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.

the word "hope" is entirely too present in this post for the amount of heavy here

Since I’ve just recently been reunited with my computer, there is a lot to catch you up on.

I guess last you heard I was in Disneyland with Grace.

I thought of you on our long drive home, when Shayla freaked out on us and tried to overheat. Grace and I both panicked and called our Dads. We’re big girls and we figured it out, but what I would’ve given to have you there. I know that I can be sensitive about gender roles… and like I said, we figured it out fine. But it would’ve been a relief to have a man there who knew how fix my car, to have you there.

I thought of you while I was packing everything up, wondering how many times we’d pack and unpack apartments and houses together.

I thought of you on the drive home from the airport with my parents. It was so nice to be back with my parents, my family, and it made me excited for when “my family” means you.

I thought of you on the five year anniversary of telling Ian I loved him. He was the first boy I told that, and it terrifies me that I’ve yet to love anyone as much as I did him. And part of that is feeling so undeserving of love, because of him, what he did, how he made me. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to love as much as I know I’m capable of, and to be loved in return. Please come prove me wrong.

I thought of you my first Sunday at singles’ ward. I sat in the chapel and looked around for you. There were the standard awkward and intense old-ish guys. But not you (I hope).

I’ve thought of you a lot these last couple weeks, when a moment of depression hits, and they’ve been hitting more often. I’m slipping and the worst part is that there isn’t a lot I can do about it. Depression isn’t something you can fight. It’s not even “something”, it’s nothing. And you can’t fight nothing. You can’t fill it up. You can’t cover it. It’s just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. And if I can’t fight it, there’s even less that other people can do to help. I’ve always felt guilty when people I care about try to help and can’t. They end up feeling sad and frustrated and helpless. I never want you to feel like that. I’ve been doing so much better lately, which has made me hopeful for future relationships, for you. Sliding back is making me feel like it’s not fair to me to be in relationships, it’s not fair to the other person, it’s not fair to you…to put you in that position, to make you feel helpless.

But all of my anxieties about how my depression will affect you and us have never been able to fully crush my hope for delirious happiness with you. I thought of you while I did dishes with Mom and played video games with Dad. Something so small and stupid, but it was time together. I can’t wait to do small and stupid things with you and to get ridiculously giddy about it.

I’m pretty sure you’re not coming into my life anytime soon. So.. I have time to work on my mental health and my ability to help and let others help. I’ve always dreamed of having a total handle on this stuff by the time you come around. That’s not realistic though. I’m not sure I’ll ever have a real handle on it. I want to be better at least..

But, no matter where I am with this, if you are the man I hope you are, you’ll love me anyway. You’ll love me enough to work on it, to work with me, and together, we’ll figure it out.

Please be understanding and know I love you.

When fridge water starts a very deep thought

We don’t wait very long after knocking until Tanner opens the door. I know that I saw him at Christmas but considering how often I see my sisters, it feels like forever since I’ve seen him. I give him a tight hug.

I step forward to hug Emily, quite the feat considering her adorable little pregnant belly. I hear Tanner introduce himself to Grace behind me. He’s the last sibling for her to meet, now she’s met my whole family.

We settled down to chat and man I’ve missed Tanner. He has crazy strong opinions about pretty much everything and he isn’t afraid to share them. We’ve just finished discussing essential oils and how “they can’t just replace modern medicine!!!” when I ask if I can get a drink of water.

They direct me to the cup cabinet and I select a cup—or rather, a jar. It makes me smile that Tanner has adopted our family tradition of using canning jars as cups. I guess we dropped cups too often as kids, so this was Mom’s solution. We all love it now, even when we don’t drop cups anymore.

I turn around and stop short when I see the fridge. I blink.

“Oh yeah, you recognize that, huh?” Tanner says.

I do. I would know this fridge anywhere; it’s the fridge I grew up with. We got this fridge when I was six or seven and my parents still had it when I moved out.

“Did Mom and Dad give it to you?”

“Yeah, when they moved to Chicago. They didn’t want to move it and we needed a fridge so..”

I place my cup onto the water spout guy and start to fill it up, noticing the water residue lines that we could never get rid of. Pushing the cubed ice button is no help—that function broke years ago. Little crushed ice pieces are deposited into my cup. I sigh.

Once back at the table, it surprises me again when I taste the water. I know it’s stupid and it shouldn’t surprise me but man. I know this taste. It’s indescribable, but also not. It tastes like swim meets and sick days and AP tests and family dinners. It tastes like home.

Shaking the thought, I rejoin the conversation and we stay up until almost one in the morning just talking.

So it’s a very early morning the next day. But an early morning I can do. Because DISNEYLAND.

Grace and I are on our way by 8:32, only a few minutes off the time we wanted to leave. We buzz with excitement, singing along at the top of our lungs to Tangled songs and laughing. We’ve been planning this trip for months and it’s finally happening and just gah, it’s perfect. Our first adult road trip and it’s to Disneyland. Yup. Perfection.

For this first several hours, I’m so caught up in the wonder of it all. I don’t start to remember until we get to Buzz Lightyear’s ride. The last time I was here.

It was my senior trip and I didn’t have any friends left, especially since Sam decided not to go on the Disneyland trip. So I’d tagged along with Carlos’s group and they’d been so welcoming. Carlos had obliterated me in the Buzz Lightyear ride, and I’d shoved him, laughing, and he’d grinned and taken my hand.

Carlos is gay. He was also one of my best friends at the time, so it wasn’t weird.

When I obliterate Grace’s score, I remember and look down and my hands feel empty.

We’re waiting in the longest line we’ve had to wait in yet—a whopping thirty minutes. We chose a good time to come to Disneyland. Also we’re waiting for Space Mountain, so the wait time is worth it.

