Me & Fitness

 One of the things I've done this month with all this extra time I suddenly have is, once again, dip my toes back in the workout pool. That's a metaphor- I don't actually swim for workouts, though I probably should as I love it- I'm just... you know. Trying to be regular with things again.

The last time I had any kind of regular fitness routine was honestly probably high school gym class, and even then the last time I felt like gym class was a good and fair workout was the time in the eighth grade we played lacrosse separated by sex (so girls played the girls, and boys vs boys- I maintain that all gym classes should be separated by sex after like, grade 7, because in that one class it became clear to me that the difference in ability between me and an athletic girl my age was far less than between me and a non-athletic boy my age. But I digress). The point is- I'm not particularly athletic.

That didn't matter for a long time. I was young, and more importantly, I was thin. I don't say this to say that I was healthy back then, just that nobody EVER got on my case about working out when I had a BMI of 20 or whatever. That did not last. I've talked before in bits and pieces on here about my weight gain, but suffice it to say it has been a LOT, fuelled partly by depression, partly by two years of undiagnosed and untreated hypothyroidism, and I suspect partly by birth control, despite what my doctor said (I've yet to meet a woman of any age who didn't gain weight on birth control, but there could be some confounding factors in that). 

Around 2017, when I was 22, I started my intuitive eating journey and brought myself to a much more neutral, better, functional place with food. I think of food now mostly in terms of sweet vs savory, and in terms of carbs, fat, protein, and fibre. I don't think about how "good" or "bad" it is except in terms of freshness and expiry. I think about things like taste, satiety, and energy. It's nice. I think being able to focus on what I enjoy and what I need from my food allows me to approach it in a better way. I feel a lot more peace around it and don't feel so out of control, and foods that were once overwhelming to me and that I felt an urge to eat until I was sick are now things I can just leave lying around for MONTHS. I have no regrets.

Fitness and exercise are the one thing I can't seem to figure out for myself. That's the place I'm at now. I'm the slowest, fattest one much of the time (I use the term fat here neutrally, by the way- I have more fat than others. My body is larger. Whatever you want to say). I tell people I am a slow hiker and they assure me they are too- only to outpace me dramatically once we actually get there. When I say I am slow, I am not kidding. I am the slowest hiker most people have ever met. Before I got on synthroid, I had next to no energy, weirdly no appetite, and a slow, never-ending weight creep (among other things). By the time I was diagnosed I had foot pain so bad I could not bear to walk for more than half an hour, and was sleeping 10 hours a night (I physically could not get up before 10 hours had passed). The foot pain wasn't from my weight. It was from my foot muscles slowly atrophying, crying out for energy my body could not deliver because it was too busy attacking my thyroid for no goddamn reason. The reason I know this is that I haven't lost much weight at all on synthroid, but my foot pain is completely gone. 

Recently, I discovered that the muscle atrophy was not just limited to my feet. My core is completely decimated. I have back pain all the time and my hips are tense and sore. I have shin splints from the way my body is trying to move around all the time. But this was kind of a gift- it gave me a fitness goal. Before, all my attempts were just sort of "guess I'll do this" until it no longer seemed necessary. But now, with every core workout I do, my back pain is just a little better, my posture just a little taller. There's an Improvement that I can see that pushes me to do more. It's nice.

I have tried to do fitness in the past since the days of high school gym class ended. In high school I started taking TRX at a family friend's gym. I liked her gentle approach, and I need the action hours for CAS for my IB program. In university, I didn't have time for much- I tried to take a TRX class once, and it got cancelled due to low enrollment. We were told to attend the other session- the one offered during my night class. Night classes also prevented me from joining the dance team, since their fucking tryouts were always only one day a week and ALWAYS the day I had a night class. I did take up swing dancing for a while, and that shit is surprisingly good cardio, and around then I started climbing stairs in the education building with my now-husband. I had really good quads for a while. But the semester ended.

