I brought snicker-doodle ice cream home for Grace

It's been a whopping four days since Daniel and I last spoke. It's been weird, but not hard to keep myself from texting him. We've been blowing up at each other so much recently. I'm still pretty mad.
I'm not mad at Ryan though. He knows me and he makes me laugh so hard. When he reaches for my hand, I let him, and when he reaches for the check (Denny's milkshakes for the zillionth time) I let him too, although with more resistance.
We drive home and walk up to his dorm...and hesitate in his doorway. He kinda looks at me and I bite my lip and he holds open his arms. I bury my face in his shoulder, smell the leather of his jacket.
After a couple moments, he sighs. "I should probably go."
Ah, yes. He has a date after this. With a girl he's not dating because his feelings are kinda split and confused. I want to be mad and jealous but I've spent the whole semester feeling split and confused too.
"Nooo," I'm muffled against his shoulder, so I pull away slightly. He dips his head, nestling his forehead against mine. We're quiet for a long moment. I feel like I can't get a deep breath.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"Nothing useful," is his response.
"That depends on your definition.."
We're both a little frozen in indecision. I want to kiss him so badly. Probably for some wrong reasons but for some right ones too. This is the last time I'll see him for two and a half years. That's a long time. I could be married by the time he gets home (hah). Or just be an entirely different person. Both technically reasons why I shouldn't. But man, I want to.
We hear footsteps around the corner and break apart. I take a step back, but he catches my hand, holding it with loose fingers. A guy comes around the corner.
"Oh. Hey Ryan."
"Hey Jayson."
And he keeps walking.
Ryan looks down at me. "Jess...I really need to-"
In a kinda signature Jessica move, I take a step back in, grab his shirt and pull his lips to mine. There's a moment where it's almost like he's so surprised that he forgets to kiss me back, but then his lips part under the pressure and his hands find the small of my back, pulling me closer. It's slow and it's brief and then he's pulling away.
Frik. He's a good kisser. I'm grinning like an idiot and he's...pressing his lips together..
"Was that okay?" I ask. I'm suddenly terrified I overstepped some unspoken line.
He hesitates for a heart-breaking moment.
"Yes." He doesn't pull away but he doesn't sound sure.
"Ryan, I'm sorry if I...if this isn't what you..."
"No. It was something I wanted to do before I left."
What, like a checklist? Uhhh okay.
"You seem very hesitant."
He draws me back in, brushing his lips against mine, kissing me for a long moment that still isn't enough. His voice is low when he speaks again.
"I'm not hesitant about you or this. Just the timing."
I groan. "Sorry.."
"It's okay. We've both been a little wrapped up." His nose brushes mine. I close my eyes.
"Is this still okay now? I can leave..."
"It's okay," he repeats. I need more than okay though.
"It's...enjoyable?" The awkward phrasing tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it, but he just laughs.
"Very much so.
And our lips meet again.. and again.. and again. I make him a half hour late to his date (a mixture of talking and a little kissing, no hardcore makeouts here) and I should care more but I don't.
I finally separate myself, because he seems incapable of doing so, which is a really good feeling. I back out of the doorway, eyes lingering on his.
"I'll see you later," he says.
"Someday?" I smirk.
He gives me a stern look. "What crude language. We don't use that word, remember?"
I step back to him, lifting my lips to his.
"I'm sorry. Does that make up for it?"
He frowns. "I dunno.."
I laugh and kiss him again, lingering for too long. We draw apart and the moment has a certain finality to it.
"Later," I confirm.
"Later." His lips brush my forehead and I squeeze his hand. Then I turn down the hallway and I  don't look back.

The moment I reach the safety of my car, I'm crying. I've used up at least two lifetimes of tears in the past month and a half. I am so sick of crying.
And it's only half because.. that was it. I may never see him again.
The other half is a sudden and awful realization that.. he's not you.
If I'm being honest, I've known for a while. I knew it before I kissed him and I kissed him anyway. The knowledge doesn't mean that I suddenly like him any less or that we're not as good friends anymore. But our differences in humor and age are too much.
I need to start paying attention to that voice telling me who is and isn't you, preferably before I kiss them. I can't keep kissing everyone. It's not going to solve my loneliness and it won't make my problems with Daniel disappear. It's just complicating my path to you.
        I know hearing this must be getting old, but please get here soon, and know that I love you.

After listening to me rant about everything that happened this summer with Daniel.. everything I hadn’t told her.. well the first thing she did is hit me with a pillow. Repeatedly.

And then Grace and I sat down and made rules for me. It’s like last week when she set bedtimes for me because I was sick and not taking care of myself. Sometimes I just need someone to give me boundaries and love me.

