Can't... shut out... the voices...

Was it love?

the nasty voice creeps into my head...

'dear, that was LUST. Not love.'

'Ew! I would never! No, I loved him! We can't have been 'in lust', and have him be on a mission now.'

'lust isn't just the desire to be intimate.'

'Well yeah, I know... but it wasn't his body or whatever either. it was him.'

'dear, sweet child. really think about it. was it him? or how you felt?'

'It's how he made me feel. It was real. It was love. Wasn't it?'

'did you talk to each other much? About important things?'

'Well, we talked...'

'what do you really know about him besides the feel of his hands - and lips - on yours?'

'That's not me. I'm not like that.'

'but tell me. what do you know about him?'

'I know his favorite color...'

'anything else?'

'I know he wants to be an engineer. I know what college he wants to go to. I know...'

'was it really love?'

'I... I think so....'

'does he know you at all?'

'He... he knows I love hiking...'

'ah, but does he know YOU?'

'Well... no... maybe... he knows some things about me...'

'does he know about your anxiety? your fears? your hopes?'

'Why are you doing this?'

'do you even know anyone in his family? did he even tell his family about you?'

'well he must have, if we spent so much time together...'

'face it. it was a CRUSH. it was LUST. you fell for him because he was the first one to care about you.'

'Well that's not true. others have liked me.... so I've been told....'

'you don't know anything. he held your hand and kissed you and it was new and exciting and fun... but he only did it so he could have someone to write him through his mission.'

'No! No, he'd never do that!!!

'you crushed on him for a year before he finally reciprocated his feelings... why else would he stage the netflix-esque first kiss scene two weeks before he left for the MTC?'

'you're confusing me...'

'yes, that's it... it was a summer fling. nothing more.'

'summer fling... nothing more... doesn't mean... anything....'

'and while you're at it, eat more vegetables and less of everything else.'

'no... no more food.'

'good girl. now go to bed without dinner. i love you'

'i hate you too.'

Discover, Decide, Promise.

The Central (I'm Nervous) System

 I. Am. Human.

I have two eyes.
I see all my flaws. I see every crooked picture frame and every bruise-like shadow under my eyes. I see everyone around me pretending that they're happy. They never are.
I have a nose.
I smell cigarette smoke on my oldest brother's clothes as I give him a hug. I smell chalk and sweat and fear, everywhere around me. I smell something delicious I try not to eat for fitness's sake- but always give in.
I have two hands.
I feel how warm your hands are. Were. How warm they were. I feel my hands shake and try to take deep breaths so no one around me worries. I hope they don't worry. I would never purposely do that to someone.
I have lips.
They are chapped, dry, and lonely. They either whisper too softly or scream too loud (but somehow only I can hear it). I have to remind them that it's good to be this way. It's better for all of us. Who needs memories. Who needs flashbacks. Who needs........ him..............
I have a heart.
It beats 115,200 times a day- and it hurts worse every time. Except for those days it beats twice as fast, pumps twice as much blood. It happens more and more often. I try to stop it from overriding my brain, to no avail. Dang it heart! Stop loving things that hurt you!
I have a brain.
It does too much. It never takes a break. It is on overdrive every day, as if I'm a computer as opposed to a human being. It worries. Always. It shuts down from worry. Every day. It can't be stopped. Someone find the off button, quick! Save me from my mind!
I have blood.
It flows through my veins. Sometimes it collects just under my skin in bruises... and I relish it. I love bruises. Does that make me inhuman? When I was little, I would press on my bruises when they began to fade to keep them fresh, keep them visible. Sometimes I get scratches on my legs when I hike off the trail. Sometimes I feel like I'm finally living, because I have scratches. Look, that one's bleeding. So's my heart.

And yet-
I go through the same mechanical motions day after day, month after month, year after year. Go to school. Go to practice. Come home. Eat. Regret eating. Don't sleep. Wake up. Repeat.
I am human.

but I'm not really living.

two pairs of tears on my pillow

I cry myself to sleep, sure I won't get asked to homecoming.
My friend asks me the next day if she can do my hair for homecoming, because she knows someone who's going to ask me.

