The way I was wired

Sometimes I have these moments during the day when I have to stop. It's not cause I'm stressed out or have too much to do but rather I can feel my depression tightening its grip on me.
And I feel I'm never going to be good enough for anything or anyone. It's stupid and futile to keep fighting the inevitable depression that is constant in my life.
And I have to stop.
I have to stop whatever it is I'm doing and remind myself in a very real and literal way that I matter. I am good and I'm doing just fine. And everything is going to be okay.
I wish I didn't have to take the time to stop and remind myself that I have worth, that it'd just be inherent and obvious to me all the time.
But that's not how my brain was wired.
I was born with a defective brain in the sense that I have to make the conscious decision to push against what my brain is wired to do.
Because of the way my DNA decided to line up, my brain's default mode is depressed. I mean this in a very real way. I am always depressed. I have to push myself, force myself out of it and fight against my very nature in order to feel happy. It doesn't always work. And some days are harder than others.
A few weeks ago, I was really happy. I was happy every single day of the week. I didn't feel depressed and I went to bed without any despair. I could focus on my work without having to stop and push down the feeling of hopelessness that is always kept at bay. I felt joy in my interactions with others and didn't feel like it's all pointless. I felt like real connection was possible. That's a very odd thing to happen for me. It was an abnormal week for me.
I wish it could always be like that. I have so many things to be happy about and I know I should be happy. But, like I said, it's just not how it works for me. And so I have to constantly fight to get happiness in my life.
I don't know why I'm telling you all this.

Love you.
Mean it.

You never forget your first

You never forget your first.

Someone gives you a suggestion or a cover catches your eye.

You ask people about their first comic, they get a kind of stupid/nostalgic grin on their face. They recall what it was and how they got it and how it made them feel and little details they hadn't thought about in ages.

My first comic was Batman: The Long Halloween. I was 20 or 21. I was working for an English professor at SUU named Joe. He loved comics and taught classes on them. He recommended TLH to me.

I drove all the way from Cedar City to St. George because I didn't want to wait for it to be mailed to me.

As cliche as it sounds, reading TLH was a turning point in my life. It's what got me to read comics. I kept reading Batman trades that I picked up at random book stores. I moved on to Sandman and Hellboy.

Now five years later, a corner of my apartment has stacks of comics, both trades and weeklies. Comics are a big part of my life and it all started with Joe's recommendation to read TLH.

A few weeks ago, I was on vacation with the family. I was sitting there, reading a Deadpool collection, when my baby sister Cindy, age 19, came up to me and asked me about comics. After a brief conversation, she asked me how she could start reading them. I was so proud, my big sister heart nearly burst.

Cindy will be leaving for Rexburg for her second year of college. I'll be sending her a care package of comics to start her off with.

It will include The Long Halloween because, like I said, you never forget your first.

Love you.
Mean it.

Dealing with my body.

Once upon a time I was thin. Like really thin. I played soccer and ran track so I also had muscle tone. And I had no qualms with my body image. (I had other problems with depression and hating my life but that's a different story for different time). I knew I was hot and that guys wanted me and I LOVE it.

Then college came and I gained a little weight. But it still wasn't a big deal.

But then came the worst day of my life. And I gained more weight.

Then I started working with a trainer and I lost weight, a whole 12 pounds.

Then I graduated from college, moved to Logan and gained even more weight.

I am now the heaviest I've ever been in my entire life. And it's something I've had to adjust to. There are times I look in the mirror and I'm bewildered by what I see. I don't think of myself as this big but I am. I'm a heavy girl, a fat chick, "PLUS-SIZE."

There was a really long time when I really hated my body and it's enormity. I thought I was fat and ugly and unattractive and basically worthless and horrible.

Then, weirdly enough, I took part in a graduate study. Some woman working on her Ph.D (somehow connected to to my editor) was doing a study on women's body image, social pressure, etc. I was doing it because why not.

But then we got to the section about feminism and body image. As you know, I am not shy about my feminist beliefs. But I never really practiced feminism with my own body image. The idea of what is the "perfect body" is a patriarchal concept. How can I lift women up and encourage them to reject patriarchy if I hate my own body because it doesn't measure up to society's standards? It's hypocritical.

And so I reject fat shaming. I reject the idea of hating my body because it's bigger than it "should" be. I reject being ashamed of my body. Fuck that shit.

And so I've embraced my body. I embrace being heathy and eating right and exercising but not focusing on my weight but rather on being healthy.

In celebration of rejecting all shame I used to hold, I bought a bikini!

Want to know how to get a bikini body? Step 1: Buy a bikini. Step 2: Put it on your body.

Bam. Done. End of steps.

Love you.
Mean it.

Withdrawals

I've written about this before, my attempt to not be on medications anymore. Since the the last time I've written about this, I've gone down to just taking two medications— a big improvement from the six I was taking a few years ago. And even the dosage of those medications has reduced drastically. But now I'm trying to go from two to just one. And it's not easy.

The trouble with taking a medication for nearly 10 years is your body is used to it so much so that when you cease the input, your body hates you. I've experienced withdrawals before and they're just horrible. I'm currently experiencing them again though not as intense as they can be. There are no cold sweats. I'm not shaking uncontrollably. I'm still slightly sensitive to light and sound but it's not too bad The only thing really bothering me is my head is killing me and my body feels weird, like I'm not sure it really belongs to me. I'm trying to take it easy over the next few days till my body readjusts itself.

My decision to stop being on medication primarily comes from the very fact I've been on them so long. I don't really recall a time when I wasn't on them. I want to see if I can function without them.

I'm not saying medications are bad. In fact, I'd claim the opposite. Medication and therapy definitely have their place. I wouldn't have gotten through the shit I've been through without them. The decision to go off them is a personal one and should not be judged by anyone.

I'm sorry if this post doesn't make any sense. My head is throbbing and the screen light isn't helping.
But I wanted to explain what was going on and why I'm doing it.

Love you.
Mean it.

Jealousy is the cousin of greed

There is this song, "The Curse of Curves" by the band Cute is What We Aim For. It has a line that says, "Jealousy is the cousin of greed." Since lyrics are open to interpretation, I've taken that particular line to mean that jealousy is closely tied to greed, meaning you don't believe you have enough in your life and you desire more.

