. Isn't that kind of sad? Or maybe it's not. Maybe it means I'm strong and independent. Or just jaded and fearful.

I'm really not sure which.

The point of all this was...I never actually had feelings for any of them except the pseudo-relationship and this one now, with Cal.

Hm.

Well. We'll see how it goes.

isolation

This is not a bad thing.

I'm just thinking about it. How much time we spend alone...when there are so many people around us. Even people we want to be around.

And then we go and say we are lonely or don't want to be alone.

I mean, look at families. They interact, and then they lock themselves away in their individual bedrooms and introvert.

I dunno. Maybe only introverts do that. Maybe extroverts spend all their time talking and being together.

I miss my mom. That was random. Well, not really random, as I visited her grave today and cried something fierce. It's about time that I cried. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to and that I'd have a day where I'd totally break down and be useless.

That happened...last month, I think it was. It wasn't nice.

The reason I mentioned that is that I remember how she used to want to be together with someone...my dad or me...she loved to talk.

She'd want to hear about every single detail of my entire day, start to finish, and it was like she was living it through me.

I never thought I'd be sitting down reminiscing about her. As in, she's not here, and I'm remembering what she was like.

She was my best friend. Like for real. A lot of people can't say that their mom is their best friend, but she really knew me, inside and out, knew when I needed time and when I needed a hug, knew to give me hugs even when I insisted I didn't want them.

I've got another tab open with Dodie Clark's song "Human."

One of the lines goes "We're just...human."

And I'm realizing...that's the saddest thing ever.