I cry myself to sleep, wishing my friend would just answer one text.
I wake up to find a novel via phone, apologizing, full of love.

I cry myself to sleep, wishing all my food allergies would just go away.
I go to a new doctor who tells me I can eat normally again, that the previous doctor made a mistake.

I cry myself to sleep, thinking I'm worthless and I'll never get my shining moment. Thinking I'll never get a solo because I'm too 'ensemble-worthy'. Too good in groups. Not good enough alone.
I get a message, apologizing that it took so long but I have one of the two solos; and that I was one of the first that came to their minds when initially planning.

what.

I feel foolish. I feel vain.
But I feel so blessed. So grateful.

Guys. I know that a lot of you are resistant to listening to testimonies or any mention of God in Paris. But I don't care if you stop reading my blog. Because I'm what going to tell you means SO MUCH to me. It has changed me, completely.

God knows me. Me, someone who I don't even know that well. He cares about the stupid, silly things that I care about that have no eternal value whatsoever. He hears me crying every night and sends His Son to weep with me. 'Jesus wept.' Not because Lazarus was dead (He let it happen and knew he would be saved), but because everyone around Him was suffering and mourning.

God knows you. Knows you better than your friends do, better than your parents do, better than you do. And He cares about you more than you can even imagine.

Prayers are answered, always. 
Things get better, always.
Maybe not how we want them to; 
but much, much better.

 

Notice! If anyone finds half of a soul lying around... it's mine

you saved my life.
you're the closest friend i've ever had.
no, you're the closest sister i've ever had.
you made that recovery bearable.
you made that class bearable
you made living my life bearable
you were the first one i told about my anxiety.
(oh yeah, guess what. i have crazy anxiety.)
you moved to byu.
you promised to keep in touch;
i promised to visit you.
i don't blame you.
but part of me does.
because i feel so empty.
you took half of me with you
and you don't even want to reply to any of my texts anymore.
i know you've moved on.
i know high school is behind you.
but so am i
and i ache, ache, ache because
being forgotten is not doing good things to my sanity
and neither is being alone again
i thought we were so close
but you're all mature now
and i'm still in high school
and please answer my phone calls
and i miss you more than i can even say
and i feel so alone.

so
alone.



*ahem*.

Yeah, I'm doing just fine :) I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying BYU. Love you!!

One more go at the crayon post

Sorry. I just had to. This is beautiful.

This is for the boys. LISTEN UP.

Now that I've ranted about being too #same, let's try something #different.

Guys, I'm going to tell you the do's and don't's, from a girl's perspective.
Want to understand how girls think? Read on.