One summer I biked to work daily until the abuse from my commute and the poor behavior of other riders finally just convinced me to take the bus (that and it rained all August). The summer after I did that, the city put dedicated bike lanes on the same fucking path I'd been taking. For a while during my unplanned year off, I attended a gym twice a week- I even did some small group classes with a trainer and saw some progress. But then I got into grad school, and the gym (which was women-only, and I miss that) didn't have a location in the city I live in now. I took a kickboxing class with two friends at the start of grad school, but I didn't enjoy it much, and at one point near the end of the class I got so dizzy I had to sit down (something I find happens to me often with high-intensity cardio). I was also the slowest, fattest one in that class. Shortly after, in the beginning of 2020, I decided that was the year I'd get fit and started taking two gym classes a week at the same gym I'd gone to in high school. And, well, we all saw what happened in 2020. Attempts to go back in 2021 and 2022 were thwarted by a chaotic schedule, both personally and with regard to lockdowns and reopens. In all of those classes I was also the worst one.

I mention the slowest, fattest thing because this has been the thing standing in my way so much. People who are of average fitness truly do not understand how fucking discouraging it is to know you are the worst one there. To see that you are the only one taking the modified poses or moves, the only one that can't quite make it through the dedicated time of the move, the only one who has to sit up in pilates class and ask for a different spring set for certain exercises because even the easy move offered in the beginner class is too much for you. Two summers ago, I went camping with my now-husband and my sister and her friend, and on a hike, my husband insisted I set the pace. I eventually let my sister and her friend go ahead, and had to explain to my husband through tears that it was mortifying to be at the front, red in the face, exhausted, huffing and puffing, while I could hear everyone behind me was just enjoying a walk. The shame of it all was too much. This was after I'd spent a few months in the winter doing 10 minutes of the elliptical every morning before spring busyness removed my energy for it.

Writing it all out like this, the one thing I can see is that I am nothing if not persistent. I will not give up. I keep trying, all the time, knowing that this is important for me. I just want to acknowledge how tired I am, how hard this all is. It is hard to never be the best one, it is hard to feel as though you never have a talent, it is hard after all this NOT to feel like I am just not athletic and should give it up. Engaging in "intellectual" pursuits comes easier to me. For a while, I thought this might be genetic, but looking at my parents' histories, this just isn't the case.

My mom ran constantly until she had my sister and I- even then sometimes, out with the stroller and the dog. She did cross country in high school, well enough to compete. She ran races. She ran all the time, until life got really busy. My dad was on the football team in high school (though he insists he was fat, and I can see this insecurity hasn't really faded in him). He played very minor-league hockey through medical school, and was even ski patrol a few winters at nearby hills. He can still skate laps around me, despite a back injury that means he can't do any of it at a very high level anymore. My parents also put me and my sister in dance classes until I was in the 9th grade, and that was very athletic. Most nights a week, I was doing exercise. Sometime around high school, that stopped for me, and by this point my parents had become very unathletic. Today that is largely because of age and other health concerns, but my parents were both somewhat active people back in their day. So why am I not?

I don't have an answer. I don't even have a guess at an answer right now. I'm frustrated by that. In studies of athletic ability, they find these things are more related to genetics than anything else- so if your sibling or parent is good at some activity, it's more likely that you will be too, and vice versa. I've never been exceptionally gifted at skating, skiing (my neck is still sore from whiplash from a skiing fall literally this past weekend), or running. 

Maybe it's that I'm looking for something I'm naturally good at rather than something I enjoy. I know people say that all the time- that the best activity is the one you'll keep doing. I think they are leaving something out- the best activity is the one you'll keep doing regularly, despite your relative skill. It's the one that fits into your schedule and your budget, the one you have access to. 

Two things stick out from what I just said upon some quiet contemplation. One, I am being too perfectionistic about all of this. Doing any exercise poorly and being the absolute fucking worst at it forever is better for me than never doing it at all because I can't do it well. It is also highly unlikely that I will find some magical form of exercise that is pure fun and just magically fits into my life at all points in time. Also- my "once every few days I guess" current attitude towards beginners pilates videos is SOMETHING, and I need to count it. Two, I have not even remotely tried all of the things I might like, not on a serious level. Those roller skates in the garage still fit me. I still have access to the university pool. I have climbing shoes I bought, and I go to the bouldering gym literally as often as my husband. I've been skiing TWICE this winter, despite living 1.5 hours away from a decent ski hill. I also completely left out my old walking commute from undergrad, which probably did a lot more heavy lifting than I gave it credit for (and is something I sorely miss). But hey- lockdowns are over. You can try out the gymnastics place. Maybe trampolines will do it for me. Maybe swimming will do it for me. Maybe I can get into roller skating now that it probably won't result in 8/10 foot pain anymore. 

