Tough Growing Up

If someone knew the entire situation with this ex, with the actions and words and meet ups, they’d say it had been vastly unhealthy, wrong even. And like a lot of people coming out of a relationship, I’d tell them they were damn wrong, that they didn’t know any better, that they’d never known love. 

The only reason I decided to write today is because I dreamt of him last night. We had met when I was 13, finishing out my last year of middle school. We played the same computer game, RuneScape. I loved that damn game, had been playing it for two years already. I wasn’t a strong level, he was way better than me, his game skill levels were really high. We started chatting and found we had a lot in common. I told tall tales, stupid stories that no one in their right mind would ever believe, but he went along with every single one of them. I lied about so many things, made up situations just to get another opportunity to talk to him. We called one another sometimes, and texted. We played the game, we e-mailed one another.

I was 14 when I asked him out, it was on his birthday. He said yes!! I was ecstatic. It was amazing, I was on Cloud Nine. I floated on his “yes I’d love to be your boyfriend” for months. It made things better, made things cotton-candy colored and happy and everything had fairy lights in my eyes. Of course like any teen, I had my bad days, I had days where I’d cry to him and be so angry at life, and he understood, he’d been there, he knew the feelings too. Isn’t it wonderful to be with someone, to have someone to talk to, who knows exactly what you’re going through? His sage advice was something I’d crave, he knew so much more than I could ever considered a person knowing. Time passed, soon I was in my junior/senior year of HS, I can’t remember which. He stopped by my town to visit me, this was the first time we had met in person. I was so nervous, terrified really. He tried to kiss me, but I was so scared, I pulled away. In retrospect, I wish I had kissed him, maybe more. 

He told me he was proud of me when I graduated HS. He was going through his own tough times at home, but still made me feel like an awesome person, an accomplished person. I had plans to go to college, I was doing better emotionally with anxiety and depression. Things were maybe doing okay. He still wasn’t wanting to move here though, didn’t want to move into a place with me. Thing are complicated at home, he said. You don’t get it, he said. But I thought I did, I thought he just didn’t like me as much as I liked him. I thought maybe I had imagined the connection, maybe I was making a lot out of nothing. I was emotional about it, but I let it go. Maybe he needed time too, and maybe once things calmed down at home, he’d be ready to move here with me. I couldn’t move all the way to Georgia!, I had family here! I was much more family oriented than he was at the time, it felt and seemed like that anyway. As college approached, our relationship dynamics were changing on the daily, but in a good way. 

He came to visit again when I was in college. Aside from the visit when I was in HS, our relationship was largely long-distance, with Yahoo! IMing, e-mails, texts, calls, Skype chats, and playing computer games together. We didn’t know the luxury of holding one another’s hands, hugs, cuddling on the couch. We didn’t know the pain of watching one or the other walk away after a fight, a disagreement, a fallout. We just knew the one would log off, or send an extra sad face, smiley face. Long-distance computer-based relationships were a new thing I felt, very impersonal. I had already expressed a desire to move in with him, to be together, to start a family. But that wasn’t going to be the case, and things were going to change quickly. 

Mostly everyone has something about themselves they aren’t pleased with - their hair, their big ears, their crooked teeth, height, smelly feet. There is something about ourselves where we always find something that we can’t stand. I personally, anyway, have not ever met anyone 100% happy with everything about themselves. 

I feel a lot of girls start feeling insecure about themselves very early on, late elementary to early middle school years (in the US, anyway) and it perpetuates into our teen and young adult years. It can be simple like bad teeth, acne, frizzy hair - things you can likely fix with braces, creams, and anti-frizz spray. But there are things you can’t change - if you don’t like how you have a very freckled face, your big feet, a deep voice. I started noticing my deficits in about 5th grade or so - I wasn’t exactly hitting puberty like the other girls were, and I was embarrassed by it. Soon after, I became aware of my crooked front teeth (braces weren’t a financial option in my family), my big forehead, my one droopy eyelid. I really didn’t like how I looked, I felt very gross in my own body. I hid my tiny, flat frame in big baggy clothes, oversized school sweaters, kept my hair long and with bangs. I didn’t smile a lot at school, I tried to be very quiet. Going into high school, some of these things were *somewhat* remedied, but the majority of them I still struggle with. 