DO smell good. Believe me, we notice.
DON'T go for our friend if you think we are showing interest in you. Or if we break up. Or if a friend tells you we like you. NEVER, ever, go for the best friend. You will be hated on so many levels.
DO ask us on dates! One of my #1 pet peeves is having to be the one to ask and plan a date!
DON'T try to kiss us on the first date. Please, just don't.
DO tell us what you're thinking! Be open! Communicate! Sure, making out is fun... but what really builds a relationship is trust. That comes with honesty.
DON'T talk about your ex girlfriend. We don't want to hear it.
DO kiss us eventually! I know. You're preparing for a mission. You're nervous. Or my favorite... this is Utah for crying out loud! Kissing is unholy! Well here's a news flash: you don't have to confess to your bishop for kissing a girl. If you two are close, and you really like her, and she likes you back *which is the most important part... if she doesn't like you back then don't you dare kiss her face*, go for it! Be open about wanting to. My brother literally asked his girlfriend if he could kiss her the first time. It made a big difference in their relationship. #endofkissingrant.
DON'T make us plan what we do. I know it sounds like I already touched on this, but this is different. When you pick us up, have a plan in mind! Don't let it turn into the 'I don't care what we do... what do you want to do?' game. I have played that so many times. Be creative. Be flexible to what we want to do, of course, but doing something creative or different is way more fun than watching a movie that neither of you really wanted to watch.
DO ask us about ourselves. No, not 'what color is your toothbrush.' Ask us about things that matter. Our interests. Our quirks. It means so much more to us when you genuinely want to get to know us.
DON'T always plan things that cost money. It's so uncomfortable to stand there while you pay for us all the time. I'm not saying make us pay or never pay for us but we don't want you to eat through your paycheck just to buy us food or stuff.
DO be a gentleman. Open doors for us (but if we get there first and try to open it... don't yank it from our hands. That's awkward.), get us home on time, be kind to our siblings and parents, and wait in your car until you see us walk in the door to make sure we're not locked out. Simple stuff like that.
DON'T assume anything. Ever. Don't assume we like chocolate... find out before you buy us some!
DO listen. This should be a no-brainer. Listen! Respond! We wouldn't be telling you something if we didn't want you to know it, especially if it's something serious about ourselves or our family.
DON'T be impatient. Being a girl is really, really hard sometimes. I know it's hard to be a guy too. But... hormones are not to be messed with. If she needs time to hang with her girls, let her! If she cries, don't get uncomfortable! Often, just listening and perhaps scratching her back or playing with her hair will help the storm pass, and greatly increase your brownie points in relationship heaven.
DO watch Hitch. I know, ha ha, but most of his advice is pretty dang concrete.
DON'T be possessive. She has other friends too. No, that guy she's talking to is not a threat to you or your relationship. It's gonna be okay.

and lastly...

DO remember that every girl is different! That's why being open and communicating is so important. Learn what drives her crazy. And don't do it. Learn what comforts her. Allow her to learn those things about you. Be confident- chances are, that girl you want to ask out has been staring at you for months. :)

#same

I wish I could say I was #different. But I'm freaking exactly the same as the majority. I do my work quietly just like everyone else. I smile too much and laugh too little and make mistakes and am too passive, just like everyone else. It's all the #different people I envy. They walk down the hall and turn heads. They color classrooms with their clever wit. They get in trouble. But no, I'm just like everyone else. I keep my nose clean and stay out of trouble, just like I'm expected to. If I was #different I would've gotten chosen to clap the chalk erasers in elementary school. If I was #different, I would get asked to homecoming. But no, I'm too #same to even come to your mind. If I was #different, my friend wouldn't have had to convince someone to ask me to prom last year. Some boy would have wanted to ask me on his own. If I was #different, you'd want to actually know me. ME. Not my pen name but the real me.

but I really am just Korra, it seems. Just too... monotone. Too background. Too #same. I seem insecure because I don't put myself out there. They always say 'be yourself', right? Well what if I am being myself. What if 'myself' is #same. What if I was just born to be the face that you skip in the crowd when you look for your friends at lunch. What if I don't even have the capacity to catch anyone's eye, to make them want to look at me, not just through me. What if I've tried to be #different but I'm so #same that even my wild attempts were ignored. What if no one will ever think I'm any #different than the next girl, than the next blog, than the next hopeless romantic, than the next hopeful BYU student. What if I'm so #same that I'm about as interesting as the quotes on the walls above the lockers.

Perhaps the way I'm #different is how extremely #same I am.

Blood Sample

The only thing worse than testing positive for Celiac Disease, autoimmune disorders or even stomach cancer

is testing negative

and no one but God knows what's wrong with me.

I wasn't a crayon girl.

I was a marker girl. A colored pencil girl.
I never liked crayons.
As soon as they wear down (and the favorite colors always do so soon),
The point is gone and
it's impossible to color between the lines.
And staying in the lines was really important to me.
still is.

I always hated that the blues and greens (my favorite ones)
would become rounded nubs while the tan, peachy color stayed perfectly pointy. 
because who wants to use the tan, peachy color.