I've always like that. I thought it was pretty poignant.

But I've never really had a problem with jealousy. My entire life, I've never been seriously jealous of anyone. Even when I went through the worst of the worst of my depression, where I hated my life and hated my existence and pretty much hate everything, I never really felt jealous of anyone or their life. I don't know if this is because I was too caught up in my own despair or I figured everyone's else's life is fake because they couldn't accept that life was meaningless. Whatever the reason, I was never, ever jealous of anyone else's life.

But recently, I've found myself encountering feelings of jealousy more and more, lately.

And it's weird. It's a new feeling. And I don't know what to do about it.

I see people on Facebook and they're building houses, they have enough money to build a house. And I get jealous because I rent a small, one bedroom apartment.

I see people going on trips to Spain and England and Europe and I get jealous.

And even simple things make me jealous.

Like I see my ex-boyfriend. He and his current girlfriend have moved in together into a small basement apartment.

And I got jealous. I have NO desire to get back together with him. That'd be awful. I mean, we definitely broke up for a reason.

But I jealous. Not over him but over concept that he had someone and they were living together and they were happy.

I see groups of friends together, laughing and joking together. And I get jealous because I don't have that here in Logan. I have a few acquaintances here and there. But I don't have a solid group of friends, which is frustrating. And so whenever I see a group of friends and that camaraderie, I get super jealous.

I don't know how one handles jealousy. Again, this is a completely new emotion for me. I cannot remember a time when I was this jealous all the time and of everybody.

It's kind of stupid. It's like I'm jealous of  every single person I encounter.

I'll admit that I'm having a hard time here in Logan. It's not because of my job. I love my job. I absolutely love my job. But it's because I don't have a social life, I don't have that feeling of community or connection or a place where I belong or a place where I'm accepted. I don't have those people I can call up and hang out with or a place where I can go where people love an accept me.

I think no matter where a person goes or what they do, they need to have a sense of belonging, they need to have friendship. Otherwise, what's really the point of everything?

My life revolves around my work. And I'm not saying that like those people who work 60+ hours a week. I mean, there really is nothing else in my life except my job. I get up. I got to work. I do my job. Then I come home and try to fill the remaining hours in a day. I have hobbies, yes, like cross stitch and comics. But, as Norman Bates said in Psycho, "Hobbies are suppose to pass the time, not fill it."

The trouble is I don't know how an adult is suppose to make friends. In the past, I've had church or college. Both served as a jumping off point to form friendships. Since I no longer have either of those in my life, I don't know what to do.

I've been trying to be brave and put myself in situations that scare me, as in going out by myself and try to interact with people. I know I come off as awkward and weird. I try not to be but I'm pretty sure that's all I am nowadays. But the point is I'm trying. I'm trying to go out and meet people and make friends or, at the very least, not feel so goddamn alone, even if it's only for an hour.

I guess my jealousy is closely related to greed. I do want more in my life. I want more meaning. I want more purpose. I want some place where I feel like I belong. But maybe it's not such a bad thing, to be greedy. I mean, it's easy to want more when you have nothing.

Love you.
Mean it.

You get what everyone else gets...

I recently found out that a friend from high school died last week. She was in a car accident and had a seizure. Her funeral was on Saturday. I only found out cause an old boyfriend of mine thought to text me about it.

It really shocked me. She was my age, recently married, happy. She and I were bridesmaids at our mutual friend's wedding back in 2009. She had her whole life ahead of her. She didn't deserve to die.

People react to death in a number of ways. My reaction was shock and then anger, real bloody anger. I'm an atheist but if there was a god, I'd punch him in the face for pulling this type of shit.

It's funny how when people encounter a death like this, a seemingly random, unjustified death, they begin to ponder their own mortality and question their own belief system. I did something similar to that but it didn't really change anything. I mean, I'm still an atheist. I don't believe there is a god out there and even if there were, this type of occurrence proves he doesn't give a shit about us.

If anything, it only reaffirmed my belief in being a good person. This life is all we got. It really doesn't matter if there is something after this existence or not.

This life is all we get to do as much good as possible, to change as many things for the better. If there is a god and an afterlife and such, then we'll be rewarded. If there isn't, we left the world a better place than when we found it. Unless you're an insufferable prick, shouldn't that be the ideal to strive for?

Who knows how long we have on this "pale blue dot?" Faith and religion have nothing to do with choosing to live your life for goodness.

As Neil Gaiman put it, "You get what everyone else gets—you get a lifetime." 

Love you.

Mean it. 

The time I went to a Magic: The Gathering pre-release

While I consider myself a pretty dorky person, I have never delved into the realms of card games such as Magic: The Gathering. That is just too nerdy for me to handle. As such, I know very little about Magic and other similar games. Since becoming friends with a guy named Chris, who works at the local comic store (LCS), I've been slowly learning more about this game.

It just so happened that on the weekend of Jan. 25-26, there would be the Gatecrash pre-release for Magic. Every year, Magic releases four new sets of cards. The LCS's and other shops have events called pre-releases where, at midnight, people can get one of these new sets a week before they are officially released and play in a tournament with them. The more Chris explained, the more fascinated I became. Through various discussions with him, I've come to learn that Magic is a pretty expensive hobby with certain cards being worth $1,000 or more. This sounded ridiculous to me but he informed me that the LCS has a card worth $400-600. After explaining more about this pre-release and tournament, I knew I had to witness it first hand. It was like some bizarre ritual from a subculture of life. My curiosity was peaked. I couldn’t pass it up.

I show up around 10:30 p.m. and the LCS is getting pretty full. Tables are set up in long stretches and people are playing Magic and talking in small groups. The closer we get to midnight, the more people show up. At the last pre-release Chris said that 90 people showed up. I'm prepared for the worst. I’m approaching this as non-judgmental as I can be, trying to view it as something akin to an anthropological study. Being non-judgmental is hard enough for me under the best of circumstances so I keep reminding myself to keep an open mind.