As a woman in her mid-20s, I can still say that I really, really dislike my body. I’ve got curves now, but now I feel I have too much, and I can’t seem to shed the weight. So I continue to hide my body in even bigger, oversized clothing. I don’t wear tanktops because I hate my arms (and one of them has a large scar from an accident years ago). I won’t wear dresses (though I think I’d be far more comfortable in them since I hate the heat) and I don’t do skirts, either. I’ve had this picture in my head for years and years and years, of the girl/woman I should look like, but I don’t, and can’t seem to. These images have made me feel so insecure, and I can’t seem to get past them. Sometimes I wake up in the morning thinking “I’m going to wear this top today, it looks so good on me!,” and then I’m walking the halls at work feeling so exposed, so open to the world to see me and see all that I’m not and too much of what I am. 

I didn’t have any boyfriends in middle school. I liked a few guys, sure, but these were the same guys that had seen me as a clumsy 10yr old who thought she had shorts on under her sweats and instead didn’t, so everyone saw her underwear when she went to take off the pants and only wear the shorts for gym class. So at 12-13, when I liked my classmates, they still had that lovely image of me in their minds. Needless to say, I didn’t date. 

When I got to high school, I had a better chance. Unfortunately, I was so nervous in starting at a new school *again* in life, that I wasn’t really focused on how cute the guy sitting next to me in Earth Science lab was. I honestly don’t even know if it was a guy, or who sat next to me in any class. At any rate....

I was a long-time member of the Grange, of which I will explain in another post at some other time if you are unfamiliar with it and I haven’t explained it since. In short, the Grange is a community-based organization, nationwide, that promotes leadership, agricultural and rural values, organizes community service events, and some of their buildings provide space for other local organizations to use for their own uses. 

One of our annual events was a Halloween event - the year I was 14, we did a Halloween carnival. I was dressed as a hippie, complete with the goofy pants and funny shoes and a headband. A local family heard about our event at their school and brought all their kids. Our turnout was something like 30 kids that year, which was pretty big for us. Some guy came in a Scream costume, and it was pretty creepy to me. When he took off the mask though, ohmygod, I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest right then and there. He was adorable. He had bright blue eyes, short brown hair that had little curls, and he was kinda tall - just all around awesome. I took him to the second floor of our building, and no, I didn’t kiss him. I did the Soulja Boy dance. If you don’t know what that is, look it up, its too embarrassing to describe. Anyway, he laughed and told me I was adorable. I was adorable!! I was on Cloud Nine when he said that. We exchanged phone numbers so we could keep texting and calling one another. 

As a kid, holidays were BIG in our house. Every major holiday was something, some more minor holidays were thrown in there too - New Year's Eve was staying up late playing board games and snacks, with New Year's Day going to church and then having a big lavish dinner all together. Valentine's Day was little Valentine's from mom and dad, St. Patrick's Day was corned beef and veggies (I love corned beef!) Easter is a major Christian holiday, so that was church, egg hunt, baskets, dinner. 4th of July, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day? Fireworks, dinners, pool days (well, no pool for Veteran's Day, as we closed the pool in October). Halloween, of course, was and still is, my favorite. Dressing up, pizza or spaghetti dinner, trick-or-treating!! And Thanksgiving was a huge feast all day, tons of games, hanging out with friends, going outside if it was nice. Christmas was another church holiday, with new dresses, presents, treats, dinner.

Anyway!! Holidays were fanfare for us, and we loved them. As my oldest sister started having kids, we started passing on traditions to her to do with her kids, and some of them were tweaked to their liking. When we had our fire in 2017 and had to leave the house, we mostly split up (with one of my other sisters having moved out years earlier and her and her husband and baby lived a few blocks away) and our traditions fell by the wayside. We still try to do the big holidays together - Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But we do a lot of modifications for our own 3 little families - I do Easter baskets for my mom and sister, I get them Valentine's cards, Christmas stockings. My 2nd oldest sister hosts us, as she has the biggest house and biggest yard to do so.

So though this is not in numerical order, I’m going to first introduce you to ex #3, of whom I’ll probably refer to as “Ex #3,” or “my French boyfriend.” If you know me, you’ll instantly know who this is. If you don’t, this is as much as you’ll ever know. 