We call them:

THE DANIEL RULES

1)      Don’t tell him about the rules.

I literally broke this rule hours after we set it. I couldn’t limit communication with him and not explain. It was an awful idea to tell him, because he launched into a rant about how Mormonism is keeping us apart and I just need to “accept that I’m wrong.” Time spent crying after breaking the rule: 15 minutes. On Skype still.

2)      Skype only once a week for no more than two hours.

Yeah this got broken with the last one. Time spent crying after breaking this rule (after hanging up): 30 minutes.

3)      No talking about each other’s romantic lives.

Last week a girl came over to watch a movie with him and played with his hair. It’s been killing me and I just want to ask about her all the time and it needs to stop. Time spent crying about this before this rule: 10 minutes.

4)      Limit the amount of flirting that goes on.

Apparently Grace didn’t think we were capable of stopping completely. But I’m not allowed to tell him I miss him or I love him anymore. It makes sense. He started the flirting last night though. And it was bad because we….

5)      No texting each other after midnight

…texted until 2 am. We fought over who started breaking rule #4 first, and he said he couldn’t take another fight about this.

Me: I think you actually enjoy these fights. You like telling me how wrong I am in a variety of situations.

Daniel: Why would I like that. I don’t want you to be wrong.

Me: Well good because I’m freaking not wrong about my religion.

Yeah. It was bad. Time spent crying after breaking rule 4 and 5: 1 hour.

The rules came with the condition that I’d report my infractions within 24 hours to Grace and that she could decide on my “punishment.” Mostly it’s been getting hit with pillows and then getting an even bigger hug because I start crying again. She’s been so supportive. It’s been stupid hard and I feel like a broken record but she’s been there every step. She reminds me that Daniel is an *** (her wording.. literally).

I know he’s not you.

I’m reminded every time he and I awkwardly gloss over a church related topic.. when we full out fight over it. When he tells me I’m wrong and bad and purposefully hurts me.

He’s not a member and he never will be. He doesn’t respect the church, so he doesn’t really respect me. He is not you.

But I love him, dammit. I could write paragraphs about how wonderful he is and how he’s very good for me and it would all be true.

I know he’s not you. But you’re not here. I’m so tired of looking.

Please come soon and know that I’ll love you even more.

Thanksgiving would've been better with more parmesan

It breaks my heart to admit how awkward it is to be around my entire family right now. I knew it was bad last Christmas, but it hasn’t gotten any better.

It’s not anything they consciously do. It’s half just my overreacting. But what else am I supposed to do when I’m constantly surrounded by couples and “family units” and everyone is making jokes about it? They’re not funny anymore. I haven’t found you and I don’t need it rubbed in my face.

Basically Thanksgiving was not a happy vacation holiday like I needed it to be. I should want to spend time with my family. But I’m honestly just dreading Christmas.

It’s a relief then, to find myself at ease around Lauren and her husband, McKay. Grace and I take a road-trip up to see them, and also for Autumn’s homecoming.

*Sidestory alert*

Autumn’s homecoming is amazing. We surprise her and the minute we walked into the chapel, her jaw drops. When she hugs us after her talk, she starts crying. And then we spend the next hour catching up with her slightly neglecting her other guests. It’s awesome. We’re very excited for her to come back to school next semester. 

I think I feel so comfortable half because McKay and I are actually friends, and half because I have Grace there and we’re basically a married couple. But Lauren and I have always (well post-childhood anyway. We kinda bumped heads when we were littler) had an easy relationship. Even after months of not calling her, it feels the same. I feel the same around her. I don’t feel alone.

We’re sitting in the pizza restaurant across the table from each other and laughing and planning the decorations on our gingerbread houses that should be steady by the time we get home.

And then.

McKay reaches for the parmesan shaker.

*Sidestory alert*

The Rosa family has a bit of a reputation for loosening the lids on parmesan and pepper shakers. Tanner probably started it. I did it on my awful date with Brandon and barely kept a straight face when he used it and got a pizza full of parmesan. Someone (none of us remember doing it, that’s how subconscious it is now) did it at Lauren's wedding luncheon, and Dad got a plate full of parmesan. It’s just a thing.

 So of course I can’t resist loosening the parmesan shaker lid at this restaurant.

McKay brings the shaker to his plate and tips it. And then Lauren makes some snarky comment at him, and he pauses less than half a second from a plate full of parmesan. And reverses the direction. And jokingly waves the parmesan shaker at her.

POOF.

Lauren full of parmesan.

There is a literal four seconds of silence at the table.

Then Lauren's eyes narrow and she looks straight at me. “Jessica.” It’s not a question.