I think the most surprising aspect of the night is the various kinds of people that show up. Some are overly fat and some are painfully thin. Some look like the stereotypical guys who would play Magic but there is a surprising number of different looking people here. Two hipster looking guys show up. The one is wearing tight salmon color jeans and has a skunk bleach streak through his hair. The other is in tight jeans and has perfectly tousled hair. There's a group of guys all wearing Aggies football/basketball t-shirts and hoodies, looking like they just came from the student section of a game. One white guy has cornrows, I swear to god. Most are sporting facial hair at various levels of success. One guy has an epic waxed mustache that is curled to perfection. A handful of guys have longer of hair than I do. A painful number of them remind me of exes. One in particular, named Atticus, looks eerily like an ex whom I used to call Atticus as a joke. There's more than a few married couples here, one with an infant. Others sport wedding rings but left the wife at home, I guess. Ages range from old and bald with flood pants to teenagers with long, greasy hair and baby faces. I am one of nine women.

The table tops are scattered with assortments of junk food, ranging from powdered donuts to granola bars. Energy drinks abound. This seems to be a staple at these events. They're mostly the large, brightly colored kind you see lining a gas station drink selection but I see a few Red Bulls and a couple 5-Hour Energy drinks. People sit on both sides of the long stretches of tables, chatting about their cards that they show off in binders, flipbooks or in individual protective plastic sleeves.

As I listen to the conversations, I try to make sense of what they're saying. It's a hopeless task. While I understand a majority of the individual words, combining them makes them seem like gibberish. My native companions make an attempt to teach me how this game is played. After watching a few games, I'm thoroughly confused, only having a vague recollection of the key terms Chris taught me earlier like tap and mana. Chris explained that Magic is a game that is easy to learn but difficult to master, not a comforting thought considering how hopelessly lost I already am. I related this statement to both NC Leah & Bryanne. They agree, admitting that they still have trouble with parts.

Out of the 85 players, only seven are women. The one with the infant has it strapped to her chest in one of those complicated streatchy fabric deals. I say infant because the thing can't be more than 2 months old. I try not to judge but it's nearly midnight and that baby needs to be in bed, not in a comic book store strapped to its mama's chest.

Midnight finally comes with with a final warning to register from the judge, whose name I have learned is Jeremy. He has come up from the store in Ogden to oversee this tournament. Being the judge, he has the final say in any questions the players may have in the tournament. I don't know how long Jeremy has been doing this but I assume it's a lot if his word is law when it comes to Magic tournament questions.

Midnight comes and goes with Chris and Judge Jeremy calling out names to give out and double check DCI numbers. I later find out DCI numbers are like a “social security number” for Magic. It's an identification number from the official sanctioning body for all competitive play in Magic. I didn't even know there was such a thing. This is the other thing I is most surprising to me. Magic is a BIG FREAKING DEAL.

Judge Jeremy then officially begins the evening by welcoming everyone and then explaining the different guilds that will be handed out in a few moments. There are five new guilds, Simic, Gruul, Boros, Orzhov, and Dimir. Judge Jeremy goes on to explain the different “mechanics” of each guild. He says things like “When you cast a spell, you can pay a black or white” or “You cannot pay for multiple triggers” or “....encode the spell on a creature.” Again, all those words make sense individually but by combining them, I have no idea what he is talking about. While Judge Jeremy is announcing the different guilds, the members of the different guilds talk trash to one another. I guess competitiveness isn't just for sports.

The players are then instructed to open their guild boxes and it's like Christmas. Random cheers spring up when someone gets a really good card with a few jealous taunts issued in return. “Goddamnits” escape when the cards aren't as favorable.

Talk reduces to low murmurs as people take a closer examination of their cards, trying to figure out strengths and weakness of their packs. Each guild box came with five packs of cards, a set of dice and a sticker with the guild logo on it. One older man who looks like David Cross (I swear to god) will eventually stick that sticker on his bald forehead, managing to look even more stupid and ridiculous than he already does. People compare their cards saying “I've got...” and then say something that sounds like a word J.R.R. Tolkein made up.

Eventually, Chris and Judge Jeremy put up the tournament starting matches up, one list at the front of the room and another at the back. You find out who you're playing by finding out what table marker you're suppose to be at. They go up to 43. Despite announcing this, people come up asking who they are playing. That is when I notice one player is walking around without shoes. Maybe it's just one of my pet peeves but a grown-ass adult should never remove their shoes and walk around in a public place barefooted. Despite my best efforts to keep an open mind, this guy manages to get on my “judged harshly” list.

The tournament officially begins. Each match is the best out of three. The winner is suppose to come up and write their name on this piece of paper and state how they won, i.e. 2-0 or 2-1. It's not a single elimination type of tournament and everyone is guaranteed at least four rounds of play. After that, eliminations begin. People come up and start writing their names. I find out a man wearing patriotic sweat pants (the kind with the stars on one leg and the stripes on the other. He is also wearing a fanny pack, I swear to god) has traveled up from Salt Lake to attend this tournament with his brother, who currently lives in Logan. Some players comment to Chris or Judge Jeremy on the specifics of how they won, using words I don't understand.

Unfortunately, this is where my observations had to end. It’s nearing 2 a.m. and I have to work in the morning. I say goodbye to Chris and native companions Andrew, Bryanne and Leah, and to Judge Jeremy though I don't think he even knew who I was. I put on my coat and gloves, preparing myself for the cold. The tournament is going to continue on into the night, finishing up at 6 a.m. There is going to be an additional two pre-releases/tournaments the next day, with Chris only getting a few hours of sleep in between since he has to open the store at 11 a.m. I leave feeling tired and bewildered.

Love you. 

Mean it. 

Feminism: A not so brief definition

Whenever I tell someone who does not know me very well or vice versa that I'm a feminist, I have internal mini panic attack over what they think that means and therefore what they think about me. I'm not sure how, when or why it happened but there have developed so many misconceptions about what feminism is and is not that I spend a surprising amount of time explaining myself and my choice to others (something I truly dest doing no matter what the context or content).

Granted, feminism has been around for a while and has gone through many waves, changes, focuses, etc. but the essential core of feminism is the belief that women deserve the same rights, privileges, opportunities etc. as men and should not be discriminated against just because they happen to be women. However, because of its changes, misconceptions still abound. And frankly, I'm getting really sick of it.