We met in an online depression chat room. I was a moderator, he was a frequent user. We chatted for a while, we would PM one another out of main chat. I first saw him on a web-based video client where a lot of us from the chat would use video and voice to connect as well as the chat room. I fell in love pretty slowly at first, but then it just happened. I felt it very strongly, I was very attracted to how he looked, how he talked, the sound of his voice and laughter, his mannerisms. He always showed his emotions on his face, very powerfully so sometimes. It was important to me that we had transparency, and there it was. I first asked him out and was declined, I think he didn’t feel the same at first, nor did he want a long-distance relationship - he literally lives in France, and I’m on the east coast of the US. A few weeks later, he asked me out, and I said yes. Now those of you who have been in or are in a LDR know that is can be very difficult, very stressful - no matter if the distance is 100 miles or an entire ocean/country away. Not seeing your partner, holding their hand, eating popcorn, going on walks together - that takes away a lot of the relationship. But in turn you gain that intellectual intimacy, that closeness you only get from talking for hours and hours on end. 

We were only dating for a few short months when I convinced my mom to let him come visit for the month of Christmas into January. He got his passport, the money, his ticket, and flew here. I was so ecstatic to finally meet him, to be in his arms, I almost knocked him over. We had lasagna for dinner - it was a really good lasagna, he ate like three plates of it. The next few weeks were a whirlwind of emotions and things to do together. We started fighting a lot though, and I felt he was all over me all the time, and not in the way I wanted him to be. I went to my mom and said “I don’t think I want him to stay. We aren’t getting along. How can I talk to him about this?” She made up some story of how he should go home early, that he couldn’t stay. It really broke both of our hearts. I never knew saying goodbye to someone could hurt that bad, but it was devastating. I can’t remember what I did two days ago, but I can tell you that that was pretty much one of the worst evenings of my life. 

We continued to connect online between the chat room, Skype, and FB messenger. We would leave our computers on overnight so we could “sleep” together, and see one another once we were awake. We sent photos and videos to each other to try and stay in contact as much as possible. I regret sending him home early, I wonder now if we had worked through some of those problems I felt I had with him, would he now be living here with me in the US? Would we have a place together? Or would we have naturally fallen away from one another like we have now, and then he is stranded in a country where he has no family? I can’t be sure what the answer is, because I only know what’s happened so far between us. I miss those weeks we spent together, I think of them often - the good and the bad. 

Having an ex that is still your friend can be challenging in and of itself. We still have that intimacy to a point, and definitely the communication and transparency is even better now than when we were dating. But hearing him talk about his newest relationships, his ups and downs, his triumphs and fails - I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like if I was a closer part of his life, how I’d be able to support him more, have a better bond. I just have a lot of confusion over this relationship, though not as much as Ex #2 - that one is probably the most long-winded story of the three. 

I think the first time I really noticed some anxiety in life was when I was 11 years old sitting in the nurse’s office during gym class. I had a stomachache, and was sitting out until end of class because I didn’t want to run around. I was doodling a boy’s name in my notebook, some boy I met online in a chat room or something. The secretary (who also moonlighted as the nurse sometimes when they were out) clicked her tongue at me and told me I was too young for that nonsense. I was mortified, and terrified she would tell my parents I was thinking of boys. From then on whenever my mom or dad asked me about the boys in my class for any reason at all, I became very anxious that they knew, and were trying to make me come out with the information that I liked someone I didn’t really even know. 

In high school, I had developed more anxiety and depression in general. I was down, I was nervous about classes, I hated how I looked in the skirts (I hadn’t been able to buy the dress khakis yet - uniforms.) Was my hair too plain, were my bangs weird, did my glasses make me look nerdy? Was this generalized teenage angst at being in a world where I didn’t know what was going on, or was it actual anxiety starting to show through? It was vastly seen as angst and teenage drama I’d work through, until one day I went to my counselor and told him “Sometimes I think of killing myself. I’m feeling really sad today, and I thought about it this morning.” Soon, my mom came, and I had to go to the local psychiatric center to be evaluated. I realized really fast that if I actually told them how I was feeling, I’d be left here, and then how the HELL could I go back to that small ass high school where everyone would know I was hospitalized for being crazy? I lied through my damn teeth and said I was feeling better, “I think I was just scared of a test I had to take this morning so I was feeling bad.” I went home. 

I did counseling in college, several times per semester. I talked to my doctor. I saw a student counselor via another local college’s psychology program - their undergraduate students would case study people as internship type work. They learned, I got help. All these different places helped, but nothing was working. 