And Grace bursts out laughing. McKay joins in nervously. That’s all it takes to release the laughter balling up in my throat. I start and I can’t stop.

Lauren pinches parmesan off her shirt and throws it at me, but she’s laughing too, and Grace is nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and I can’t stop laughing.

Later, in the middle of finishing our gingerbread houses, Lauren finds some parmesan on her shoe that we missed, and we all start laughing again.

It’s a moment of ease and relief.. to be laughing more than crying. That’s not how it’s been lately.

Be prepared for pizza with my family where at least one person, most likely you since you’ll be the newb, will end up with a slice so buried in parmesan that you can barely see the pizza anymore, and be prepared for endless laughter about it, and know that I love you.

Calling people hairy butts is desirable but not required

         I’ve switched between being a puddle of tears and snot, being furious and sarcastic, and being just tired. I’m so tired. I don’t want to fall in love again and I don’t want to find a new best friend. I want things to be okay between Daniel and me, but they’re just not (puddle), and it’s really not my fault (fury), and I’m not sure there’s anything to be done to repair the damage (tired).

         Thank goodness for

·         home teachers who stop by randomly and give great blessings and even better hugs

  

·         Sheet cake cookies with my sister

·         Blasting music on long drives that are (wait for it) car-thartic.. haha..

·         Adorable roommates who leave me nice notes

·         Instead of making a big deal of coming home to me sobbing on my bed

·         I tried to hide it and failed miserably..

·         Texts with Grace where I can just be sad

·         And then she calls Daniel a hairy butt

·         *Pimples probable

·         winning the $50 drawing at work

·         so I can buy a plane ticket home for Thanksgiving!

·         I need this break so badly

·         I leave Friday

·         I can’t communicate my enthusiasm about this

·         I’m really freaking excited for California and family

         Please be the guy that gives me blessings, invites me over to make cookies partly because you know I'm sad, leaves me nice notes, and comes home with me for Thanksgiving, and know that I love you.

                                                                                           

This does not give me "hot happiness"

Walking home from class—in almost winter, at night—isn’t fun to begin with, but being unprepared with a flimsy light weight jacket isn’t helping.

I reach with trembling, numb fingers for the zipper on said flimsy jacket. I fiddle with it for a couple moments with absolutely no luck. My fingers feel frozen and awkward. I let out a sigh and my breath puffs out in front of me.. Why is it so cold?

If you were here..

I reach with trembling, numb fingers for my jacket zipper, fiddling with it hopelessly for a second before you notice.

You chuckle, breath puffing out, and one of your hands tugs on my waist, bringing us to a halt and turning me towards you. You reach with sure hands to steady mine. I mock pout, but drop my hands and allow you to zip up my jacket. You zip all the way to my chin before zipping part of the way back down.

“Thanks.”

In response, you wrap your arms around me, drawing me closer before pulling up my hood too. I wrinkle my nose at you, earning another chuckle and a kiss on the nose.

Then your hand finds mine, beginning the thawing process that will probably take the rest of the walk home, and pulling me into step with you.

But you’re not here.

Big stupid tears start welling up and pouring over, leaving warm trails down my freezing face. You’re not here and it might not matter if you walked into my life right this second, because I’m completely heartbroken over someone who obviously isn’t you.

This week is three tests and two essays and ten hour shifts at the pool for days in a row, and since the argument with Daniel, I haven’t gone a day without crying and my jacket won’t. Zip. Up.

And you’re not here.

Things that even donuts can't fix

Daniel heard about the Church’s change of policy announced this week. He freaked out a little bit and all the tension we’ve been suppressing on the subject came bursting out.

We argued, literally fought and yelled and I was crying, for two hours on Skype. He couldn’t believe I’d support an organization that “discriminated against people based on their beliefs.” When I objected that I felt personally attacked- like by saying the Church was wrong and bad, he was saying I was wrong and bad- he replied "well..."

I tried to explain that the policy is hard for me to accept too, but that the Church is just true. I have to support the whole Church, even policies I don’t understand all the way.

He rolled his eyes. He looked at me like I was a crazy person. That’s when I stopped trying to explain my testimony.

And then he gave me an ultimatum. He told me that this was “a friendship deal breaker.” That he couldn’t have any kind of relationship with me if I continued to be a part of the Church.

I defended myself. I told him that he was no better than what he thought the Church was doing- discriminating against me for my beliefs. I told him that the last person who asked me to give this up was Ian. I think that hurt him and I think I’m glad it did. 

There’s a lot more to the argument that I don’t want to get into anymore.

Basically I sobbed my way through him saying “if you hang up on Skype right now, that’s it. We’re done.”

I hung up.

