Saturday, December 3, 2016

Dear Santa:

I know I haven't written you in years.
I'm so sorry. I guess I have gotten caught up in my life and everything has been so crazy and I know all these are excuses and I'm sorry
I'm sorry for being naughty sometimes
I'm sorry for being ungrateful sometimes
I'm sorry for not believing in you.

I guess I should probably tell you what I want for Christmas, just like old times
I'd like to pass my finals please
I wouldn't mind a new pair of shoes
I'd say yes to money to pay for next semester
I want a puppy to cuddle with
And, if you don't mind,
I'd kinda like a person to cuddle with too

Dear Santa, I just want to be loved
I know that's not everything and
I know my time is coming and I'll meet him someday and
I know it'll happen eventually...
but I want someone to look at me the same way Jim looks at Pam
I want someone to care about me the same way Parker cares for Mallory
I know it's probably too much to ask but
I've been friend-zoned, cast off, ignored, manipulated, even assaulted
can I please
be loved?

I love you, Santa
I believe in you

-Tiffany

Thursday, October 6, 2016

That took a turn

In continuing from the last post....

Dear Taylor:
You don't kiss a girl and ignore her for 3 weeks.
I get it, there are things you don't have control over. I may not know exactly how you feel but I can certainly empathize. But at the same time, you are mad that I assumed the worst but how in the heck was I supposed to know the weight of the world is on your shoulders? All I know is that I liked you, you kissed me, and you stood me up when we were supposed to talk about it. And you've been been completely hostile since.
You said you felt that I was putting all the blame on you. Sorry. But why, WHY did I walk out of that conversation with all of it on my back? You would know this by now if you cared to look, but I'm not very good with words in person. I get flustered when I don't feel safe. I felt so attacked, Taylor. You were looking at me with such hatred and throwing out bullets so fast I couldn't get one word out.
And you made me care about you again. I spent the weekend alone, anxious and plain numb because of what you did to me. But you skipped right back, made me feel horrible about myself, and then made me feel bad for you. I let you hug me. The worst part is that I didn't want you to let go. How twisted is that.
I'm spiraling, Taylor. I've gone deep before but never this deep. I haven't gone a day in a full two weeks without crying. I can't even take a nap without thinking about all the things I should have said. I literally had a panic attack in class today just because you were there and I'm am idiot because I still feel like I need to impress you. I get it, I'm only 18 and I have so much time to find the one. But that's not what third is about. I just want to feel sufficient. I just want to feel loved.
Now before you run off, let me explain that you're not all that special. It's not all about you. It's about how not one guy has ever treated me well. Yes, my dad has, but you know what I man. Every time I tell myself 'he would never hurt me like that' and "This time he's different' but somehow I'm the easiest to manipulate, to use. And I want to know why.
You used me. You manipulated me. You ignored me (yes, I know, I get it. Your circumstances. But stop for just a second and try to think of mine.) But guy#1 did all those things too. Same goes for #2, #3, all of them. After following the trend, the only logical thing is that something about me is completely repellant.
So I get it. I'm sorry. I get that you don't have complete control over what's stopping you from reaching out.
But I don't have complete control over what's literally crushing me either.
Maybe one day we'll be friends. Maybe I won't panic when I see you anymore. Maybe you'll learn how to treat women and maybe, someday, I'll be treated like I matter.
I hope the kiss was all you had hoped for. I hope it was worth it to you.
Because so far that kiss has completely unhinged me.
-Tiff

Sunday, September 18, 2016

my first time

Making out.
gah I hate those two words when put together.
Like, I was going to put that as my title, but then I couldn't bear the thought of titling a blog post making out.
It's disgusting. I feel like such a horrible person. But I shouldn't, right? It's not a sin, right? Nothing inappropriate happened, right?
I didn't even reciprocate that part of it, right? I wasn't the one doing the moving, that was all you dude. he must think I'm literally the worst, I just kinda sat there. I just kinda sat there and let it happen.
Maybe it's just because that is definitely not what I expected to happen.
Maybe it's just because it's been a loooong time since I've really kissed someone.
Maybe it's just because it caught me way off guard that a guy who I had a huge crush on actually went for it.
Maybe it freaked me out that the first one wasn't soft and hesitant like I thought it was going to be.
Maybe my anxiety is just too much.
Maybe it's just because he never actually said that he liked me.

he never said that he liked me.

am I just some relief or fix because he needed to kiss someone, ANYONE? Because if that's the case buddy, I'm sure there are plenty of girls on campus who actually know how to kiss and are more than willing to be your toy.
I just can't fathom the dismal amount of respect he must have for me, to have just gone for it so fast like that. It's like Harrison all over again. I even told him when we were talking about relationships that I'd much rather have someone ask me if they could kiss me than having them just do it. And yet... here we are. Launched at my face.