How does one define poverty? I think a lot of people think of that and think of poor communities with dirty housing and crappy cars, rotten kids running their mouths. Some others consider third world countries, with no roofs over heads, no clean water, no medical access. Poverty is both, and more. It’s a really broad term that encases a lot of situations and problems. I never thought I was poor growing up, not really, but looking back now, my family did live in poverty to a degree. 

We didn’t have big fancy cars, we didn’t have a new house (though it was a MASSIVE house compared to others in the neighborhood) and we didn’t go to Disney every summer. We had a nice inground pool in the backyard, my dad owned his own business, and we didn’t really want for much. So no, I never thought I was poor. But looking back on what we didn’t have, versus what we did, I realize we were in a poor bracket. We went on family vacations for a week every summer up until my dad started getting sick and couldn’t drive/sit for that long. But it wasn’t to a massive theme park or anything, it was usually Wildwood, NJ, or Mystic, CT. We didn’t have game systems, or fancy cell phones. We lost power a few times because dad couldn’t pay the bill on time. I learned one summer in my teens how to live without air conditioning - it was horrible, not to mention I had a loft bed, so I was right under the ceiling, and it was HOT. Thankfully we had a gas stove/oven, and it was summer so we could grill. But we had to boil water to take showers/baths. 

When I got to college, I couldn’t ask my parents to be on a loan with me, because they didn’t have the credit for it. They didn’t have any money to help me, so I took out a ton of loans and started working my second year - just a small part time job at a retail outlet. I had no assistance in buying my books, which every semester they seemed to be more and more expensive. Yet I still didn’t really consider us poor or impoverished, just going through a tough time. 

I did several extracurricular things between middle school and high school, all of which I enjoyed thoroughly. In eighth grade, I participated in instrument lessons for our school “band”. I picked the alto saxophone, not knowing I’d not be able to pursue it for the next several years, but I’d never lose the love for it. The other players were mostly kids in the upper elementary, and a couple sixth graders. I practiced as much as I could at home, it was the coolest thing to me to play an instrument - my older sister had been playing flute since she was in fourth grade, but my school had only just begun offering lessons. I excelled from what the music teacher expected, and gave me a solo at our spring concert - I was so damn proud of myself. 

In high school, we didn’t have band or music classes, which I missed a lot. I did join the bowling team though for all four years, soccer for the one year it was offered while I was in tenth grade, and did track and field in my junior and senior years. I liked all my sports, bowling the most. It was a sport my mom and dad had done, they had been in leagues in earlier years. I got tips and tricks from them both, and while I could never seem to break a 122 average, I did bowl a 200 game once (it was actually during practice, but hey, it still happened!) and I was THRILLED. I will never forget how many strikes I kept getting, it was exhilarating. Soccer was a one-off thing they offered, but I went out and bought myself cleats and shin guards just the same - I loved playing with my friends. Track and field - I did the “field” aspect, because I suck at running. I threw discus and shot put - if you don’t know, discus is... a disc, and shot put is a big heavy metal ball. I sucked at both, but I loved it just the same. My coach did coerce me once into doing a triple jump since our person backed out, but he never asked me again - pretty sure I didn’t place us very well. 

My senior year, we had a choir teacher come after school and offer lessons. Few of us joined, it was maybe a group of eight girls? We did a couple small concerts, we loved rehearsing at the end of the day together. In the spring, we began rehearsing for a musical called “Little Mary Sunshine,” and that was really the most fun thing I had done in high school I think. I played Chief Brown Bear, and it was just so much fun. Those two nights were terrifying on stage, looking out to so many faces, but I’d do it again if I could. I have always liked performing in some way before people, and this was my niche. When I visited next year as an alum, the choir was almost three times the size it was the year before, and was almost equal parts boys and girls - I was really happy to see that. 

When I was in fourth grade, my dad got sick for the first time. He was having a lot of problems, headaches, acting funny, balance problems. When he went to the doctor, they discovered he has some big tumors on his brain - thankfully they were benign, but they still posed a large problem - they weren't showing signs of stopping growth, therefore could soon takeover more brain tissue and create further problems. The neurologist did what made sense - scheduled a surgery to remove the tumors. This put my dad into the hospital for a couple weeks, maybe more? I just remember it felt like forever.