I'm tempted not to post this. But I'm noticing a trend lately where I will write posts and not post them. So here goes nothing.

We're really testing my ability to call myself a homebody

Let me weave you a tale of me in mid-March: stressed. Very stressed. As always. It was marking time and I had a lot of lab reports to get through again, and I knew the last lab report, consisting of the two longest sections, was something I was going to have to mark next. I was juggling bridesmaids drama- namely that one of the bridesmaids was, if not definitively a piece of shit person, decidedly acting like one, and the other helpful bridesmaids and I were trying to put together a bachelorette party 3 weekends before the wedding in mid-April. I was going to the gym twice a week, which had a positive effect on my mental health that cannot be understated (and for 25% the price of therapy, too!), and was looking forward to my teaching duties being done early so I could start to get some real work done on my project. I was going to try Baby's First Apoptosis Assay once marking was really, truly done, get some positive controls for my CB1 western blots, find a way to isolate protein with a broken sonicator, finish my RNA experiments, and see about ordering a new cell line. 

I met with my supervisor on Wednesday, something akin to seeing Bigfoot in the woods, and taught all day on Thursday, something akin to having a hangnail that you just KNOW you can't trim until you get home even though it keeps getting caught on your sleeve. With a fellow graduate student and TA, I shared that I thought that the university would really try to wrap up the remaining two weeks of the semester before shutting down. There were only two weeks left. Only two other major institutions in the country had shut down at this point. I was silently mustering strength in the background to get through the next month of my life, which was going to be extremely busy and require delicate time management.

And then they brought the hammer down.

Classes- cancelled. Labs, including the one I taught- cancelled. In-person meetings cancelled. Suddenly we had to tell the PIs exactly when we'd be in the lab and for how long, and I was instructed to wear a mask when in the lab at all times- despite me only going in at 7pm or later and being completely alone the entire time. A week later I was advised by the same PIs to freeze my cells and not return to campus. I keep kicking myself for having left a bunch of stuff in my "office"- a charging cord, several types of tea, some snacks, a little cactus that is actually just a painted rock, a sense of normalcy- you know. But at the time I don't think anyone could have predicted just how long we'd be gone. I still haven't been back- that marks almost three full months out of the lab- the same amount of time I lost to the move to the new building last summer. Given how much more slowly we're going to have to proceed when we get back, I'm thinking it's safe to say I've now lost a lot more time than just three months.

The bachelorette party never happened. The wedding did. I attended it on zoom, something I cannot recommend against enough. There are few things more painful than watching one of your best friends get married over a low-quality web stream in which their other friends and relatives will not stop spamming the chat with smart ass comments and you can't hear any of the vows, but CAN clearly hear the officiant say "well, at least the people who really mattered were able to be here with you today." I imagine one of the things more painful is having to try and reschedule your wedding in the context of a major global pandemic, just to be clear. While I'll still be able to party it up in my bridesmaids dress I paid $100 extra to rush-order which is currently the most ironic thing that has ever happened to me, I'm still processing the pain of that experience in private, on my own time. I think a lot of us are doing that right now.

Oh, by the by- I'm engaged now too. Redbeard and I will someday get married- also someday we will live together BEFORE getting married, but of course the two-posts-ago-mentioned breaking of his leg delayed his program by a semester, so now we get to move in January during the same semester of my comprehensive exam, and before you say that we could just live with my parents for a semester, you haven't been living with my parents, which I would advise you to keep in mind. I would much rather throw away money on rent than listen to my parents talk for one more second about how rent is just throwing away money.

That's the kicker, too- I went to see Redbeard in person, so fortunately my engagement was not via low-quality web stream, but was instead by a high quality real life stream, with a ring gently nestled inside of a container of flyfishing flies, right between my favourites- the hoppers (which I used this weekend knowing full well it was way too early for fish to be interested in anything that juicy). However, my ever-paranoid mother has insisted upon my return both that I have to get tested (which will happen in about 24 hours and inevitably come back negative) and that I have to quarantine in my room for 14 days. Now I am about one week into that, and I feel as though my sister is about one more time preparing a meal for me away from just hugging me in full view of our parents so we can be quarantined together. It really is something to come home from getting engaged and not feeling a single human touch for two weeks. Probably also on that list of things more painful than attending your best friend's wedding over a low-quality web stream, along with having to live apart from your fiancee for another 6.5 months. This is despite the fact that neither Redbeard nor any of his outdoorsy friends he's been in contact with have reported having The Virus (and I know he would tell me if he was quarantining for that reason, if not because he knows I'd want to know, then because it would mean two weeks not being in the mountains and that would be quite difficult for him). Let me repeat: there is literally no basis to having me do this besides the fact that my mother does not see that she clearly has an anxiety disorder and needs to go to therapy so the rest of us can stop tiptoeing around her feelings lest we trigger another passive aggressive silent treatment.