I am the tan, peachy color.

I am the white crayon that only shows up on black paper
and most people don't own black paper.
I am the too-light almost-yellow green that children quickly got bored of
because at first sight, it seems like a pretty fun color
but once you use it,
it's not nearly as pretty as you want it to be.
I am the tan, peachy color only good for coloring in stick-figure faces
but who colors in stick-figure skin?

So I get left alone in the box with all the rounded-nub, beautiful, popular colors.

I never liked crayons. Especially not the tan, peachy-colored one.

I hate you.

 (I would apologize for double-posting in one night if I was sorry. But I'm not.)

Dear Pills,

I hate you.
I don't hate very many things in my life but I hate you.
I know you're prescribed and I need you to get through the day
and I've seen what happens when I forget
but I hate that I have to rely on you. All of you. There are so many of you.
Why do I have to take so many of you, anyways?
Right. Because nothing in my body works the way it's supposed to.
I'm broken, remember? and you're supposed to fix me
just enough to get me through school, through homework, until the next morning.
I hate camp-outs and vacation and tour when I have to bring all of you
and I hate that at this point, all of your different bottles have to be put in
a gallon-sized bag instead of a sandwich bag
cause there are too many to fit in a small cranny of my suitcase anymore.
You demand the giant front pocket.
and I hate you for it.

I hate you. I don't hate many things in life but I hate you a lot.
I hate that nurses always ask me to rate my pain on a scale
so they can decide if I'm really in pain or if I just want to take you for a good time
and I hate that my mom has to answer sometimes because I'm incapacitated
and I hate that you make me woozy (especially the kind for pain) but we have you stockpiled from all the surgeries
and I hate that we have to hide you so my brother can't steal them
and I hate hospitals and how they smell and how you bring the smell home
and I hate visits and awkward silences and I pick at my hospital wristband until they leave
and I hate not even being able to swallow you and instead getting a needle in the crook of my arm
and I hate being broken.
and I don't blame you because I can't
but I do hate you.

I hate you.
I don't hate very many things in my life but I hate you so much.
I know it wasn't you that landed my brother in a jail cell,
it was his choices...
but I hate that he came straight to you again once he got out.
What does he see in you, anyways?
All you ever do is cause harm, make him sick
sick to his stomach, sick in his head
but you torture him back into your demonic embrace every time
forcing him to steal expensive things and sell them
just so he can afford to love you.
he doesn't even see what you're doing to him.
and I hate you.
I hate you for ruining his life.
I hate you for being a part of his life.


Dear pills...
I HATE YOU.

Dear you...

You know who you are.

Don't you dare give up.

I can't even try to say I know how you feel because I don't.

But one thing I do know is that my life sucks too.

In a different way,

but it does.

I literally can't catch a break. I know you can't seem to either.

But one thing I have learned over and over again is that

every bad day comes to an end.

Everything does get better.

Yeah, it gets worse again.

It will always get worse again

because that's how life works.

But every injury heals (even the ones that the doctors say won't ever get better).

Every panic attack subsides (even if you're left with residual panic that follows you everywhere.)

Everything does get better.

And you'll be stronger when it does.

Things WILL get better.

I PROMISE.

And I can't promise it'll be soon.

I can't promise you'll be happy about the resolution.

I can't promise anything

except for that 

it 

will

get

better.

If not now, then tomorrow.

If not tomorrow, then next week.

If not next week, then next year.

And I know that if you give up now,

Things will have gotten better tomorrow

And you'll wish you'd have held on just one more day.

please.

please.

don't give up.

You are never alone.

You are so loved.

By me, by your family, 

by others you don't even know about,

by your ancestors,

by your future spouse and unborn children,

and by your Father.

keep going. hold on. stay strong.

you won't regret it.

-me

I'm a walking grenade, Gus... and one day I'm going to explode.

And it's going to obliterate everything in it's path.