I glance across to Grace’s face. She meets my eyes and presses her lips together as we listen to the conversation going on behind us. That’s what we’ve been doing all day, eavesdropping, people watching. It’s the best. We’ve had an ongoing competition to find the most annoying couple, the most scantily clad person, the most interesting person, and of course any Mormons.

She turns away as the line moves forward. Her hair falls over her shoulder and she pushes it back as I know she will, tucking most of it behind her ear and then pulling out a few strands to fall in front of her ear. It’s funny how well we know each other.

And then it kinda hits me. Why the fridge water and the Carlos memory tugged at my heart so much. It hasn’t just been those though. It’s also being in California. The palm trees everywhere, the general landscape and look of the houses and feel in the air.

Familiarity.

I suppose Mom and Dad moving away from Salinas started it. I have no great love for Salinas, but it’s familiar. Visiting them in Chicago is just weird because it’s not home. I mean, it’s home, because it’s where my parents are. But Chicago is not home. It’s not where I grew up, it’s not familiar. But Salinas isn’t home either. It’s familiarity doesn’t make up for how horrifically it treated me. I suppose Provo is the closest thing I have to a home right now. It’s the most familiar thing I have that is familiar in a good way.

Still, I have such an aching for familiarity. So much so that I was willing to room with Grace again, just to have a familiar face and relationship. I’m realizing now that as much as I love Grace, we don’t always get along the best. Not that every friendship has to be happy all the time.. But she isn’t supportive of the things that I love. She goes as far as to put those things down. We talked about how much we hated it when Tiffany did it. But Grace does it too.

And that’s why I was willing to accept her apology for kinda ripping apart our relationship when she told me she didn’t want to room with me anymore because I wasn’t “social enough” for her. That hurt like nothing else, but when she apologized, I just wanted that relationship back. For the familiarity.

Thinking back further, that must’ve been the reason I kept going back to Ian. He was must first love, sure, but that made him so familiar to me.. it was comforting. It was something I knew. It was something I had to overcome.

I’ll have to overcome it with Grace too. I can’t be her best friend just because she’s familiar. I’m not saying I’m gonna ditch her or anything, that would be stupid. But living away from each other will create some healthy distance I think.

And then my attention turns to familiarity and you.

Whenever I leave after hanging out with my sisters for a while, I always get this pit in my stomach. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to go back to whatever crap is going on in my life at the moment. It’s taken me a while to figure it out, but I think it’s the familiarity of them. They know me and I know them and there are so many references that I don’t have to explain and I’m pretty much never anxious around them and just.. familiarity is a nice thing.

I want that with you. I think one of the telltale signs I’ve found you is that feeling whenever I leave your company.

I need to be careful to not let my need for familiarity cloud my judgement, like it did with Ian, like it has with Grace.

But I can’t wait.. to have inside jokes with you. I can’t wait to learn how you kiss. I can’t wait to talk together about the stupidest and most insignificant things from our days. I can’t wait to know you and for you to know me.

But I can’t wait to be familiar with you.

I hope to God that I never pass out in front of you

Alrighty here mister, you listen up.

If I ever get the crazy idea in my head that “foot-zoning” is a good thing for me to try again..

You HAVE to stop me. My feet should not be zoned. Absolutely never.

Kristen and Lauren and I went to a Women’s Expo thing today, which was glorious and it’s ridiculous how long it’s been since I’ve seen either of them.

They had this booth about foot-zoning. Faith’s grandma does it and I thought, what’s the harm? And I signed up for a ten minute sample.

What’s the harm.

Pfft.

So the lady started chatting and rubbing my feet.

“Do you have circulation problems?” She said, all random.

Why yes I do. Renolds, where my fingers and toes turn white if I get too cold for too long (Pay attention, cuz this is something you’ll have to know about me too).

And I guess she could tell through foot-zoning? It’s a legit thing. Very very legit, as I was about to find out. She started “working my circulation” through my feet. It was going great until I started to feel nauseous. But I didn't want to be wimpy, so I just ignored it.

About a minute later, I got suuuppper light-headed and my vision started to go a little black, so I said something and she started trying to reverse whatever the heck she did. I was sure I was gonna be sick, so I ran to the trashcan.

And that’s it.

That’s all I remember.

Next thing I knew, I was waking up, sitting in my chair again, and Kristen was on the phone with 911 and the lady was waving some stupid essential oil under my nose to try to bring me to again.

It took me a couple minutes to really become responsive again, during which I learned:

I walked back from the trashcan? (I have no memory of that). And then got all pale and clammy and just kinda drooped there and passed out for two minutes.

Two. Minutes.

I guess the lady really overdid it with the circulation thing. She was trying to get more blood into my feet and she got ALL MY BLOOD INTO MY FEET.

At this point, the paramedics were already on their way, so they came and checked me out, took my blood pressure and all that.

The guy who took my pulse was actually really cute. Was that you??

And of course I was fine, my vitals were normal and whatever. They told me that if I passed out again, I should go to the ER.

Wow. Thank you for that life-changing advice.

Lauren and Kristen were all cautious around me the rest of the afternoon. Like, holding my arm as we went down stairs, asking me if I needed to sit down, buying me food to get something into me. I was being all grouchy and saying that I was fine.. but I was feeling a little weak still. We went home earlier than I think they wanted to. But they were super good about it. They even called me later tonight to make sure I was feeling okay. And to ask me how my finals went. (I hope your finals went well, if you had to take them this week).

And actually, my finals went fantastically. I'm officially done with this semester.

Moral of the story? If you want to do well on your exams, just go pass out for two minutes. 

Life-changing advice.
Please never let me do foot-zoning and know that I love you.