I should be over the moon, right?
I've been wanting to kiss a guy for the past few months now. I've wanted a guy in my life, cried that I didn't have one.
I totally like him. Liked him? I don't know. I think I still like him. I'm just confused. And a horrible kisser.
But isn't this exactly what I wanted?
What I may or may not have prayed for? (Thanks for giving me exactly what I wanted... now dial it back a little???) My own fault.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I'm just so curious to see what he does now.
because I just know that he won't talk to me anymore. He won't want to get to know me or pursue anything or want to do fun coupley things like dancing in the rain or going on a picnic, stuff that doesn't include kissing. He won't want to learn how to help me through panic attacks and he won't let me get to know him. He'll either want to stay friends with benefits (NO SIR THAT WILL NOT FLY), or pretend like nothing happened at all. because that's just what happens with me.

but something that isn't confusing to me is that I love talking to him and how much he makes me laugh.
something that doesn't confuse me is that I love his smile, his sarcastic quips, his little quirks, his exclamations.
something that doesn't confuse me is the way he hugged me when dropping me off, that he sheepishly waved and said 'We'll figure this all out, I promise' and then shut the door.

something I do know is that when he's not confusing me,
I really do like him.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Welcome to BYU!

Hi, I'm Tiffany, your RA for this term. RA stands for Resident Assistant- but you can think of me as a cheerleader, a friend, a big sister, a resource, and a support to you in the next coming months. Let's not talk about the fact I'm only barely 18, younger than half of you here. Instead let's focus on how I can help YOU succeed.
BYU Police has a really cool program called Safe Walk- if it's dark outside and you don't want to get assaulted (yes, safest campus out there, crap still happens): simply call 801-422-2222 and they'll escort you wherever you need to go on campus. Let's not talk about the fact I've never used it myself.
BYU offers its students free counseling services- which I highly recommend. Remember, your health is more important than anything else. Let's not talk about how I had the biggest panic attack tonight- I'm an RA, therefore I am stable and never show my anxiety. Let's not talk about how self conscious I feel about my weight and size- you all look so beautiful the way you are.
This is how to get along with your roommates- let's not talk about how I'm the worst example of knowing how to openly communicate.
Now, I know it can be intimidating to be surrounded by RM's and such. Remember, college is a time to let yourself have fun! Let's not talk about how I shut down the first possible relationship possibility that happened here. But learn how too be clear when you set your boundaries. Let's not talk about how he may think I'm interested.
Let's not talk about how completely unqualified I am to hold authority over you guys. I went to training, played the fun little getting to know you games.
How about let's just not talk at all.
Welcome to the #1 ranked stone cold sober school for years now. Have fun- but not too much fun!

Thursday, August 11, 2016

I prefer the juvenile literature section.

I wonder if I'll ever be important enough for someone to write my biography.
If I am, I've got some stipulations.

It can't be boring. Nothing about my life is particularly exciting, but my readers don't need to know that.
Let's not bog it down with details, either. I'd rather out be written like a story. An engaging, relateable-character-filled narrative.
It better be written by someone who actually knows me- and knows me well. That way, it'll be accurate.
It shouldn't make me seem like a person I'm not, for better or for worse.
I'd like there to be humor. I'm not all that funny but things that happen to me could be looked at that way.
I hope there's romance. But I guess that's more of a life goal in general.
My friend's lives should be recorded as well (although, if I somehow become famous, guaranteed it's because they were first. My friends always raise me up in so many ways.)
It cannot skim over my faith. It cannot lessen the degree of gratitude I have for the church and it's teachings. I'm sorry, but it cannot be impartial. It has to show that I would have nothing, be nothing, without the gospel and without my Savior.
I hope the overall effect is that I'm not perfect- not even close- but that I'm doing my absolute best I can do.

I wonder if I'll ever be important enough for someone to write my biography.
I don't really want to write an autobiography.
But.... I think I still might.
Someday.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Turning 18

For my birthday,

I want to be six again.
I want to spend time with my friends.
I want to finally be taken seriously.
I want a boy to hug me for a long time, and tell me it's ok that I cry a lot and that doesn't make me weak, it's because I'm strong. And I want him to kiss me (even if it's just my cheek or forehead). And I want him to look me in the eye and tell me I'm beautiful. I want a boy to ask me on a date without me telling him he should. I want a boy to want to talk to me, even after the date is over. I want a boy to talk to talk to me because he wants to. I want a boy for my birthday.
I want Costco muffins. Blueberry and/or poppyseed.
I want to go swimming.
But before we can go swimming, I want to exercise and eat healthy so I won't feel ashamed to go swimming. So maybe I don't want to go swimming because I don't have time to work out and don't have the money to eat healthy.
I want my family. Especially Jason.
I want you.
I want to be silly and stay up late and eat candy and watch a movie and sing karaoke.
I want to sleep.
I want to double date with my best friend.
I want to dress up like a princess.
I want to wear sweats all day.
I want a puppy.
I want Krispy Kreme.
I want to be spontaneous.
I want a plan.
I can't get everything I want.
That's ok.
As long as I have you.
And Costco muffins.