Because dad was in the hospital, we had no way to get to church. Some nice parishoner friends of my dad's offered to drive me and my two sisters weekly to Mass. I hated it. I had anxiety and often needed to use the bathroom if not to use it, but to get away and breathe it out. I didn't at the time realize that's what I was doing, but now in later years I see it. I have been a little ball of anxiety my entire life.

One day at school, my mom called and told them to tell me to pack up, we were leaving early to go visit my dad in the hospital. I was so excited, I ran into the classroom during indoor recess and yelled "I'm going to go see my dad!!!" Everyone cheered, and I felt so happy and supported in that moment, my friends and classmates and teachers really cared about me and my family. That meant a lot to me.

When my dad finally came home, he still needed a lot of rest and extra help with things, and he had big bandages on his head, some of his hair shaved off too. I was nervous from then on in life that at any time, something would happen, and I'd lose my dad, just like that. I was so scared whenever he had to go to the doctor, because maybe he wouldn't come home. I got lucky, all this happened in 2004 and my dad didn't pass until late 2017.

From kindergarten to third grade, I attended a local public school, and from the little I do remember about it, I liked it a lot. I had friends, and school was fun. I remember field days with freeze pops after, Jump Rope for Heart jump-a-thons, and field trips! The field trip I remember the most is the last one I had while in a public school, we went to a program called Journey Through the Body. For those of you who don’t know, it pretty much sounds like what it says - there are giant models/blow up walk through things of different parts of the body. It’s sponsored by a local hospital to help school children increase knowledge and understanding about the body and ways to keep it healthy. Anyway, my dad chaperoned this one, and I don’t remember much about the trip itself. What I do remember is being pressured to touch a gelatin version of a brain, or maybe it was a cow brain?? I can’t remember the exact thing, but it was GROSS. Slimy, cold, ridges. Horrible, horrible idea. I guess it bothered me the remainder of the trip, because when we got back on the bus to go to school, I looked at my dad and said “I’m going to throw up.” He quickly emptied the plastic bag that had been holding all my free stuff, and I puked. A lot. When we got back to the school, my teacher made me stay back from lunch (in retrospect, thank you) and told me I had to go home. I was not pleased. 

I didn’t always conform to the concept of having peers as friends. Often my friends were adults, be it teachers or neighbors on the block. One of my earliest friends was Kathy, a woman who lived at the end of our street just before going down the hill. The story evidently goes that I ran from my mom down the block (little kids are fast, faster than you think) and down to where Kathy was gardening. She saw my mom chasing after me and started talking to me. From then on, we were friends. Mom would take me down to visit her, and once I was old enough to be trusted, I’d walk down the street to Kathy’s house often. She taught me to knit, encouraged me to read all the time. She had two little dogs, I think they were Shih Tzus, I’m not really sure. Byron and Poochenie, probably the only dogs I was never terrified of. 

Kathy had a HUGE backyard, a kid’s dream (remember, my backyard had a large inground pool, so very little ground to play on). She had a crab apple tree in the back, lots of grass, and a vegetable garden. I remember helping to plant tomatoes, green beans, sugar snap peas. When it was hot we’d take a break and sit in the shade with lemonade. Kathy would listen to me for hours, letting me vent about my sisters and school, and she’d never try to “fix” the problem, just let me talked. It was really nice, and I valued that time more than I could even vocalize. As I grew older, I did start to make more friends, and also became socially aware that having an adult as a friend maybe wasn’t “cool,” so I stopped going as often. Soon, I never went anymore at all, just saw her in passing if I was taking a walk. I regret letting that friendship fade, as I think in my adult life I could have benefitted from another person who has trial and errored all this crap already. 

As a kid, I always felt awkward compared to the other kids my age on the block. There was my immediate next door neighbor, Zach, he was exactly one month younger than me, his younger sister Alexis, and younger brother, Nicholas. Next to them was Nathaniel, everyone called him Nate. Going the other direction from me, 3 doors down, was another Nick, and across the street was Christopher (Chris). Chris, Nate, and Nick were two years younger than me and Zach, Alexis was maybe two years younger than them, and Nicholas was the youngest.

We had an inground pool in our backyard, Nick had an aboveground pool. In the summers, we alternated swimming in pools based on whosevers parents/guardians were willing to watch us for six hours straight. Zach's parents never seemed to like me, or maybe they didn't like my family, I don't know. I always felt uncomfortable coming over to ask if they could play outside, like I was intruding on their lives. Zach and Lexi weren't allowed in my backyard because of the pool, even though it was fenced off, so we played in their yard in their little pool, and years later, in Nate's backyard when they got a trampoline.