Me too, Hazel Grace. Me too.

I had to tell you. I just had to. I don't care if it reveals who I am to some, because it might. But this is something that is so ingrained in me, a really high-up 'I am'...



I am going deaf.

 
I'm in the canyon. I sit by a roaring fire, surrounded by my family, my parents, my siblings. I hear Dad laughing loudly like he always does and my older brothers singing a campfire song. The fire cracks loudly, sending a shower of sparks into the twinkling night sky.
I am going to be deaf
I'm walking to the bus on my first day of second grade. My new shoes are squeaking and my backpack is full of fun pencils and new notebooks. I make an effort to step on every single leaf because I love the crunching sensation and relish the noise. My friend giggles at my silliness.
I will be deaf
I'm in the car on the way home from a date. It has been pouring all day long, and my arms and hands ache from my first rock climbing experience. He is gushing about how cool some of those precarious leaps to far-away hand holds were. I laugh as he tries to sing along to Adam Levine. The warm feeling of friendship (and more?) fills the car and I can hear every raindrop on the roof.
I am going to be deaf
Fast forward ten years. A doctor is screening the progress of the little one growing within me. I feel a kick and my eyes meet my husband's. He is almost to the point of tears. The doctor smiles up at us, and says "Listen!" It's quiet, but the soft, steady thrumming tells us that our child is alive. That our child will be in my arms soon. Ours.
I am going deaf
When he called me by name and asked me on a date. When I'm called to the stand in sacrament meeting to accept my young women's medallion. When my mom yells my name after I get home from school and asks me how school was. When I hear my name and I walk to accept my diploma. When I hear my soulmate ask for my hand, and see the tears in his eyes when I say yes. When my own children yell for me from the next room over, tears streaming down their fat little cheeks. When my daughter calls me from across the country to tell me she's engaged. When I hear my own heart monitor and grasp every word my children say to me, just before I depart.

But I'm so afraid.

What if I won't be able to hear any of it?

I have never passed a hearing test.
I was born with Brachio-oto-renal syndrome, which is an extremely recessive genetic birth defect that causes, among other things, hearing loss.
In second grade, I had to carry around a special speaker with me while my teacher spoke into a microphone. I was teased for carrying the 'stupid box' around because I couldn't hear.
In sixth grade, I got my first pair of hearing aids. I had a really hard time adjusting to how loud everything was, and kind of made a way to big deal of it. My whole class knew they had to be quiet in class, or I'd go home with a huge headache. One kid in the class says my ears were so bad because I was an 'old lady.' (And this is risky because some of you were in that class. Yep. It's me. But it's something I HAD to write about.)
I got a new pair of hearing aids two years ago. But I never wear them. I hate the attention it gives me. I hate attention. (Then why do I crave it?) A test revealed that my hearing had taken another dive off the deep end. We don't know how long I'll be able to hear anymore, and there's not enough information on the defect to give me an estimate. It could be in the next few months or the next few years or never or tomorrow. I could just wake up deaf tomorrow morning. I've heard a story of a girl about my age with progressive hearing loss, like me. She went swimming one day with her friends. She jumped in the water and all the sudden, all her hearing was gone. In the blink of an eye, she was deaf.
And it terrifies me so much that this time next year, I could be deaf. I wouldn't be able to hear my name at graduation. I would need an interpreter to follow me to all my classes. Guys won't go on dates with me because they don't know ASL. Or because I'm the freaky deaf girl that everyone's afraid to talk to.  (right, like they totally go on dates with me right now)

I wouldn't be able to sing anymore.
Music completes my life. No, music IS my life. Music is my soul, my coping mechanism. It is how I express myself. It's one of the few talents I feel comfortable sharing with others. I need to be able to sing.


What if no one wants to marry me because of it.
Because my children have a 50% chance of going through life with this too.

Guys, I'm so scared. If this is His plan for me, so be it.

But I don't want it to be.
I don't know if I would be able to deal with it.