Friday, July 1, 2016

YOLO is DEAD-O

You know those people that get to college and cry themselves to sleep every night because the adjustment is so big?
You know those people who text or call their mother, begging her to take them home because they just can't deal anymore?
You know those people that get distracted while writing blog posts about college by all the pictures on their walls, staring at them wistfully and wishing they could go back?
I SWORE I would never be that person.
I figured, yeah I have anxiety, but it's manageable. I've learned so many ways to cope.
I'm also very mature for my age. I've been through a lot and have come out way stronger because of it.
I DO NOT understand why I'm having such a hard time here.
I'm lonely, which I know 'everyone's lonely and noone has friends this fast' but that's crap. All my roommates have friends and I watch people make new friends every day in front of my eyes.
I know, 'You just need to join clubs, get yourself out there' but if it was that easy I'd have friends rn and I just... don't. I get along with my roommates but it's not like I can talk to them about... well, the things I blog about, I guess. I can't get together with them and hike the Y just because.
And a dating life?
yeah I wish.
nonexistent. completely absent.
There are plenty of cute guys here but they keep getting distracted by all the bodacious blondes with white teeth and already know their major, minor, and how many kids they want. They're not interested in the 17-year-old who wants nothing more than to fit in here.
My roommates invite people over every night (through morning... errrrrrrg). They all get along so well with their friends but you know what happened when I even said hi? Stares. Utter silence. Nothing.
I don't think I've ever cried this hard and this often in my life. I gave that up in second grade but apparently my sensitive side is coming back to haunt me.
I feel weak. I feel trapped. I feel numb.
My google searches have come up with the same suggestions for how to make friends... but none of them work if you're apparently not even a fun person to be around.
I love the school. I love the atmosphere. But I hate crying so much and I hate hiding in a corner of campus to stop getting laughed at for my age or just for being me. I hate that my real friends live a half hour away and I hate that I have to be an adult and worry about finances and groceries and inter/intrapersonal relationships and I hate that I'm not still in high school.
I wish people could get past my age, or my face, or my tears, or my shortcomings. I respect that it takes a lot of effort, and I don't ask much. At least... try to get to know me? Please?

Anyone?

Monday, May 30, 2016

Surreal

I know prayer is a real thing, because here I am. A high school graduate. One thing I love about prayer is that it is often answered through the actions of other people. Here are just a few examples:

Jake Rees was an answer to a prayer when he said that not everyone gets their answer as fast as some, and that's ok. He also helped me increase English&Reading sections of the ACT by a combined 16 points, raising my overall score enough to get into the college of my dreams.

Susan Hoyt was an answer to so many prayers throughout high school- I honestly couldn't have done it without her. Because of her, I always knew I had someone to turn to. I can't say how much her support has strengthened and shaped me.

Pam Beckstrand was an answer to a prayer when she taught me I could learn so much and have so much fun at the at the same time. She also taught me that people are fascinating. I hope she knows how much that class impacted me- so much so, that I may end up majoring in social sciences.

Craig Smith was an answer to the prayers of every kid who walked into his room, and I'm no exception. He was also able to empathize with me when no one else understood how I felt- not many people have spinal fusions and come right back to school. But he did. And he helped me understand calculus and my worth, all in a class period every other day.

Matthew Bell was an answer to my prayers when he recommended me, landing me my first real job. He believed in me and convinced others to do so as well. He was the first one to help me fall in love with physics, and I still love it today. He also made me punch him in the face in front of the class, wearing boxing gloves, to demonstrate Newton's law of action and reaction. It was good for my then-timid character.

Miss Amy Rosen's constant smile and positivity answered many prayers, and taught me patience and love. I'll use what I learned in her class for the rest of my life.

Jim Smith taught me how to work, really work, until an end result is reached. He taught me that it can be fun, but only if we work hard first. He taught me that the process is grueling and long and so, so worth it. He taught me that recognition and praise must be earned. He was an answer to my earnest prayer by giving me a chance to truly shine when I needed the opportunity most.

Lori Christensen was an answer to a prayer of loneliness. I learned that having a teacher for a friend actually proves to be quite valuable. I hope to one day become like her.

Tom Erikson taught me that physics is in everything around me- and that it matters. He was an answer to many prayers in hard times when I just didn't get it. When I was on the brink of giving up. He was there in his room, always willing to help.

Mari Felix was an answer to a prayer, and a second mother at the school. She taught me to LOVE literature- books I had never even considered looking into are now some of my favorites. She has a compassion and a love for each student seen in few other classrooms. She also wrote the kindest letter of recommendation I have ever read, and trust me, it made a huge difference.

Rhonda Bromley was an answer to many prayers and made possible so many dreams. It's so obvious that she truly loves each and every student at Lone Peak. From the first day of sophomore year, I felt special in her eyes. Every school, every student, needs a principal like her.

All the seminary teachers were answers to prayers, whether I had them as teachers personally or not. They are so helpful and inspiring and really in tune to the needs of each student.

Jolynn Wright was a huge answer to a prayer because she believed in me. She saw in me potential and an ability to represent my school with pride. She put up with all my questions and didn't give up on me. She's an incredible teacher and an incredible woman.

Allison Terry was an answer to countless prayers, offered with tears in my eyes. Nearly every announcement of a lost classmate was made while I was in her class. She showed so much compassion and care for me in some of the hardest months of my life. She got me through driver's ed(and to understand the enormity of this feat, you must know that driving gives me SO much anxiety. Like, panic attacks and working-with-a-therapist anxiety.) She has changed my life.