So I am here today to try and set the record straight. The following is an attempt to explain what feminism is and what it is not. It is by no means an exhaustive list and is not the end all be all but it's a start.

Feminism is not...

• Man-Hating

This is probably the biggest misconception that I encounter and I'm probably not alone on this. Feminism and feminists do not hate men as a general whole. It's true that it may seem like we direct a lot of our frustration and anger towards men (and it is true in the sense of us hating rapists, pimps, wife-beaters, etc.) but it's not necessarily true. Instead, feminist hate patriarchy. Patriarchy, for the uninitiated, is a form of social organization in which the father or just a male is the supreme authority or beneficiary of the society or family. Most civilizations, societies and religions are patriarchies, where men are viewed as the dominant, superior sex and receive and enjoy the most benefits of the society. As such, while patriarchy lifts men up, it simultaneously pushes women down.

The evidence of patriarchy can be seen all over the place: a woman being paid less than a man for the same work, the expectation of a woman to get married, stay at home and raise the kids (not that there is anything inherently wrong with wanting to stay at home and raise kids. More on that later), the idea that girls only like dolls and dresses and other gender expectations/restrictions. Patriarchy thrives and it is that, not men, that feminists fight against.

It's true that men may be the the main supporter behind patriarchy since it's existence benefits them the most. However, just like men can be feminists (more on that later), women can be supporters of patriarchy. Again, it is patriarchy feminists seek to destroy, not men. 

• Anti Marriage and Family

This is probably the second biggest misconception I encounter as a feminist and it's probably a result of the misunderstanding of the feminist movement of the 1960s & 70s. If feminism was against being a wife and mother, it would be against the right for a woman to choose how she lives her life. Rather, feminism is against the expectation that a woman can ONLY be a wife and a mother, an idea/expectation that that is a pure result of the gender roles constructed by patriarchy. 

Feminism believes a woman has the right to choose how she lives her life without the judgement or interference of society. If a woman chooses to be a wife and stay at home mom, great. If she chooses to be a wife and mom and wants to work outside the home, awesome. If she chooses to be married and not have kids, fantastic. If she chooses to remain single, wonderful. If she chooses to be a single mom, terrific. The whole point is that she has the right to CHOOSE. 

• The Belief that Women Are Better than Men

The whole point of feminism is not to put women above men or to give women more benefits or privileges than men. If it did, we feminists would be no better than the perpetrators of patriarchy. The whole aim of feminism is equality. If it appears like we raise women up, it is only in the attempt to get them to the same level that men have enjoyed for centuries. 

• Just Women

I am proud to say I have a lot of male friends who are feminists. Again, feminism believes in equality for both men and women. Men can make excellent feminists and I'm delighted whenever I find one. 

(On a side note, there is no place inside the feminist movement for women who ostrisize men from feminism just because they are men. This pisses me off to no end. I've encountered these so called "feminists" who say men can't join the fight because they are male and therefore cannot possible empathize and understand the plight of women. While this may be true, it's a bullshit reason to exclude anyone from any activist movement whose aim is equality. Following that logic, non-gays can't believe and work towards gay rights. Non-blacks can't believe and work for civil rights. If the point is to be equal, ALL people are welcome to join the struggle.)

Feminism is...

• Still relavent and needed

I encounter this misconception all the time and unfortunately it's often from other women when they explain why they don't identify as feminists. While feminism has made great strides during its existence such as the right to vote, the right to higher education, Roe vs. Wade, reproductive rights in general, etc. the fight is far from over. 

It is a fact that a women still get paid, on average, 75 cents for every dollar that a male makes for the same work. Rape culture is abundant and places far too much blame on the victim (when in actuality, NO blame should be placed on the victim). Reproductive rights are constantly being challenged. Sexism abounds. The hyper-sexualization and objectification of women is freaking everywhere. And probably most importantly, the mentalities that are a direct result of patriarchy still thrive and are considered the norm. 

We have made gains, yes. But our struggle and our fight is not over and will never be over until patriarchy is destroyed.Not to mention, we must be constantly vigilant to ensure that the gains that we have made will never, ever be challenged again. 

• A Movement that Encompasses All Aspects of Life

It is my belief that the main reason women don't see the need for feminism anymore is because they don't realize how patriarchy has defined every aspect of life as we know it. As such, the fight for feminism is a fight that involves every aspect of existence. 

We fight for political freedom to choose our representatives, to not have them perpetuate patriarchal standards and to ensure our reproductive rights are protected. We fight for economic justice to see that women get paid the same as men for the work they do, to ensure that a woman is not passed over for a promotion or a job just because she has a vagina. We fight for social change, to end the hyper-sexualization and objectification of women, to destroy rape culture and domestic violence, to stop sexism everywhere it exists, and shatter all bullshit gender roles that try to define what being a woman means. We fight for educational opportunities that are equal to the ones men have enjoyed for years, to be taken seriously in any educational endeavor we choose and not be cast aside because we are women. 

• For All Women

As mentioned above, feminism does not want to destroy families or marriage. We strive to ensure every single woman has the same right to choose how she lives her life free from judgement and persecution of society. There is a place for every single woman inside the movement, no matter your age, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, marital status, immigration status, etc. Just as every woman can benefit from the existence of feminism, feminism can benefit from the experience, commitment and loyalty of every single woman. We are here to fight for the quality of our lives, to no longer be content as the "second sex." 

Just as we are here today because of the struggle and fight of women before us, we fight for the women who will come after us. And we will never stop the fight. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Religion: Fascinating but unappealing.

I just finished watching this four part documentary called "The Calling." It follows seven Americans as they become professional religious leaders. They were Catholic, Presbyterian, Evangelical, Muslim and Jewish. The whole thing was pretty fascinating to watch, seeing their journey in dedicating their life to religion and to serving their community.

Despite being an atheist and being very content to remain so, religion is fascinating to me. Watching this documentary, I was able to better understand why religion is so interesting to me without appealing to me at all. The main fascination is the concept that there is this unseen entity that is watching over all of us and by living our lives a certain way, by praying to him, by singing to him, by dressing a certain way or by eating certain things, then he will bless us with happiness in this life and in the next. The whole thing seems utterly ridiculous to me but it is interesting to see just how far people are willing to go to please their own version of this unseen deity.