And then comes the fun realization that this pandemic has fucked us all up, to the point that I'm almost certain I'm not the only one that can't watch movies anymore because any scene containing two or more people from different households in close proximity activates my fight-or-flight response and seems extremely unrealistic. We all took it as a given that it was safe to be social and enjoy the company of others, and that was ripped away, and we all know we can't move to some kind of online pod society where we never interact with others in person because humans are social creatures by nature and as such we now must find a way to end this situation such that we can like, hug each other again, or collectively we're going to lose it.

So for once I'm using some of the tags for this blog that I made when I was like, 13, and never bothered to change because I figured those were all the classifications I'd ever need, and then stopped using when I inevitably didn't need them anymore. Because you know what? This fully classifies as :(, dread and the like, low points, and sad stuff. Thanks, 13 year old me. I hope you all out there are okay.

On Jealousy

My roommate from first year got into med school. I know about it because of facebook. And I am wildly, nonsensically jealous of her.

This doesn't make any sense, it's not like I've ever expressed a desire to get into med. It's not like I was trying at the same time she was and I didn't get it. It's not like anything. It doesn't make any sense. And the only reason I can think is that she is- and was- a Pretty Girl.

I think more than anything I still want to be one of them. I want to rewrite my past so I was tall and had boobs in the 8th grade, so I was athletic and popular and still smart, so I got all those awards for having the highest social studies grade and be a three or four star athlete. I want to change it so that I figured out makeup somehow and figured out clothes and came to my adult life looking like the girls who look put together every day.

There's not even an excuse for me anymore. I could do all those things, I know that. This isn't my old roommate's fault; she was always very hardworking and I'm sure that this was no exception. She deserves good things and I'm happy for her. She isn't a bad person. And I could be one of Those Girls too, if I wanted, I could let go of my inhibitions about everything in life and start wearing makeup and dressing myself nicely and fuck, I don't know, going out to drink?


I feel like maybe there's also a lot of pressure on me to want to go into med. My dad is a physician, and I'm doing lab work in a medical science lab, and I guess the other lab I was in was medical science too. I have good grades and a desire to help people and I'm interested in biology and health research. I still feel like I could do it... it I wanted to. Do I want to? I don't know. I do want to do a master's degree, or a Ph.D. I do want to work in science. I've considered a job outside of academia, in industry. I've considered programs to become a genetic counselor and a cytogenetic technologist. I don't really know what I want to do.

And med always looks so impressive- just like law or dentistry would too, I'd imagine. But med always seems to take the cake. Everyone has such high respect for doctors (rightfully so), everyone knows medical school is hard to get into and hard to complete and that a life of work as a doctor is challenging and demanding but also rewarding and part of that reward, I think, is being judged very positively in your community for your vocation. I can't lie and say none of that appeals to me. But I think I need to make a career choice based on the fact that I love the work I am doing and it feels important and rewarding to me. But it still feels like I'm always going to be ranked against my peers that went into med.

I have friends that want to get into med (and I have no doubt they will). Redbeard wants to get into med (and again, no doubt). These people are all smart and talented and hardworking- just like my first year roommate. Just like me, I hope. But I feel like no matter what I do, especially at this point in my life, it's never going to look as impressive. That people will judge them as smarter and more talented and harder working than me (and consequently all the other kids who don't do med or any professional program but instead do research or go into industry, or even teaching, which I guess counts as a professional program of sorts anyway). There's such prestige associated with getting into med, and that's what I want.

It feels stupid but it's human, and I know that. It's human to want to be praised and thought of as a good, smart kid- I want the things I do to reflect well on my parents, too, even though I know it's not my job to make them look good by having their offspring succeed. I know my dad would be happy that one of his kids followed in his footsteps. I know my parents would be able to help me since they're both involved in health careers.