Derek Farr was an answer to a commonly offered prayer, titled 'please get me through this class that looks like it'll be horrifically boring'. And he did just that. Every day in financial lit was a new adventure. And I loved it.

Megan Calvin was an answer to a prayer because, to be completely honest, I've never been a huge fan of history classes in the past. She took my expectations and turned them into one of my favorite classes at school. She's engaging, refreshing, funny, and so kind. She also helped me get over perfectionism- here's to my first ever C on a test. It did me a lot of good, both short-term and in the long run.

Kyle Nelson was an answer to a prayer I didn't know I had given yet. I didn't know I missed writing. I didn't know I needed to vent on a blog and I certainly didn't know that I would want to. He gave me a chance to show people who I am without all the pretenses and first impressions. He helped me find out what the raw, real me is like. And, most of all, he helped me to like it.

There are SO MANY other teachers at Lone Peak, and I honestly think I could say something about each and every one of them. I offered so many prayers throughout my high school career, and I know that there's a living and loving God because of all the ordinary miracles I've seen in the halls of Lone Peak High School. So, thank you teachers, thank you administrators, thank you staff, thank you students. Thank you friends. I hope we'll see each other again soon.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Graduation

Years upon years of stress, tears, laughter, and nostalgia has brought me here. Graduation.
In elementary school, I would cry if I had to stay home sick- because I was worried I wouldn't make it into BYU if I missed too many days.
In junior high, I worried that I was invisible and tried to figure out where I fit in.
In high school.... high school was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.
I know the vast majority of people are so excited to graduate, to get out of here.
But to me- high school meant freedom. High school meant finally having real friends. High school meant seminary and so much growth. High school meant newfound confidence and really coming out of my shell. High school meant finding my passions, experiencing ups and downs, dating, being crazy just for fun.
High school meant learning how to cope.
I've lost friends to suicide, family members to drug abuse. I've spent months upon months recovering from both physical and mental ailments. I've learned more about my capabilities than I ever imagined and have overcome more than I ever wanted. But exactly as much as I've needed.
He knows me. He hears me. He lives and loves me.
He knows you. He hears you. He lives and loves you.
Moving to a new phase of life is won't be easy, but that's ok. I've been through enough to know that I can do hard things.
Here's to graduation.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Dear Homework:

I know we've been dating for a solid twelve years now... but I'm just going to give it to you straight. I've been cheating on you. No, I don't mean literally cheating...  I earned those scores all by myself... but I've been seeing someone else. My pillow, mostly. And blanket.
I love you, homework. I really do. You've helped me so much throughout the years. But you've always wanted prescience over everything else in my life; and pillow and blanket don't ask for much commitment. I know you're so much more than your scores but that's all other people see, Homework. And I'm not going to pretend to ignore your ongoing flirtation with Grades, either. You insist that she doesn't matter to you- well how come you are almost inseperable these days? What happened to the time when she didn't need you to survive?
The thing is... I just don't really care about you anymore. I know that's really harsh of me to say.  But it's the truth. Homework- I really just don't care. You're so nagging. So needy. I mean, I can have other friends too, right? Theatre and Dance? You guys used to get along so well. Now you think you're the only one who matters.
This is me breaking up with you. Yes, we can still be friends- I still technically need you to graduate- but I'm done worrying about you. I'm a senior now. About to graduate.
And... I have a disease. I don't want to hurt you, so you have to leave me before it gets too serious. I'm suffering from senioritis. I don't know how much longer ican hold on. I promised myself I would never have to deal with this but it's the denial that makes it all worse. It kills the best of us.
Homework, you've mostly been good to me. I love you. But you have to let go. I know you'll find some fresh, eager, naive little student who will be strong enough for you- it's just not me. I'm sorry if this hurts you. It hurts me too.
Goodbye- and I wish you the best of luck.
-Korra

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

The cast joke

That's all I feel I am these days. Look, Tiffany tripped and it was funny. Look, Tiffany faceplanted again. It was hilarious.
But if you tell a joke too many times, it's not funny anymore.
It's not like I trip on purpose, not like I enjoy being the most clumsy person alive. I'm sorry I sprained my ankle at a school dance. No, not dancing- walking. I'm sorry it never healed, and I'm sorry I sprained it again onstage the day before the spring musical opened. Yes, know it's not funny anymore. I know.

The one time I get a lead role, a chance to show that I deserve it- this happens. I misstep in the dance number, almost blacking out at the agony. I get myself offstage at the earliest convenient opportunity. I spend most of the next hour and a half crying offstage in pain and frustration because I know I've ruined everything. For myself and everyone around me. Except for those times I have solos- I limped on to sing those, trying not to pass out, ever trying to prove that I deserve it, that I'm worth it. In vain.