I ended up at Denny’s with Ryan at 3:00am ordering Oreo milkshakes and off and on crying into his shirt. He got me to laugh once or twice.

Daniel called 12 times while we were there. I didn’t answer.

I slept until noon today, when Grace barged into my apartment, worried that I hadn’t answered my phone or showed up for our plans this morning. I told her what happened and got teary again. She bought me donuts and took me out for the day.

I’m going to be alright. I’m being taken care of.

But frick, am I hurting. I’ve been crying on and off all day. I can’t remember the last time I cried over a boy. Tim maybe. I just can’t believe that after everything, Daniel actually asked me to give up half of who I am for him. He can call all he wants but he can't take back the things he said, the things that already broke my heart. The damage is done.
         I’m so sick of heartbreak.

Please, please, please, be a faithful Mormon and know that I love you.

This week’s list of every day awards:

Monday

·         Didn’t full out cry

·         Went to ASL class

     Tuesday

·         Thought about skipping dance class but didn’t

·         Studied and didn’t fail and important Engl 292 test

Wednesday

·         Took care of myself by not going to the Frisbee game

·         GOT INTO A FREAKING STUDY ABROAD TO FREAKING LONDON

Thursday

·         Read for four hours

·         Brushed my teeth really well

Friday

·         Cleaned poop out of the pool.. twice

·         And didn’t kill the children who pooped

Saturday

·         Checked out at the grocery store even though I was pretty terrified/anxious

·         Made so many phone calls and office visits

Sunday

·         Made it to 9 am church on time-ish

·         Survived three different post-church meetings

Please remember to help me identify the little victories and know that I love you.

I'm terrified of putting too much hope in the idea that you could make my life meaningful for once

I don’t notice it until we’re in Tucano’s.

It’s been a pretty low key birthday—I hadn’t even seen my roommates or Grace until just before dinner. No one around me, in classes, on campus, knew of course. That also means I’ve been cooped up in my head all day.

Last night was the real celebration I guess. My sisters and Grace and Tangled cake. Several people made the same harmless comment that’s been running through my head all day today.

Congrats, you made it!

My first reaction is heck yeah I did. I’ve been to hell and back, fought suicidal thoughts more times than I can count, fought suicidal urges exactly three times.. the last being less than two weeks ago. But I’m still here. Two and a half years past when I originally would’ve been gone.

My second reaction comes in Tucano’s, halfway through dinner, surrounded by two of my dearest friends and incredible food and happy chatter.

And I don’t feel anything. The food doesn’t even taste good, I feel awfully disconnected, I can barely participate in the conversation.

Congrats, you made it!

I made it- past what? Years hazy with depression and shaking with anxiety. And made it to what? More of the same?

Congrats, you made it!

It is not a comforting thought. I made it to a limited life. Samantha keeps preaching that I need to accept mediocracy, accept the fact that I’m broken—and so is my life. Word for word, from my therapist.

Congrats, you made it!

I didn’t—don’t—want to.

Congrats, you made it!

Freaking fantastic.

Depression is a clingy and possessive friend

Depression settles in, to my bones, my skin, my mind, and I greet it like an old friend. It has played a mean trick—leaving me alone with anxiety for so long that I’m relieved at its return. The buzzing veins and shaking hands of anxiety are gone for the moment, but without all the heaviness and lethargy of anti-anxiety meds. I never thought I’d be grateful to see the Empty come back, but I am. Its familiarity is comforting in a strange way.

But it is not comforting, being back to bleary eyes and a tired heart, back to mornings where I can’t get out of bed and afternoons where I can’t eat and evenings when I can’t focus.

The thing about depression is that it doesn’t care how inconvenient it is for it to return, in the middle of midterms and ten hour shifts at the pool, in the middle of looking for you. And it won’t magically start caring about its interruptions once you are in my life either. Boys don’t solve depression.

There will be days where I’m distant, times when I feel so empty that I hide in myself. I don’t love you any less on those days. And I don’t need you to come charging in to the rescue on those days either.

Mostly I just need you to be patient, to wait for me to come back to you. It may take longer than both of us would like, but I will always come back.

Please be steady and know that I love you. 

Things I can't wait to share with you

I shake my hair from my shoulders. Some of it sticks to my neck, damp with the last of the summer air. It’s been six hours of waiting in 90 degree weather with no shade, but now the sun is going down and we’re roasting s’mores and making friends with the people sharing our firepit. A flower falls out of Grace’s braid and I bobby pin it back in.

Soon enough they’re lighting the demo, showing us how to hold the edges so the paper doesn’t burn. And then…the man over the speaker says to go ahead.