I just... I think about medicine. I think about learning about the body and how it works, and that seems cool. I think about applying that to actual people, and... ick. I think about long days and charts and paperwork, and billings. I know my dad loves his job. I don't think I've ever heard of or met a doctor who didn't love theirs. I just don't know if it's for me and I feel like there's so much pressure on me to keep that option on the fence all the time.

Sometimes I wonder if arts degrees are appealing for that reason. Because maybe if I just got an English degree instead, everyone who knows what my dad does would shut up about asking me if I want to get into med. I know these people mean well, I'm not mad at them, they're certainly not trying to offend. But god, I'm so tired of getting asked and having to answer. They don't react one way or the other when I tell them maybe or just plain out "no, I don't think so." But I can never fully commit one way or the other and it feels like there is always some kind of silent pressure on me to swing towards yes, and I think it's because I'm in a field that's so close already. Do you know how many times in first year I heard biology majors say they wanted to go into med? It's like half the program here has their heart set on being doctors. It's insane.

I think the jealousy too is that like- the hardest part is over, and I think a lot of people would agree with me on that. In med, you have classmates and instructors who want you to stay in the program and will help you out. Once you finish, you can get a job anywhere you want, and it will pay well. You barely have to plan your life out anymore. And that- that- is what I think is most tempting. The security- not just financially, but like, in terms of thinking. I'm sitting here wondering, is it worthwhile to get my masters and then my PhD, or should I just get a PhD, but will that even be useful? Should I bother doing special training programs for biotech? I think I want to work in industry for a while because I like the idea of applying results more than just generating them, like in academia. But what if I take those courses and get in there and hate it? But in academia you have to be so much to the community, you have to teach and research and be involved... Like, if I was just in med, I could just say "all right, now I can just focus on the next two years of class. Then, I can just focus on the two years of"... fuck, is it residency? I don't know how med school works. Then the big decision is specializing, and getting through that training, and more residency, and then you have to start out and deal with hurdles like that but then you just... keep... working. And it feels like you get like built-in job security because we always need doctors. And if you're something special like a highly trained surgeon your job is high stress and high reward and you will always been in demand. Always. Whereas in industry... I'll be competing forever.



I've just had a really bad day, and everything sucks right now and I have one year of my degree left and I have NO IDEA what to do with my life. I know I should just concentrate on my classes and clubs and having a good final year and working hard and learning what I can from my research project. This year I was given opportunities to present which let me learn that I have some good presentation skills, even if they do need a little honing; with help, I was able to design really good, logical presentations and learned what should and shouldn't go into them and that you NEED TO MAKE GRAPH TEXT REALLY BIG and I actually had so much fun with that and felt so confident afterwards. I loved my research project. So maybe I am talented? Maybe? Maybe I'm good at writing too, even if that needs a little honing? I realized the other day when hearing that a program required 3 reference letters that I had at least 4 people I could ask who are all big fancy PhD people.

Maybe I'm doing something right after all??

I still wish lab jobs paid minimum wage, though.

-swegan

Gratitude

I'm starting to wonder if I should start a journal for this of some sort. I'm going through a rough time right now (and it's not even me who's directly affected), and I'm thinking maybe trying to focus on all the little good things that happen even in the shittiest of times will cheer me up.

Besides that, I feel it might be wise to develop some... positive thinking habits, or something. The future might be even darker than this (and yes, it is true, it may well not be). From here on out things are going to be tricky and different and scary, at least for a little while, and I have to find some way to get through it.

Thankfully not on my own, since many of my close friends and my family know what's going on. I think I figured out that "a worry shared is a worry halved" thing- when you share a worry with someone, you don't have to pretend you're not stressed around them. Hiding stress from people is really tough. When you tell someone and they offer support, that is one less person around whom you have to pretend.

I'm also trying to take advantage of campus resources. And encouraging others to do the same. I don't know how helpful it will be but maybe just talking about it more will do some good.

Either way, I'm coming out of this. And I'm coming out of it better equipped to handle shit. This certainly won't be the last time I'll face trials and tribulations as a result of loving people. Eventually it will come to some kind of end, whether that be temporary or permanent. I know this hell can't last forever.