The joke's over, and I don't know how I'm going to make it through the rest of the show.
This is what happens when you have the nickname Biff.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Senior year in a nutshell

One guy told me I looked beautiful at prom
He wasn't my date

Next stop
Graduation
I mean, after the spring musical and the dance concert and AP tests and senior activities and tutoring and hopefully surviving and passing my classes and all that jazz

I napped for five hours yesterday
And still slept like a baby last night

I think I should wake up early tomorrow morning and actually look nice.
What? It's 7:15 already?
Well darn it. Leggings and a sweatshirt it is. Again.

I started crying when I realized how many friends I have to say goodbye to.

Decisions are hard.

I like it when my mom does my laundry.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Never have I ever

-been outside the country
-broken a normal bone (arm, leg, etc)
-had an older sister
-been in love
-ran away from home
- been tardy
-not cried at the end of Inside Out
-watched Lion King
-eaten sushi
-not been tired
-sluffed class
-dyed my hair
- accidentally laid in camel pee (oh wait, I've actually done that😂)

Friday, March 11, 2016

Sunrise, sunset

To the first grade crush:
I remember that we always played together at recess. We both scraped our elbows and knees a lot. It turned into a bit of a competition. Judging by the scars, I think I must have won.
To the second grade crush:
I remember when you found out I was moving you got me this big black teddy bear you stole from your sister. I don't know what happened to it.
To the third grade crush:
ah, Casper. Skipping third grade was actually quite fun together, don't you think?
To the fourth grade crush:
Your name is also the name of a state. I remember we played on the swings a lot. We played with the special needs class, which made me like you even more. We made up a game to see who could kick each other harder in the shins under the desk. I think we both lost. Also I was apparently a masochist.
To the fifth grade crush:
Ah the flirting that ensued. I really liked that you'd pretend to put your arm around me. Also, I liked that we held hands at that field trip during the movie. I didn't even remember that happened until just now.
To the sixth grade crush:
All I know is that you moved in and I liked you a whoooole lot. I heard people making fun of your name and I told them off. They gave me a funny look.
To the seventh grade crush:
We were set up by my best friend. Fun, awkward, nerdy, that's what we were. I guess you could say it was my first 'thing' because seventh grade plus relationships is like dividing by zero. I actually memorized Morse code for you. I don't remember it now.
To the eighth grade crush:
I see you in the halls every once in a while and you don't even say hi to me. Don't you remember that you used to walk me to class every day? Don't you remember that you gave me a huge hug in front of the science classroom door?
To the ninth grade crush:
Oh dear. This is when it started. And to be completely honest, it hasn't stopped. I sat in classes with you for years leading up to this moment without a second thought- and then BAM. One day, I got butterflies when I saw you. It doesn't help that you're a football player and I'm a nobody.
To the tenth grade crush:
Some guy told me you were gay. That made me really sad because I really liked you. You sat next to me in my drama class and when we watched Phantom, you sang along softly- oh, your voice. Then I found out you weren't gay. but you were a senior so I guess it was okay that you never noticed me. The ninth grade crush continued on.
To the eleventh grade crush:
We were dance partners, and that's exactly how it started. You liked a girl in Chamber choir and that's how I thought it would end, until summer started and all the sudden I was in my first relationship. It was all so new to me- kissing, holding hands, cuddling- that I didn't recognize the warning signs. Good thing the ninth grade crush continued on- neither guys actually asked me on a date, but at least one of them has opinions. And it's not the one who's on a mission now.
And finally-
To the senior year crush:
Oooooooh dear. This is a problem. The ninth grade crush continues on- I've realized that will probably still be a thing until I get married- but this other one is my issue. I'm a senior. Seventeen years old, wanting to date around but also partially wanting to be in a relationship just because hey, relationships are kinda fun. So when a 15-year-old comes along and sends my heart fluttering (AGAINST MY WILL, MIGHT I ADD), I am stuck. He won't be able to date until I'm in college. No. Bueno. NO BUENO. Eugh, that's so weird. But everything about him makes me wish he could have been born just a year or two later. I want to become as close of friends as possible, but seeing as I'm leaving in two short months, it's not fair to him that I feel this way. And I don't know what to do.
Anyways. ninth grade crush? you win the award for the longest-lasting. Basically you haven't yet done anything to thwart my affections towards you. Which is funny, because we have maybe spoken one word to each other in the last two years. But hi. How are you. I like you. You're really good at football and DAAAANG smart. Thanks for being the one constant in my life. ;)

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Just... thanks.

I need people in my life like Em Pew. Like Kayla Edgel, like Andrew Rice. Like Emily Paulson, like Russell Davis, like Kelsea Kocherhans, like Clara Richardson,  Bailey Frampton, Daxton Glover, Celeste VanValkenburg, Harrison Fuller, Karen MacKay, Amy Miller, Miriam Edwards, Kimble Mahler, Stephen Brailsford,  Matthew Peterson,  Andralee Allen, Hailey Bennett. Jason Gibbons.  Mom. Dad.
I often forget that no matter where I am, I have someone I can call when I'm struggling. Someone who will see my hands shaking and quickened breathing, and envelop me in their arms. Someone who takes me by the shoulders in the midst of a panic attack, don't freak out when I slap them on accident (sorry, Andrew) and tell me I'm safe. That I'm not alone. I have so many someone's I can turn to in every circumstance, through thick and thin. Someone's I can support and comfort as well, who trusts me with their fears and insecurities. I truly hope they know how much I love and appreciate them.
Sometimes I feel invisible. Ignored. Lonely. This occurs because anxiety tells me no one loves me- because who would. Because someone who doesn't have a body and who wants everyone to be as miserable as he is tries every tactic possible to convince me that people hate me, that I'm worthless.
And when I finally open my eyes, I see you. I see the people supporting me from every side, even though many are struggling to stand themselves. I don't thank you as much as I should. I don't express to you what it means to me nearly enough. I am literally alive today because of friends, whom I consider family, like you.
From the bottom of my heart, through every cell and molecule and atom in my body, thank you. And I love you more than it's possible to describe. Please, don't forget that. Thank you for your hope. For your smiles. For everything.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Computer Language