It takes me a moment to light the middle, but when I get it, it flares up, bright and surprising against the night sky. My fingertips shake against the lip. The light steadies and the paper expands, filling with warm air. As it does, a spiraling red pattern unfurls—with swoops and curls and flowers. It’s my signature doodle and boy did I have a lot of time to doodle while we waited.

This is worth the wait.

People around are in all stages of trying to light their lanterns, from struggling with lighters to holding tight while they fill with warm air, to just watching, heads tipped back. There’s the gentle murmur of a crowd in awe, just audible over the music coming through the speakers. Tangled. They are playing Tangled. This couldn’t get much better.

It’s been a minute, so I loosen my grip to check the balance. It sways for a moment, coming dangerously close to burning the red swirly side, before straightening out, tugging upward.

So.. I let go.

My lantern lifts into the sky, joining the others—there must be hundreds, maybe thousands, all different colors and shapes and designs. Some have scorch marks on the side. I keep my eyes on my lantern, pressing my lips together. It nudges another. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. But it doesn’t. It goes up and up and up until I can’t tell it apart from the others, and they float away.

Grace steps to my side, nudging me and I smile at her. She grins back, eyes wide with the same excitement. Together we take in the sky and I couldn’t be more grateful to be sharing this with my best friend.

I do a slow circle, taking in the glowing lights surrounding me, from the horizon to as far up as I can see. The lanterns are gleaming and the music is building and my heart is swelling, like my chest can barely contain it.

My face is aching from smiling so big, but I seriously can’t help it. I feel filled with joy, something that shouldn’t be so rare, but it is. There’s nothing to spoil this and so I just smile and give into the moment, letting everything else slip away, floating, up and up and up.
         Please be prepared for constant Tangled references and know that I love you.

A year later and therapy isn't any easier

I sit across from Samantha, sinking into the therapy office couch and holding my breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Coming back to therapy sucks more than I thought it would.

She’s asking small talk questions, getting a better idea of what my life is like right now and why I asked to come in randomly.

Yes, I spent the summer in Chicago.

No, I didn’t like my lifeguarding job there very much.

No, Grace and I aren’t living together anymore.

Yes, I like my new roommates a whole lot.

And then she asks a more complicated question.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Uhhh,” I say. She raises an eyebrow at me, uncrossing her legs so that her toes just barely skim the floor.

“No?” But my eyes get all squinched and she laughs.

“What’s his name?”

She reaches under her chair and presses the lever to lower it. Her feet settle onto the ground.

“Ryan.”

After five years of friendship, two official dates, and seeing each other basically every day since he moved to Utah, I’m still really scared to take things any further with him.

I tug on a random chunk of hair until it falls over my shoulder.

“He held my hand a couple nights ago.”

Her face softens and she leans forward. “Are you happy about it?”

“Yeah,” I say, ducking my eyes, running my fingers down the length of the chunk of hair.

“Buuuut?”

Dang therapist. She knows there’s more to it.

“I’m nervous because it’s not… some lame high school relationship that I can try for a couple weeks and then back out. This one matters. He’s important.”

A stray hair comes out in my hand. I shake it from my fingers.

“Sounds like you have a good friendship.”

“The best.” I twist the ends of the hair around my pointer finger.

I know I have a lot of time to figure things out, but I’m stuck between the idea that he could be you, that you are him... it’s got me paralyzed with fear that he might be and panic that he might not.

“So what’s holding you back?”

Aaand here is where we jump into the crap reasons I came here today. The hour passes with a lot of tugging on my hair and looking for split ends. I’m not good at talking about this. Which really means it’s a good thing I’m here.

We’ve just finished mapping out the exact thought distortions I have around intimacy and sex when something Samantha says catches my attention.

“Well how are we gonna ‘reprogram’ these unhelpful distortions?”

It honestly shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize it.

I have been trying to reprogram ever since Ian.

The two weeks relationships, the ncmos, pretty much everything post-Ian has been a useless and misguided effort to replace traumatic memories with better ones, to reprogram my mind, to undo the damage Ian caused.

It clicks into place and I must have some sort of stunned expression on, because Sam tilts her head and says, “What?”

So I explain and saying it out loud only confirms it more in my head.

I walk out of therapy with a very rubbed raw feeling, a headache, a lot of soon-to-be-spilt tears, and an appointment to come back next week.

Please help me reprogram and know that I love you.