While most religions have the same basic understanding when it comes to what is good and permissible to do and what is considered to be bad or evil, the details get all muddy and seem frivolous in my perspective. For instance, nearly all religions say don't kill. That's a given. But when it comes to something like modesty for women, different religions are all over the place from Muslims wearing a hijab to moderate Christian faiths not really caring at all. Even within Christianity, there is debate over what is acceptable. What is considered modest by Catholics may not be the same for Mormons or Lutherans. While most religions agree on what is good and right, they vary so widely on nit picky items like modesty that it becomes an exercise in futility to determine which is really the correct one.

As I watched these people as they began the journey to dedicate their entire lives over to their faith, I thought about my views as an atheist. Because I don't believe in a god, there is nothing really that tells me how to live my life accordingly. There is no deity holding the fear of pain and suffering over my head nor is there someone holding out the carrot of love and happiness either. Everything I chose to do in my life is because I think it's the right thing to do. I find it incredibly liberating to be able to live my life exactly how I think it should be led.

I'm not saying that these people whose life solely revolves around their religion are unhappy. On the contrary, I'm sure they are happy, just as I am happy. I have found a way to live that makes me happy and fulfills me, just as these people in the documentary along with other religious people have also found a way to live and be happy. I really don't think there is just one way to go about htis life. As long as you find something that helps you be happy and helps you be fulfilled without hurting others, cheers.

I don't think it'll ever get to the point where I choose to convert to any particular belief but religion will continue to fascinate me.

What am I doing?

My birthday is in a few weeks. I'll be turning 25. I was thinking about this as I was driving to Provo the other day for a birthday party for a dear friend. The more I thought about it, the more I began to experience something like a quarter life crisis. 

I'm turning 25. In another five years, I'll be 30. 30 seems like such an epic age. What do I want my life to be like in five years? Do I want to still be working at the Herald Journal? Do I want to be working at a bigger newspaper? Do I want to live somewhere bigger? Do I want to own a house or a really nice condo? Do I want to be married or in a serious relationship? Do I want kids? What do I want out of my life? Needless to say, I began to panic and freak out a bit. 

The truth is I don't know I'm doing or what I'll want to be doing in five years. I've been so focused on the most recent aspects of my life (graduating from college and getting a job) that I haven't given much thought to the next few years. 

The other day a friend of mine asked me how long I plan on staying at the Herald Journal before moving on to a bigger paper and then end up at the New York Times. I kind of laughed the idea off. I mean, I've dreamed about working at something like the New York Times but I've never really seriously considered it. I told this to another friend of mine and he said that if anyone is going to end up there, it would be me, that I was tenacious and plucky enough to do it. 

Now, granted, he could have just been being nice. He is a nice fellow despite what folks may say. But this only increased my quarter life crisis thought process. What if I do want to end up at the New York Times? The kind of journalism I enjoy the most and get the most satisfaction out of is investigative type stuff, exposing corruption or wrong doing and bringing attention to causes or plights that deserve attention. And as much as I love my job right now, it doesn't offer many opportunities for that type of work. And while I love my job and love getting up in the morning to do it, is it something that I want to be doing in five years? 

I'm coming slowly to the conclusion that I don't think I'll ever really know what I'm doing with my life. I'll perpetually be in a state of ricocheting in this thing we call existence, trying to force it to make sense and squeeze happiness out of it. And I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing. It's just semi-frustrating for a person like me who generally likes to have a plan. 

Trouble is life tends to be far more complicated and unpredictable to have solid plans or even tentative plans. It's all just wibbly-wobbly. 

So I don't know where I'm going to be in five years or 10 years or 50 years.  And I'm not sure how I should feel about that quite yet. I'll keep you posted though. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Old bedroom

Right now, I'm laying in my old room at my parents' place. I'm not even laying on a proper bed, just a sleeping pad they've thrown on my old daybed frame. There is no other furniture in the room & nothing on the walls. It's really strange being in here once again. This was my room for over 12 years. It was the only place in the whole house that was truly mine. I wrote some of my first creative works in room. I talked & texted numerous boyfriends & crushes. I prayed fervently to a god I'd later realize doesn't exist. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I'd like to remember. I hurt myself, cut myself in this room in an attempt to make all the pain & depression go away. I read countless books in here, falling in love with each one. I cuddled with pets that have since passed away & have felt the loneliness when they are gone. I live my life in this room. It was mine & it experienced the best and worst of my life.

But it's no longer my room, not really anyway. My folks plan on turning it into a guest bedroom for when us kids come to visit. They're going to repaint over the baby blue I begged them to let me paint the walls. After that, it really won't be my room. It will only be memories, good & bad.

Love you.
Mean it.

Beauty won't pay my bills.

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. 

If I were the type of person who went out and made friends or just chatted with people as we sat at the bar and sipped beer, I'd brag about my job. They'd ask me what I did for a living and I'd tell them I was a reporter. If I was two beers in, I'd tell them I write. When they asked me what I write, I'd say, "Words, mostly."

I can't think of a better way to make a living. I write words and people give me money. It's brilliant. It's so perfect for me, I'm not sure how I got so lucky.

(of course, Chris would say that luck has nothing to do with it. In his zen Buddhist way, he'd say "You didn't come as far as you have from luck. In talent and passion and will, we are not all created equal.")

(Though I think my idea of luck comes from a combination of Chris's idea and Harvey Dent's "You make your own luck." In that sense, I've worked my ass off to be as lucky as I am.)

In any case, I'm one lucky girl to be paid to write words. 

But there is one draw back. 

I write words. Lots of words. SO MANY WORDS. 

By the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is write more words. As such, my other forms of writer have suffered as a result. I don't post on here nearly as often as I used to. The last poem I wrote was back in July. And my journal keeping has become non-existant. 

I write words for money. I no longer write them for the beauty of their existence. 

I usually don't mind this too much. It's more like a dull ache inside of me that could one day resemble regret. 

But on nights like tonight when I check in on some of my favorite artists/writers (See: Andy & Bodily), I feel like I'm not creating enough art, enough beauty. (Not to mention, both of those gentlemen are so bloody talented, I don't know whether to hug them or punch them in the neck.)