Ones and Zeros, Zeros and Ones.

She's a One.
Oh, is she a One.
Surrounded by all her skinny One friends and all her amazing One guys.
Us Zeros hear what the Ones do for fun... the day after.
That fancy dinner party? No, it was nothing.
Just a couple of Ones hanging out.
Totally casual, in an extra fancy-bring-a-date-and-dress-up kind of way.
Nah, I don't care.
Yes, continue to talk about how fun it was and who's invited to the next one.
Zeros don't have ears.
Zeros don't have hearts.
Zeros are just big fat black holes.
Zeros are literally nothing.
Ones, they get together and equal themselves.
While Zeros, us lonely Zeros better stay away because all we're ever good at is
ruining things.
negating things.
dragging Ones down to my level.

but Ones and Zeros are just Ones and Zeros, right?
Just two numbers.
That's all.

that's all.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

um, wut

I always wanted to go into sports medicine. No, before that I wanted to be a nurse. And then after that I was like 'hmmm, maybe sports psychology?' But that would mean I'd have to get a doctorate. no thanks. But that has still been my plan. For years.
'What do you want to go into?'
"Sports psychology."
until.
Until Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
I'm a narrator.
One of six, actually.
Yeah, I know, right?
Anyways, we've been working with the children's choir.
and
oh
my
gosh.
I love working with kids.
I don't even know what it is.
I've been in Peer Tutor for six years now and it's very similar.
I just love teaching. Tutoring.
The more I think about it, the more I love it.
Teaching fourth graders dance or music or theatre?
Bliss.
pure bliss.
so now I have no flipping idea what I'm doing in the future.
eh whatever.
I'll figure it out.

Friday, February 26, 2016

I dislike the crowded hallway

Pain demands to be felt. Experienced. Tasted. Relished. Hated. It demands all attention.
I'm generally a pretty happy person... I mean, if anything, I'm optimistic. Which means even when I'm not happy, I can turn it around pretty fast.  I'm kind and a good listener. Not too bossy, but not to quiet either. I stand up for myself when I need to.
So why do I seem to push away all those I love, those I want to get to know?
Why am I still a face to look past in the hall instead of at?
Why do I have to hear all the details about these awesome dates and parties and spontaneous hang outs after the fact? (HUGE PET PEEVE, BTW... MIGHT AS WELL SEND ME AN INVITATION SAYING DON'T COME CAUSE YOU'RE NOT INVITED SO I AT LEAST KNOW WHERE WE STAND)
Why do I attract people who remind me more of brothers than significant others,
But seem attracted to only those who see me as a little girl (if they see me at all)?
Why are the chemicals in my brain so set on me being either miserable, anxious, or exhausted?
This sounds and feels so childish...
But why don't people want to be my friend.
Yes, I know I have friends.
But how many have called me in tears, just needing to talk? Because I'm the one they need to talk to to feel better?
How many actually notice when I'm sitting alone in class, or on the verge of tears in the hall, and just give me a hug and talk to me?
How many invite me to things or even wonder where I am when surrounded by all OUR best friends without me?
I know. Me, me, me. I I I. So selfish.  I'm sorry guys. It's been that kind of decade.

Friday, February 19, 2016

Why hello, nice to meet you Mr. Future. I'm Tiffany.

I made it into BYU.
I'M GOING TO BYU.
I don't know how to feel.
I've wanted this for my entire life.
But the future is staring me in the face.
It's scary.
But I did it.
I made it into the school of my dreams.
BYU. Here I come.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf.
My husband will have to learn sign language, just in case.
I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf.
I always need help because I can't even hear my cues to go onstage.
I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf.
My kids could possibly probably end up the same as me.
I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf. I'm going deaf.
And I'm scared. 

Saturday, February 13, 2016

I never write about love.

I don't have "experience". I have never truly loved someone, outside my family and my best friends. Never romantic love. Which is kinda sad, but also from the way everyone talks about it, it sounds pretty horrible. Sorry to say.
I've never had my heart broken.
I almost wish I had though.
My one experience with a relationship was equal to me giving everything.
EVERYTHING.
And getting next to nothing in return.
"What do you want to do?" -me
"I don't care." -him
"Whatever you want" -him
"idk" -him.
But the quintessential moment, the first kiss given under a waterfall, wasn't that worth it?
Well, yes. Because now I have the story.
But did we have chemistry?
Did I spend all night on the phone with him, talking about the meaning of life?
Did he surprise me with cute things?
Did all my dreams come true?
no.
I mean, come on. We dated for like a month.
and it seems like a whole lot of relationships end up the same way for a lot of people.