We played a ton of odd games, like all kids do. I would stand on my slide next to the fence and look over it when we weren't allowed to play in the front yard, and we would play imaginary games. Looking back now, they are embarrassingly funny, and I wonder how any of us thought those games were sane. I'd pretend I had a giant dog, and he would run around and do things and save the day (think Clifford). At one point, my bedroom happened to be the window directly across from their bathroom window, so when we were no longer allowed to play outside for the day, we'd go to our respective windows and talk across the driveway like that. Some of those conversations I can't remember, most of them really, but the time looking across the way at Zach and Lexi is something I remember fondly. Such a silly thing I guess, but that connection between friends was really important to me.

On the other end of the friendships, Nate, Nick, and Chris were often really mean to my younger sister, Kelly. Kelly has cerebral palsy, and especially as a kid, it affected her physically in ways that the other kids found comical, which quite frankly, pissed me off. She couldn't run the same way, tie her shoes, couldn't ride a traditional bike. Kelly had fine and gross motor skill delays, and she has cognitive delays. The boys didn't understand or accept that, and they weren't really taught about it at home. I remember one day they thought it funny to use play handcuffs and cuff Kelly to the fence in Nate's backyard. I can't remember why, but my older sister Emily found her when she had to come get us to come home from dinner. Emily lifted Kelly over the fence and got the cuffs off her. I don't think the boys ever got in trouble for that.

I’ve talked about blogging for years, mostly to myself in my own head. I think I had one or two or five in middle school, and a bit in high school with my very angsty emotions. I really never thought I’d be the adult to sit and want to blog about things, and hope other people might follow along for entertainment, or in an effort to get to know me. But really, this is Tumblr, does anyone actually read these things anymore? 

As of 02/27/2021, I’m a twenty-six year old cis-woman living in a two bedroom townhome with her mother and younger sister. I had aspired by this point in life to have graduated college and be living on my own, probably with a husband and kids and a dog and cats, or something. But as I got older, went through some college, and just came into my twenties, I’ve begun to realize that a lot of that isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. There’s nothing really wrong with living “at home” (I say it like that because I’m not living off of my mother, we share the lease and I pay timely rent/utilities every month). I don’t drive, I rely on rides from family and friends, or I walk or bus places, and occasionally utilize Uber. I am fortunate enough to live in a city where public transportation is decent, and there are is no shortage of Uber/Lyft/cab company drivers around most corners. I didn’t finish college, but I wish to at some point in the future, though I really don’t know what I’d finish up with. 

I work in a school, I’m one of two secretaries to eight guidance counselors at the high school level. I like this work, and I like the people I work with. Previously I’ve worked as a child care worker, at an amusement park (where I was run over by a ride, but we’ll hear about that later in another post), in a mailroom for the state health marketplace, housekeeping in a hospital Emergency Department, and as a main school secretary at the middle school level. While it sounds like a lot for someone very young, I try to remind myself that I was never hopping jobs simply because I was bored, I was always doing it for more opportunities and looking to grow in my career. I am in a position which I really enjoy, and feel I could retire in the school system in about 30-40 years and be happy about the work I’ve done. With or without college, I am happy with this as a choice in life thus far. 

I’ve been on a long mental health journey as well, all starting with high anxiety and depression at a young age, that I and seemingly my parents seemed to dismiss as normal age appropriate reactions. Once I hit college and realized that it wasn’t normal to want to crawl out of your skin every time someone called on you in class, nor was it normal to cry yourself to sleep over most things, I began to seek help. It began with college counseling, progressed to my doctor, and so on. Anxiety, depression, social anxiety, major depressive episodes, anger issues, grief problems, and finally we settled on BiPolar Disorder II. Again, we will explore this more in a later post. 

It’s important to note that I won’t go in chronological order, as I will probably just write as things come into my head, and as a way to vent about things I think about daily. So one post might reference an incident with a childhood friend, and then we might hop fifteen years into the future and discuss my long-distance relationship with a gentleman in France. I can’t promise anything will ever make sense to begin with, but at some point along the way, I do hope things will click into place for the readers who choose to follow along.