With the beginning of a new semester, new roommates, a new job.. I'm feeling a little panicky

     I know myself well enough to know that when I get panicky, I tend to run. Relationships, jobs, classes, man, it doesn't matter what it is.
     I don't want to do that anymore.  
     I think I need to go back to therapy.
     I haven't been in a long time, mostly because I've learned most everything I could about depression and coping tools from therapy. But there are some new things I'd like to focus on..
     I have weird issues with intimacy that obviously need to be cleared up before you come into my life. I want to be able to talk with you about self-harm and not just be awkward and shy away from it. Anxiety is limiting my life so stinkin much that I would love to get some help there; I don't want it to be super frustrating for you too.
     After so long, asking for help still feels foreign to me. But it's nice to see that I've grown enough to be able to ask for it when I need it.
     Have a good beginning of your semester and know that I love you.

The last one you are not

You are not Daniel.

This one is the most fresh, and so the most painful, fact to reconcile with.

You are not nerdy conversations about league. You are not hands running through messy hair. You are not agnostic to the point of breaking my heart. You are not a million skype calls and tumblr reblogs and book recommendations and anime references. You are not states and states away.

But I hope you’re still a crazy genius.

The biggest list of "nots" had to be cut down a little..

You are not Tim.

This one is hard to feel much sadness about.

You aren’t raised eyebrows and hip nudges. You aren’t the weirdest beard-grower I’ve ever seen. You are not confident hands and deceitful lips. You aren’t perfect underwater kisses.

But please be manly enough to make me feel protected and confident enough to give me space to feel independent.

My official high school sweetheart

You are not Jacob.

At least not how he—how we—ended up.

You aren’t ever-changing hairstyles and big brown eyes. You are not fearful to confess how you feel about me.  You aren’t revealed to be clenched hands and ignorant screams telling me to get over it. You aren’t falling asleep together on the way home.

 But hopefully you are (and stay) goofy smiles and patient hands, warm and welcoming arms, a thousand moments spent holding each other because there was nothing else to hold onto, someone who has my complete and utter trust. 

The fantastically unimportant boys who are getting lumped together

You are not Will.

Which is only the slightest bit disappointing, because he was the best kisser out of all the boys I’ve dated..

You aren’t awkward poetry and extra-large checkered t-shirts. You are not words dividing me from my best friend. You are not cherry chap stick and lingering hands. You aren’t hidden make out spots and overpowering sickly sweet cologne.

But it’d be nice if you were an okay kisser ;)

You are not Chan.

Thank the heavens.

You aren’t my biggest crush since 6^th grade, finally realized in my sophomore year of high school.

You are not a too-easy smile and silky black hair. You aren’t effortless temptations. You are not an intrusive tongue or eager hands.

But if you wanted, you could still be charming.

You are not David.

You are not a two month fling, a challenge of sorts.

You are not a bad speller with pierced ears and a longboard. You won’t go on to date my best friend (uhh I hope?). You aren’t papers folded into hearts of all sizes and varieties. You aren’t old spice body wash and unsure hands. You aren’t lazy afternoon water polo practices spent bumping knees and laughing.

But it’d be great if you had rock hard abs were sweet to a fault. 

Reiterating the obvious yet important

You are not Ian.

Wrestling with this statement for years, feeling complete elation and total devastation over it, doesn’t change its truth.

You aren’t perfect hair and sunglasses. You aren’t pushy hands. You aren’t plucked guitar strings and cube cars. You aren’t cleverly worded sentences that draw me away from my religion. You aren’t stolen kisses in the band room and notes dropped into my locker. You are not sighs of disgust in bed and a deep musky scent . You aren’t snug white t-shirts and deft fingers.

You are not my first love, but I hope we’re so in love with each other that it feels like the first time.

When six hours somehow resolves five years of hell

For reasons that I can’t explain, Ian called me this week.

For reasons don’t even want to think about, I picked up.

It was a six hour conversation. I’m not kidding.

Essentially he wanted to try again. He claimed to be reformed. He promised to ask permission every time before he touched me even a little, even to hold my hand.

We had a mini conversation about love languages because he realized now that people need to be loved differently. His main love language was physical touch. He scored a 9/12.

I scored a 0/12 in that category.

He straight up told me he still loves me.

I told him how I reported him and what happened to the police.

He didn’t take it so well. He started hyperventilating and having an anxiety attack on the phone. I stayed on the phone with him for an hour after, because I know anxiety, and I know better than to leave someone in the middle of an attack. I tried to help.

He was just going back and forth between crying and saying he was so scared and then telling me how perfect I was and that he was so grateful to “have me” and then just crying more.

It scared me. The Ian I fell in love with was so emotionally steady. It was terrifying to see him lose it. It made me realize that he did, and probably still does, lose control in other ways too.

It finally changed how I see him. It’s always been this awful mix between fearing him and being in love with him, romanticizing him into someone incapable of making mistakes and generalizing him as a monster who destroys everything.

He’s just unstable.

He’s good and bad, he’s loving and manipulating, he’s human.

But he’s a particularly unstable human.