I have so much love and trust to give, but I've learned that I tend to overcompensate. I often feel like I'm not giving enough, ever, even when I'm giving way to much for a lost cause.
And that's not okay.
So I kinda gave up. No, not gave up, I still want to date around and experience everything I can
but I've learned that if it's not working
it doesn't have to be my fault
and I most definitely don't have to fix it.
For the first time in a while,
I don't feel like I HAVE to have a crush on someone.
I can just... be.

Because I know someday in the future,
I'll meet someone that will trip when he sees me for the first time (because honestly that's just too cute)
And he'll walk right up to me
and say 'You and me, we're watching *insert movie title here* at *insert time here*. And yes, I am asking you on a date.'
And all I'll have to do is nod, probably blush, and say 'okay.'
Someone who I can TALK to.
About everything.
Someone who will feel like he can TALK to me.
Someone who will take one look at me and pull me into a bear hug, and will stay there until after my tears subside.
Someone who is adorable with little kids
and who treats his own mother like a queen (and that's how I'll know he'll treat me like one too).
Someone who knows he doesn't understand what it's like to have anxiety but
does know to stay by my side and hold me until the attack ends. And wants to.
Someone who is weird, like me, but not weirder than me (That's a delicate balance, my friends- I'm already technically weird enough for all of us.)
Someone who scratches my back and plays with my hair, and then who gives up after a half hour and says 'OKAY IT'S MY TURN!'
Someone who looks at me when I walk in the room with an awed expression, and tells me I'm beautiful.
Someone who will get down on one knee and pour out his heart and promise to love me for eternity.
It'll come, someday.

And because I know it's coming, I'm okay with celebrating Single's Awareness day for now.

I see you! (Peekaboo?)

I was at the school last night at ten pm. Woot drama. Anyways, being in the hall, completely empty hall, it was really cool. Always is. It has a magic to it. A mystery. Being the only one in the darkened hallway made me feel important somehow. Which is funny because you'd think it would feel lonely. No. I feel lonely when the halls are packed with people. This school has so. Many. People. I have to put on my happy face, because people like happy people. But when it was just me... I could smile for real. My goofy smile. I literally twirled down the hall in bare feet and leggings because why not. The point?
I know how easy it is to feel like no one cares, like you have to put on a face. I know how much it hurts to see those people who walk down the hall holding hands, even as much as it makes me snicker on the outside. I know the feeling of searching the crowd before school and the feeling of seeing people laugh so naturally. The feeling when people come up to the person right next to you, smiling, hugging.
But I also know how many people do know those feelings too.
In a school as big as this one, it's pretty easy to be lost. But there are people to go to, people to meet, who know something close to how you feel. People who will look at you and smile and see YOU, not your pen name, not your problems, YOU.
But you can only find them if you keep your eyes open. If you keep your chin up. If you continue to look forward.
I hope to be the kind of person people feel like they can approach with a problem, call in the middle of the night to talk to.
Because when I look at you, I don't see struggleswithanxiety or kissedtenguysbeforeshewassixteen or getsbulliedeveryday. I see you.
I'm going to stop before this gets cheesy.
Anyways, I love you guys.
Call me. If you want.
And if you ever get the chance,
Dance in the empty hallways of the school. It's worth it.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Re-introducing me

I had plastic surgery when I was 6
Because my ears used to flop like a Cocker Spaniel's.
But I rarely wear any makeup.
I get a little more deaf every day
But I am a very good listener if you give me the chance to be.

I care deeply. Too deeply.
And that's only a bad thing every once in a while.
I used to be stronger than all the boys in my class- I was the champion at arm wrestling.
My arms aren't very strong anymore, and I don't have a six pack of abs.
But I'm still very strong inside. I don't always see it but I am. I know that now.

I don't swear or rebel or complain about my parents
But believe me, I know what the 'real world' is like
And I  honestly don't care if you do those things, I'll love you anyways- if only from a distance.

I liked the Hope Assembly- except for the fact that we keep trying to take mental illness out of suicide in an effort to feel like we have some control over it. Suicide is a horrible thing, and it happens way too often. But depression isn't something that can be fixed by talking to popular kids in the halls. Our school isn't only unified or successful if we don't lose anyone to this horrible illness. Often the people who seem the happiest are the ones struggling the most. I should know.

I wish I could go on more dates,
And I wish I didn't have to be the one to ask people on dates,
And I hate that people seem to think dates always have to cost money,
And let's be honest, I think way too much about dating in general.
But hey, college is coming up
And who knows what will happen.
Real talk, I'm terrified of RM's.
But I can tell my future will be a good one. Gotta keep up the hope.

But there you go.
Introduction number two.
Welcome, new students, new readers, old readers. All.
Welcome to Paris.
I'm Korra.
And I'm also Tiffany.
Truly a pleasure.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Good morning!