I guess that's a drawback to making words your living. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Hope I'm not bothering you

I always figured that no one wants to hear the lonely words of a depressed girl. Folks have enough shit to deal with in their lives that adding a deluge of melancholy emotions to it is just going to be a waste of their time. Not to mention, depression seems so common these days. You can't throw a rock without hitting someone who's having to deal with feelings of depression. It's nothing unique. There's nothing remarkable about being depressed so really, what's the point in sharing those thoughts and emotions with people?

I always figured that if I really needed to share my lonely words, my depressed thoughts, I have to at least make them beautiful, albeit in a tragic, heartbreaking kind of way. That way I'm adding a bit of beauty to this work, even if it's a bit dark and haunting. It's not just me trying to get attention or just being depressed in the same kind of way everyone else is. No one cares about one more depressed person. I've got to try and make something out of this depression. If people are going to read my depressed and lonely words, at least make them feel something real.

Sometimes I succeed and I create something I'm proud of later. Those words that I put down are created solely out of desperation, a desire to stop feeling so bad, to get all that badness and heartache and haunting out of me and into words. I force all that badness into something devastating yet beautiful. And then when I look back on those words when I'm not trying to dig myself out of a pit of darkness, I fully appreciate what I have created.

Sometimes it doesn't work and I make something that's pathetic, trite and a waste. Like I said, depression is common. There's nothing new or refreshing about it. And I'm not the first one that's tried to create something out of it, tried to force some beauty into it. Unfortunately, it's so easy to make depression a cliche, to turn real human pain into something expected and dull. And no one wants to read that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is making beauty out of my depression is the most effective way to get rid of it. But those days when all I can make is shitty cliche tripe, it's just better if I keep it to myself, for everyone involved.

Love you.
Mean it.

Life in Logan so far.

Now that I've lived in Logan for one week exactly, I think it's about time I catch the interwebs up with my oh so important life here.

I have a wonderful little one-bedroom apartment that is more spacious than you'd think. It has a washer/dryer and a dish washer and tons of storage. It's clean, modern and cute. As I said, it's one bedroom, one bath and has a rather big living room that feels a bit empty considering the only furniture in it is my desk on one wall and my two bookcases on the adjacent wall.  I finally have a bed (so nice) and my mom came up the other day and bought me a kitchen table and chairs. This was really appreciated considering I had been eating all my meals on the floor like some kind of hobo. The thing I'm really missing now is a couch. If anyone reading this right now currently owns the couch, thank whatever maker you may or may not believe in that you do. I miss couches.

Anyway, my job is just awesome. I've already written about five articles, all of which have been published in the newspaper. I really love my coworkers. They've all been super helpful and friendly. There's far less swearing than I'm used to in newsrooms (see: City Weekly & the UVU Review) but I'm sure I'll adjust just fine. My beat is the K-12 education reporter which gives me plenty of stuff to do. Today I was with the Logan School District Board of Education as they visited Mount Logan Middle School. Seeing all those pre-teen/teens running around made me so grateful that I had the good sense to get out of being a teacher when I did. What was I thinking???

The only real down side to my moving here is I find myself feeling terribly lonely. I don't really know anyone. Thank goodness my old friend Maggie was smart enough to let me know that she lives here and I'm hoping to have dinner with her soon. My aunt Dezi and uncle Scott also live nearby and I know that they'll have me over any time I want. But other than that, I find myself alone at night not really sure what to do with myself. I know I want to somehow go out and meet people but I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. How do adults meet other adults in a non-creepy way? I keep telling myself it's only been a week and I can't be expected to have best buddies by now but it's slightly depressing to be all alone so much. I might just get a dog for company.

Love you.
Mean it.

Growing up is a weird thing

Well, this is it.

I'm currently sitting in my nearly bare bedroom with Randy beside me. My room is bare of nearly all my possessions minus my furniture. Everything else is packed up and in either my garage or in the downstairs living room. It's funny when you pack up everything you own. Two thoughts come into your head. The first is how did I ever acquire so much crap? The second is does all of this add up to my life? I hope the answer to the latter is a firm no. I don't even want to begin to answer the former.

I'm moving up to Logan on Monday. Well, I'm officially moving on Monday. I'm starting to move my stuff in on Sunday. And it looks like I'll be doing it all by myself. My folks are taking a mini vacation to Yellowstone so the plan is that I'll take up as much of my stuff as humanly possible and then my folks will bring up what's left and my furniture, including my bed. Until then, I will be sleeping on a sleeping pad–the same kind we use on camping trips.

I start work at my new job at the Herald Journal on Tuesday. It's an exciting time to be Kelly. I am now a professional reporter, though it is taking my brain a bit of time to wrap around that idea. I'll be working full-time, coming home to my beautiful apartment that I rent by myself, and doing adult type stuff like pay bills and cook dinner. I know it may seem silly for a 24-year-old girl to be dazed by the idea of being an adult but honestly, it's hard to feel like one when you live with your parents.

I feel as if my life has really finally begun. Or rather, that new part of my life that I've been wanting and waiting for desperately for so long has finally begun. I've wanted this so badly. It's a funny thing though. Now that I've started my career, I'm moving out, and finally getting on with my life, I'm feeling a bit daunted. There's this feeling of "now what?" I've wanted this for so long that it's starting to feel a bit weird not having it to look forward to. I guess now the only thing left is to do my job, do it well, settle into my new life, and enjoy it. Should be fun.

Growing up is a weird thing. When we were younger, we saw people who were 24 or whatever and considered them to be "grown up." We even call them "grown-ups." But now I find myself at that age and I certainly don't feel grow up. I feel like I've always felt, that I'm making this up as I go along. I guess when I was younger, I had the impression that grown-ups knew what they were doing, that they had a plan and knew what their life was. I don't feel any of those things. But I don't feel like I've done something wrong or that I'm the exception. Rather, I know that it was the younger me who got it wrong. I don't think any grown-up really knows what's going on or what they're doing with their life, at least, not until they're in they're middle-aged. I'm still fairly young and I think it's okay if I don't know what I'm doing or that I feel like I'm making it up as I'm going because, as the good Doctor once said, I'm doing it brilliantly.

Love you.
Mean it.