I don’t love him anymore. But I don’t hate him anymore either. I think mostly I just pity him.

It’s been five long years, but I feel like I’ve finally gotten some closure. I don’t think I need to keep him on Facebook anymore. I don’t think I need his box of letters anymore. I’m not going back there, back to him.

I have no desire to go back to him.

Absolutely none.

It’s a freaking miracle. Seriously.

I’m trying to be careful with my heart now, now that it’s free from him, now that it’s mine again. But I want so badly to give it to you.

Please hurry up and know that I love you. 

California has given me many things but fireflies are not one of them

If mom walks into the room, I don’t know how I’m gonna explain this. But being outdoors is just too much of a risk right now with the clouds of mosquitos that hover right outside the door. Instead I’m positioned on the floor in front of the sliding door, all the lights off, and because that wasn’t enough, the curtains are drawn around me too. My forehead presses against the cool glass, leaving a little smear when I pull away to readjust.

I catch myself scanning the backyard the same way I’ve been trained to scan the pool- top to bottom, left to right, ten seconds for each scan. Yup, I’ve definitely been spending too much time at work.

I sigh into the glass, fogging it up briefly, my mind playing back the drive home with Dad tonight.

It’s not uncommon for grocery runs with Dad to turn into ice cream trips and he hadn’t disappointed tonight. I was already in a good mood, cruising down finally familiar streets, switching through songs on my iPod and considering rolling the windows down.

“Jess.” I glanced up at Dad and his eyes were bright, something increasingly uncommon with him lately. “I just saw a firefly.”

“What?!” I swear I nearly slammed on the brakes—I’d been waiting for this all summer. In my firefly craze, I’d scoured google for information and facts about this phenomenon I’d been denied my entire life so far. I knew what kind of habitat fireflies liked (long grass, near water) and how long they lived (two months). I knew the science behind the light (luciferin in the abdomen reacting with the air). I knew the main purpose of the light was for males to signal desire for mates, and that willing females answered with flashes of their own.

 Now that the moment had arrived, all I wanted to do was pull over and just… observe, just watch.

My eyes darted back towards the road and I caught a burst of light, not too long and not very bright. But then there was another. And another. I sucked in a breath, not quite a gasp, and mostly just an expression of awe. That was what I’d been missing out on?? I was probably veering all over the road, entra  nced by the brief blazes as I was.

And it didn’t wear off. The rest of the drive home as peppered with “There!” and “Look!” from Dad and me both. I felt like a little six year old, but man.

It’s these kinds of moments, filled with novelty and wonder and joy, that make me grateful I didn’t end my life senior year or one hundred times since.

I’m jerked back to the cool glass and darkening night in front of me by sniffing right outside the curtain. Something soft pokes at my arm. I lift up the curtain and sure enough, here comes Callie, crawling under it and getting in my face. I laugh and nudge her off but not away.

She looks out the door and perks her ears forward intently. I reach up a hand and scratch her neck.

PLUNK. I’m shoved rudely to the side by her trying to sit on top of me. Laughing to myself again, I scoot over and draw the curtain around us both.

She sits with me for the entire time I’m on firefly watch. It must be at least twenty minutes. Every now and then she’ll turn towards me and try to lick my face. But mostly she just sits with me and watches.

We catch more than a couple little flickers, each one igniting the dark for an instant.

I find myself wondering if this is what marriage is like. Not the licking the face part. But the company part. Just sitting by each other. Not having to explain. Looking for the little flashes of beauty and light.
         I hope so.
         Please be luminous and know I love you.

Hopefully overcoming all this crap will just make "us" even more worth it

Remember that disagreement with Daniel I briefly mentioned? The one about having Ian on facebook?

It’s gotten increasingly ridiculous. He and I argued and didn’t talk for a couple days, and then we made up and both apologized and it should be all good now, right?

Wrong.

I’m trying to figure out why I’m so upset with him still. He’s human and we all make mistakes, so why can’t I let this one go?

I’ve figured that I’m still a little gun-shy from Ian. I let go of a lot of his mistakes and that led to me justifying and enduring his abuse and manipulation. I’m terrified to let go of even one mistake of Daniel’s, afraid that if I do I’ll be stuck in the cycle of abuse again still.

So because of my super fun and complex trust issues, I’m pulling/pushing away from someone I care about.

Obviously you’re going to make mistakes. We both are. So I really need to learn to deal with this. I’m trying.

It's scary to realize.. We have a lot of work cut out for us.

Please be patient with me and know that I love you.

When this eventually comes up, I will probably just refer you to this post

There is something I need to get out in the open before I have this argument with you, because I just can’t—I literally cannot have this argument again with anyone else.