And if I don't see you... good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

It's that kind of day...

There are days when I'm normal. Happy, even. I have such a blessed life and person after person says hello in the hall. I feel pretty. I feel successful. I feel content.
And then.
And then I have days like today.
Outwardly, it's just like any other day.
I go to school, I finish my homework, I walk home. I come back for rehearsal. People say hello...
Maybe a little less than usual.
A silly jab makes my heart ache, even when the same thing didn't yesterday.
I see couple after couple in the halls, holding hands in the hall.... And instead of giggling at them, I find myself jealous. Jealous of the fact they have someone to talk to. Someone who will reassure them of their worth.
I can't concentrate on my homework, I waste time trying to get my mind off things.... but I don't even know what I'm trying to get my mind off of.
I feel ugly and worthless, often on days I should feel most beautiful.
I give up trying to weakly smile. I give up trying to act like everything is okay.
I walk home, stomach sinking to the ground, tears filling my eyes. I call every number on my contact list- everyone is busy and can't come over or too busy to even answer the phone. I sit alone on my bed. I don't even know what to do. My eyes find my dad's bag of  Brazil nuts, and imagine my throat swelling and breathing slowing as I ' forget' where I put my Epi Pen. I imagine the screams and tears and letters and announcements the next morning. And immediately try to push away all of those thoughts. I could never. I would never.
The thoughts turn to numbness, which is infinitely worse.
I escape my room and take the medication that's supposed to stop this from happening. I slowly return to my room.
I find a text on my phone. Em Pew is coming over. She comes through the door and hugs me without a word. She comforts me when I am at my lowest point.
When my shaking has ceased and my smile is no longer forced, we sing karaoke at the top of our lungs  until the world ends- and let me be the first to say we sound SO GOOD. When she leaves, I have all but forgotten the numbness, the pain, the hopelessness, the fear.
It's been a pretty normal day, after all.
Thank you, Em. For everything. You truly have changed me for good.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Cents

How does it make sense
That it takes me five minutes to get ready in the morning
But it takes an hour to get ready for bed at night

How does it make sense
That as we get older and our minds and lives slow down
That time continues to speed up

How does it make sense
That I can know so completely how much you don't feel for me
And yet
I can't seem to suppress the feelings I have for you?

The world doesn't make sense, I guess. Maybe  if I figure it out, I can make sense of how I feel about you. Maybe if I figure it out, you will too.

I don't know if that would be a good thing.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

Real talk from the Paris support group

Hi, my name is Tiffany
You can call me Korra
and I've had this addiction now for my whole life.
It started with the small stuff, you know... gateway arts
like listening to music, coloring books
but then it got worse...
I started writing short stories and poetry, dancing
It became a regular thing to turn to
to take the edge off things, to make life easier
I didn't start the hard stuff until about a year ago
I... I started a blog.
This addiction has gotten to the point that
I don't even know how to function without it.
It is my life now.
And being expected to just go cold turkey after Monday-
when you go to Paris, you won't want to leave
And I'm going to linger a little longer.

Because Paris has taught me that I'm more than just Korra.
I'm Korra. I'm freaking Korra.
Korra, who eats ice cream while watching Biggest Loser.
Korra, whose dad is a bishop who rides a huge motorcycle to work every day
Korra, whose dream is to be kissed in the rain
because of the feel of the rain, the smell of the rain, the sound of the rain, the magic of the rain
Korra, who runs up the stairs, heart racing, to beat the dark to the top
Korra, who's the English Sterling Scholar, and has no idea how the heck that happened
Korra, whose anxiety can sometimes be overwhelming
but
Korra, whose anxiety can often be remedied by a long hug

Korra, who recently went on a date with a football player (woot! Sheep no more!)
Korra, who will miss Cassius Clay, Katchican, Mountain Nomad, Tosh, Peepleizdum, Last of the Mohicans, Steven O Jordan, and James Nemo
and Korra who wouldn't mind going on a date with any or all of them

and Korra, freaking Korra, who doesn't care if she's addicted to art
because she's not leaving Paris
anytime soon.

Neither am I.

Friday, January 8, 2016

when you're underwater, you shouldn't breathe.

Do you ever forget to breathe?
I do.
I forgot to breathe when you looked at me.
I forgot to breathe on that last pushup before the date.
I forgot to breathe when I took that test
I forgot to breathe before singing that high note
I forgot to breathe when he leaned closer
I forgot to breathe before looking in the mirror
I forgot to breathe as I jumped into the water
I forgot to breathe when you told me your secret
I forgot to breathe when I choked on my tears
I forgot to breathe when I read that text in the middle of the night
And I couldn't figure out how to breathe again for a long time.
I forgot to breathe at school the day after.
I forgot to breathe when they read the letter.
I forgot to breathe when they talked about how something had to be done
When an illness every bit as real as lung cancer
makes people wish they could forget to breathe
and somehow it's the community's fault...
I forget to breathe every time I see my phone light up my dark bedroom
I forget to breathe when I hear others tell me secrets
just like yours
I forget to breathe when I think about you.
And I wish...
I wish you were still breathing.