Is lazy a style?

As you may or may not know, I am not very good at being humble. I know when I am really good at something and I'm not going to hide that fact just because others may view me as being prideful. In my mind, it's not being prideful if it's true. For instance, I know I am a damn fine writer. I'm also very smart and clever and freaking hilarious and awesome. I'm not prideful. I'm just very self-aware.

However, self-awareness is a double edged sword. I know all of my good qualities and all the things I am really good at but I also am painfully aware of what I am really lousy at. For instance, I took a physics class once and it kicked my trash. The professor would put these multiple choice questions on the board and we'd have to use those little clicker things to select our answer. Not only would I pick the wrong answer but I'd pick the most wrong answer you could possible chose. I am no good at physics. Other things I am really bad at include: basketball, drawing, cooking, riding horses, spelling words out loud, cutting bread straight, and doing math in my head.

But lately I've become ever more aware of one other thing that I am really lousy at and that is fashion. I am really lousy at dressing myself, which is pretty weird considering I've been doing it for most of my life. The reason I've become more aware of how bad I am at this is through watching the show Project Runway. I love this show. I have ever since the first season (it's now on its tenth season. I'm rooting for Dimytri. His stuff is just gorgeous). But every week, I watch these designers make something just beautiful and fashion forward and awesome and then I look down at my own ensemble: red Converse, skinny jeans, and a black Batman t-shirt. My hair is in a single braid down my back with lots of flyaways, my nails are painted a vibrant blue but it chipped, and six of my ten fingers have rings on them.

I'm not even sure you can call why I wear a "style," per-say. I'm just kind of lazy when it comes to my clothing decisions. I wear jeans and a t-shirt nearly every day because it's easy and comfortable. I wear Converse cause sandals hurt my feet and they get cold really easy. My hair is usually curly and tied back cause curly is what my hair wants to do and tied back is out of my way. I'm not sure why I like paining my nails but I like painting them in bright, vibrant colors cause if I'm going to go to all that effort to paint them, people are going to notice them. The rings are my own little way of paying tribute to the memories of my life. So pretty much, if I had to describe my style, the best word is probably lazy.

I just don't like spending that much time worrying about what I wear or putting in a lot of time to look nice. It's just not a priority to me. I've got other stuff I could be doing like hanging out with friends or reading a book or playing with my dog. When I watch shows like Project Runway, part of me wishes I would put more effort into what I wear. And, granted, if I'm going out with the girls or to a party, I will put in a bit more effort and maybe wear a sundress or something. But after a suitable amount of time has passed from watching the show, I just slip back into my old routine. And I'm okay with it. I don't really dress up that often cause that's just not who I am. I'm a pretty laid back kind of girl and my style reflects that in a sense.

Love you.
Mean it.

Unexpected side effects

Remember a bit ago when I said I was trying to go off all my medications? Well, I am proud to announce that I have reduced my medication intake by 66%. And the medications I no longer take just so happen to be the most addictive ones so go me!

The only trouble right now is that those specific medications also happen to be stimulants. And by removing them from my body, I am exhausted all the time. It's pretty bad. On my days off, I'm sleeping in till 2 p.m. without waking up once. And even after that, I'm taking a nap by 5 p.m. It looks like my body is going to need some time adjusting to the lack of stimulants it has relied on for the past eight years.

My entire life, I've always remembered my dreams. And I seem to have them every time I sleep, no matter if it's during the night or just a quick little nap. I always dream and I always remember them. That being said, my dreams have become much more vidid that they have ever been before. It's kind of alarming. I don't necessarily care for it. I won't go into what I dream about (cause there are very few things more boring in this universe than having someone tell you what their dreams were about), but I will say that they seem to physically and mentally wear me out. I'll wake up from a particularly intense dream and I'll feel like I didn't sleep at all. Sometimes the dreams really upset me, mostly because of the subject matter but sometimes just from the oppressive nature of the dream.

I don't regret my decision to go off my medication, even if it is screwing up my body a bit. These are just unexpected side effects. Hopefully they'll go away soon.

Love you.
Mean it.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing

Well, it's official. My sister, Kathy, is engaged. She's marrying this tall, lanky kid from Idaho named Brian. They're getting married Nov. 16 and they couldn't be happier. She's all giggles and smiles. It'd be annoying if I weren't so happy for her. Her first engagement didn't work out too well but I'm pretty sure this one is going to stick. I really like my soon to be brother-in-law, much more so than the other one and I'm happy that Kathy is finally happy.

The only odd think about this whole situation is Kathy is about three years younger than me. It's kind of weird seeing my younger sister get married, especially considering that in the time Kathy broke off her one engagement, found another guy and then got engaged, I dated one guy for less than a month and have been on absolutely no other dates. I think it's time to admit something. When it comes to dating, I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

I've been dating since I was 14 years old. You'd think after 10 years I'd at least have an idea of how to attract a man, flirt, date, etc. But no. I really have no idea how to go about it at all. Whenever I think about my dating life, I get the sudden urge to bang my head against a wall. I feel like it was at one point much easier than it is now. My friends still tease me about how easy it was for me to get a guy back in the day.

This is a true story, told to me by one of my best friends. Once upon a time that was more like senior year of high school, I was coming off a year and a half relationship and I was back on the market. There was this boy I was interested in and he and my friends were over at my house. I was sitting next to the boy and we were listening to music on my iPod. I guess a song I liked came in and I inched closer to said boy and said something like "Oh my gosh! I love [Insert Band Name Here]" My friend then leaned into her twin (also my friend) and said, "And she swoops in for the kill." Back then, catching guys' hearts was a game to me and I was really good at it. These days, catching guys' hearts may still be a game but either the rules have changed or else I one day got really bad at it.

I'd like to think that there are a plethora of guys out there whose hearts I unwittingly hold in my hand but that's just silly daydreams better suited for a 13-year-old girl, not a mature 24-year-old woman. I'm coming slowly to the realization that I may be single my entire life. And while I am a feminist and I don't believe I need a man to feel fulfilled in my life, I do think it'd be nice to have someone there to spend the rest of my life with.