I’m still friends with Ian on Facebook.

*Gasp!*

What?? How could I? Don’t I know how stupid this is?

Yes, I do. Thank you. Almost every single person I love, most recently Daniel (and I’m still pretty furious at him), has repeatedly told me how completely idiotic it is to have my abuser on Facebook.

I DON’T NEED ANY MORE CRITICISM OK

Here’s the deal.

I have defriended Ian on Facebook about a million times. The cycle will go like this.

Oh I’m so sad over our break up.

Looking at his profile isn’t healthy for me. I need to defriend him.

It feels so good to be completely cut off from him!

But.

But wait.

I wonder how he’s doing?

Is he hurting as much as I am?

Does he miss me?

Did he coach tennis this year? Did his sister finally get married?

Oh my gosh. I have to know, I have to find a way to ask him!

I can’t friend him on Facebook, not after all the work I went through to defriend him.

I know! I have a great idea.

I’ll text him.

Yeah! Just one little text to know how he’s doing.

That’s all.

The second I’m talking to him again, he starts manipulating and then I REALLY go all stupid and illogical. I was in that cycle for so long.. I know myself, and I know that if I defriend him, the cycle will begin anew. And I can’t afford that. I can’t afford to be back under his spell.

So here’s what I’ve done. Ian is categorized under “acquaintances” which means, under my privacy settings, he can’t see anything I post. Nothing. I don’t message him or like his posts.

But when I really miss him or am just thinking about him a lot, I go browse his profile. Just for a little bit. It eases the aching for him in a safe way. It’s a way to keep the real him out of my life. It’s maybe not the healthiest, but it’s much healthier than being in direct contact with him.

                Know what’s not healthy though?? Having to defend my life decisions to the people closest to me. This is not a rash choice. I have put a lot of thought into it and decided it’s what’s best for me right now. I know it doesn’t seem smart and I appreciate whatever concern is behind the increasingly annoying comments.

                But part of loving me is trusting my judgement, even on this, especially on this. Sorry. 

                I guess the hope is that when you come into my life, when I know you're here.. I won't have to keep Ian on facebook anymore, I won't want to. So, please don't argue with me about this, but know that it's not permanent. It's a transition to a better place, an Ian-free (as much as I can be) existence.. a transition to you. 

                Please be supportive, and know that I love you.

Last week’s post has got me  thinking a lot about ways other people can help with my depression. So, for your sake and for mine, I’ve made a very handy and informative list of..

WAYS TO TAKE CARE OF A JESSICA

·                     Make tea

·                     Chamomile tea

·                     With extra honey

·                     Turn on Tangled and cuddle under blankets

·                     Don’t get mad at me for quoting the entire movie

·                     It will happen

·                     There’s really no avoiding it

·                      Brave or Beauty and the Beast are also acceptable choices

·                     Bad puns are always a good bet

·                     Especially if you tell them in horrible/botched accents

·                     Chocolate chocolate donuts

·                     Lots of donuts

·                     Or cheese

·                     Cheese makes me happy too

·                     Help ground me in the present

·                     Sometimes flashbacks are hard

·                     Bring me socks because chances are I was wearing flip-flops and so I have no socks on and my                        feet are freezing

·                     Warm feet don’t solve depression but feeling taken care of helps a lot

·                     Remind me that I’m not damaged goods, I’m not a burden

·                     Take me for a drive

·                     I may or may not request to drive

·                     Windows down and music up is a must

·                     Offer me a selection of my favorite books

·                     Tell me that you are here, you’ll stick by me through all of the bad times and not just the good

·                     Play with my hair

·                     But please don’t try to run your fingers through it

·                     It’s curly hair

·                     That doesn’t work

·                     Get me outside

·                     Star-gazing

·                     Sun-bathing

·                     A walk around the block

·                     Just outside

·                     Tell me about some of your favorite good memories of us

·                     It’s a nice way to give me hope for future good times

·                     But never say “It’ll get better”

·                     I will smack you

·                     Open windows

·                     Get me in the shower

·                     *Accompanying me is optional

·                     TAKE ME TO A DOG

·                     Sometimes you just have to leave me alone

·                     Space is a beautiful thing

·                     And if I ask for it, I mean it

·                     It’s not code for “fuss over me more”

·                     I still love you though

·                     And don’t go too far away

·                     Offer to go work out with me

·                     Preferably swimming

·                     But never running

·                     Sit by me and do your own thing

·                     Don’t fuss over me, but be there

·                     Make sure I’m hydrated/have taken my meds

·                     Take me to buy new flip flops (Old navy, $2.50)

But most of all,

·         Remind me how much you love me

Please be empathetic and know I love you.