Sorry for the dramatics and being vague, but this isn't really my problem to talk about in public. To be clear: someone really close to me is going through a lot of shit, and I'm worried about them. A lot. But it'll be ok. Even when it feels like it won't.

yer pal,
swegan

Hierarchy

This whole boy fiasco, lovely as it has been, has forced me to confront a rather unfortunate way of thinking. It seems I picked it up about 8 years ago, and despite how far I've come since then, I still can't get rid of it.

See, I told the boy that he was the first normal boy to like me. Which is, of course, ridiculous, as normal is a stupid concept with no meaning and no clear definition and one that is used to make people feel like outsiders. You're not normal. The reason I said it was because he is the first boy to like me who isn't incredibly nerdy. You know, the video game playing, slightly antisocial, obsessed-with-things-like-star-wars kind of boys. Nerds. Geeks. And I had decided oh, okay, these are the only kinds of boys that I'm ever going to get to be with, and that's okay, they're not so bad, and I guess I'm pretty nerdy too. Only the thing is, there's a lot of girls out there way nerdier than me, and they fit with those boys a hell of a lot better than I do.

But some part of my brain is still 12 years old, because I was phrasing this to myself in the way of normal boys don't like me. They never will. That's ok. Which is fucked up, because what I was really saying was I would really like to date a boy who isn't obsessed with video games but I am convinced that that is never going to happen based on extremely limited past experience.

Those boys that I would be able to date, from what I can tell, were not popular in school. They're the stereotypical losers, the ones that always get teased in movies, the ones that get told no girl will ever like them. My mom used to say that the boys that liked me probably did because I was nice to them, and nobody is ever nice to them, much less any girl, was the unspoken end of the sentence. This was probably true then, but it's an incredibly fucked up way to think now. And through this, I thought, this makes sense: I am a loser like them, I am not normal, I don't fit in. I always wanted to have one of the boys who did fit in, but I had convinced myself that that was never going to happen because I didn't fit in and that didn't happen and it's really amazing how I only spent three years of my life being classified as a loser and yet how badly I internalized it.

If there's anything high school and subsequently university and the real world have taught me, it's that thinking of people in this way gets you nowhere. You miss out on opportunities to get to know really cool people by being a judgemental asshole who looks down at people who are different. And the people I admired, the people I really liked, never seemed to care. They'd befriend anybody, no matter what they looked like or what their hobbies were or how weird or abnormal or whatever they might be. And when I first got to high school, I was still trying to look down on people who might be weirder than me, still trying to convince myself that I wasn't at the very bottom, and I met people who didn't think that way and accepted me as I was and that was a big shift for me.

Now this is happening. I'm thrilled that it's happening, and I'm trying very hard to work through this shit, because I feel awful for thinking this about people- thinking there are normal people and losers- and thinking it about myself- that I'm still not one of the normal ones. Now it comes through when I realize I don't know how to be a girl "correctly", I never did, I never naturally went to makeup and fashion, I never got that. I still don't. So I stand behind these girls in the elevator of my building, with their perfect hair in cute hairstyles they somehow picked up, their flawless makeup done with skills they somehow picked up, their artfully matched clothes, popular yet their own, done in a style that they somehow picked up, and I know girls like that can be perfectly nice but some of them still give me looks like I got when I was 12 and it just sucks because I'm standing there in jeans and a t-shirt and big ugly boots and my bangs are stuck to my forehead, which is covered with zits I don't know how to hide because I never learned how, and my hair is pulled back in a shitty braid because I keep it long and never know what to do with it. And I feel like a loser all over again, and I think, he must like girls like this, girls who know how to be girls, girls who know what they are doing, and then it turns out that no, no, people aren't as fake as I think they always are, people are capable of liking people like me because there's nothing wrong with me in the first place, and people are better than I give them credit for most of the time.

I don't know why unlearning this is so hard. I don't know why I still act this way, like I have to put myself above people who are even more "loserly" than me in an effort to get up with the girls who know how to be girls. Because it's mean, and petty, and stupid, and costs me a lot of meaningful relationships. But it is effort for me still to live in the real world and not look at their world as pretty and perfect and beautiful. Even if it is, I have to not care. My life will not be any better if I figure out how to apply eyeliner and wear those long, layered necklaces, and learn to french braid my hair. My life will not be any better if I go out drinking with them, and party with them, and study the way they do. My life doesn't necessarily improve if I learn how to "be a girl" better.