Of course, all this frustration and worry that I'm an old maid may be due to the fact that I live in Utah and by Utah's standards, 24 and single does qualify me for old maid status. Hell, a lot of my friends my age not only are married but have kids (there's a truly terrifying thought). It's hard not to feel like I'm missing something in my life when everyone around has something I don't–a person they care about to come home to. Just add it to the list of reasons why I need to move out of Utah.

Love you.
Mean it.

Paid to pray, sing, & be called names

Right now I'm working three jobs. Two of my jobs involve me writing words, which is pretty awesome considering that's what I love to do and what I want to do for the rest of my life. The other one is a bit rougher to deal with. I work for an organization (which shall remain unnamed. I don't want to get in trouble somehow) that offers in home care to adults with physical/mental/emotional/psychological problems. It's an interesting enough job though I really don't think we get paid enough for the shit we have to deal with and the dangers we put ourselves in.

Yes, you read that correctly. Dangers. Sometimes the clients can become really aggressive and violent for one reason or another and can try to attack you or throw things at you. Everyone has to go through a training program to prepare them for what may happen. I've experience very little of this so far.

The only real time I have to deal with this stuff is when I'm working with this one client. Because of confidentiality stuff, we'll call her "Stacy." Stacy is in her 50s but has the mental capacity of a 1 or 2 year old. She doesn't talk very well but can make herself understood well enough. Stacy can have these fits sometimes when she doesn't want to do something or something upsets her or for some unknown reason. She she has these fits, she yells, screams incoherently, bites herself, hits her head on walls, hits her wrists on walls, and tries to grab other people. The other day the other staff and I were showering Stacy. Stacy HATES to shower and it's a long and difficult process. Despite not having that big of a vocabulary, Stacy knows a lot of swear words and would call us a stream of profanities that I'm too ladylike to repeat here. I know she doesn't really mean it and if she does, she doesn't fully understand what is going on. I'm not offended by what she says and it doesn't bother me. It just is kind of bewildering to me that I get paid to be called these names.

One thing that can calm Stacy down is music and singing. When we got her in bed after showering, she was still in a really bad mood and would scream and bit herself. I sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed her back. I started singing to her. I started off with the song "If I Had Words" from the movie Babe. 

It's a really pretty song. I learned to play it on the piano when I was younger and I never forgot the lyrics. It's a pretty short song so I started singing it again. After singing it twice, Stacy got wise and started freaking out again. So I scrambled to think of another song to sing. Nothing was coming. She was starting to get really irritated and aggressive so I just started singing and this is what came out:

Yes, I started singing the theme from Firefly. It was the only thing I could think of. But, hey. It did the trick.

Another client I work with is in her late 20s and has too many problems to list here. She's fully functional physically and can talk just fine. The other night when she was in bed, she asked me to come into her room. I sat on her bed and she held my hand. She wanted to say her evening prayer and asked me to say it. I immediately began to squirm. I don't believe in a god so I definitely don't believe in prayer. I didn't want to have to explain to her that if I said the prayer, it probably wouldn't work. It's like a prayer I would say would be instantly void. So I told her I didn't know how to pray, that I never learned, which is a lie but I didn't care at that point. She then began to pray as I awkwardly sat there holding her hand.

Honestly, I cannot wait to get a real journalism job so I can be paid to write words and not pray, sing, and be called names.

Love you.
Mean it.

Dear 29-year-old Kelly

Dear 29-year-old Kelly,

Hello, there future Kelly. How is the year 2017 treating you? I hope this letter finds you well. Things are a bit weird right now in the old 2012 so I thought I'd shoot you a letter just to remind you how things are going for 24-year-old Kelly.

First things first, you'd better be goddamn successful, 29-year-old Kelly. I'm doing all of the hard work so you'd better not have squandered it. Right now, I'm working three jobs. One is that internship at City Weekly (which I absolutely LOVE but it doesn't pay so wah, wah), the other is another internship with Foretelligent writing for trade magazines and such (and it pays!) and the last one is with Northeastern Services, where I help people with mental, emotional, and psychological disorders. I'm tired all the time and I commute like a mofo. So you'd better be at a place where all my hard work has paid off. Ideally, you'd better be on staff at some really awesome newspaper or magazine, preferably out of Utah. And you'd better love your job. If you don't, go somewhere else. Remember when you used to say that you don't care where you work as long as you make enough to not stress over money and you love your job? I really hope you still believe that. If I were getting paid to work at City Weekly, I'd be set. But anyway, at the very least, please, oh please, don't still be living with mom and dad. Right now it's okay for me to still be living with the folks considering I just barely graduated from UVU and have no money. But to be 29 and still living at home is embarrassing. Don't be that person, 29-year-old Kelly.

Also, I hope your love life is going well. And by that, I mean I hope a love life exists for you. I broke up with Jacob Hyden (remember him?) about a month ago and it's been pretty slow goings since then. I'm not bothered by it in the least. And I'm not just saying that cause that's what I always say. I really mean it this time. I'm quite happy being single right now. With all the other chaos in my life, I don't really have time to be in a new relationship. I'm fine just where I am, thank you. Hopefully you've found the time to have a relathionship.

It just occurred to me that you might be married. If this is true, good for you/us! How did you two meet? Wait, no. Don't tell me. I want to be surprised. I hope it's a good story, one to tell the kids and grandkids about. I wonder what he's like. The only thing I know for sure is that he makes you happy, like ridiculously happy. The only way I could see myself getting married was if he made me so happy that while I could see myself being able to one day be without him, I don't ever want to. Does that make sense? I hope it does and that's how you feel about this guy. I can't wait to meet him.

Wait, do you two have kids??? That's going to be weird. I hope that you're much more comfortable about the idea of having kids cause right now, 24-year-old Kelly is terrified of being a momma. I'll leave that to you. I'm sure you'll be much better at it than me.

Well, 29-year-old Kelly, in general, I hope you're doing okay, that you're happy with your possible husband and possible children. And if you don't have either of those, I still hope you're happy. I hope you love your job and love your life. And, if you have the time, think back to when you were me, 24-year-old Kelly writing this on the kitchen table in mom and dad's house and think about everything that's changed and happened and it makes you smile.  I hope your pile of good things is bigger than your pile of bad things.

Love you.
Mean it.

24-year-old Kelly