My life is already filled with real and interesting people, who aren't just pretty pictures. They are their own people, they are kind and smart and generous, and they are real and warm and loving. I don't live on a magazine cover. I don't know why I keep feeling like my life is empty when it's so full.

But this is what's behind all that, behind me just saying "He's normal, and he likes me." He's not normal, neither am I, and yet we both are. We're human. We're people. We're falling in love with each other. I need to let that be enough.

Maybe, though, just maybe, this is what finally gets me over this way of thinking. The boys I dated before were perfectly good boys, they were kind and caring and sweet and didn't wish me harm, we just didn't work. For both of them, I wish only the best, and the nicest, kindest, nerdiest girls who will love all the shit they do.

yer pal,
swegan

Edit: I should probably give those girls in the elevator more credit, too. The nastiest they've been to me so far is just the looks, nobody's ever said anything mean to my face, and they did welcome me into their group at one point. I don't know what kind of people they are, I just know that they look at me like people who were nasty to me once.

And they're still there getting degrees alongside me, they have just as much a chance as greatness as me. The universe doesn't owe me anything for all the shit I put up with, and despite how much they tell you the popular kids won't succeed- oh, they will. They'll be right there next to you. And that kind of sucks to think about.

On Writing

Hey, if Stephen King can write a whole book on this, I can write a blog post on it.

I often wish I wrote differently. Like, I read a lot of writing, I think I know what good writing sounds like at this point. But I can't be one of those poets who writes those long-ass poems you read on tumblr, what with all their flowery language that somehow makes you feel cool while reading it. I can't write good essays, I mean like I write good essays, but writing essays isn't my calling, you know? Like I have the ability to write stuff and not have it sound like crap, but not have it not sound like crap enough to show it to anybody, ever.

I miss it.

I miss writing now more than ever, what with my miserable horrible feelings for people that I feel absolutely horrible about because the key word there is people and not person and I don't know how to deal with that. I miss writing when exams are piling up on me and I have to pass ochem, I have to, so that I don't have to take it again, and I miss writing when it's 2 AM and I'm bored to tears and there's nothing at ALL for me to do on the internet.

But everytime I try to go back, I cringe. There was some period of my life when I could suppress the inner editor, when I was like "what I write is absolute fucking garbage that reads like the worst fanfiction you've ever read except about my own characters instead of someone else's" and it was fine because nobody had to read it. Except then I had to quit for practical reasons and there is nothing else I regret more.

I know, I know. I'm not supposed to live with regrets, and I really try not to do that. I have very few regrets in life. The list is probably: 90% of my actions in middle school, not ending my high school relationship 8 months sooner, and quitting writing. That's it, that's my whole list of life regrets. Out of all the things I've done on this earth, those are the ones I wish I hadn't. But this one really bugs me, because now I am friends with someone who actually writes a LOT, and I am intimidated by it because I miss it so much.

But I look at my writing, which is all YA-targeted (mostly because I did it when I was a young adult myself) and bad. I have read many a YA book (adult books bore me to tears and have too much sex), I know what good YA sounds like. It is not my writing.

Yes, yes, I know, I know, first drafts are always terrible. Always! But the problem with me is that I'm far too lazy to go back and edit my own writing. It's one thing when it's a 5-6 page essay for my Women's and Gender Studies class. It's another thing when it's a 40K word novel I wrote that has the shakiest plot foundation ever. It's much easier to correct arguments in a paper I have to write for class than it is to build a stable world in which two characters would end up going on a road trip together. How would that even happen? Argh.

This whole post doesn't even sound like me. It sounds like someone trying to be good at writing, and that weirds me out. It's like I've become too self aware now. I don't know how to lose myself anymore. Everything has to have structure and make sense and blah blah blah whatEVer, I want to lose myself again.

I want to be able to write that crappy fanfiction-style Camp Lame-o shit that I used to. I want to be able to do that, to get carried away in oh-so-convenient plots that just HAPPEN to throw my very own self-created OTP together every single time. That is my favourite thing to write: create two characters with hella romantic tension and throw them together. What will happen? I don't know, but it'll be fun! And crappy!

My current plans for next NaNo are very much along these lines. I debated just spending the whole of November listening to Shania Twain and writing the cheesiest fucking country romance I could think of, but that became a problem because 1) I know nothing about cowboys, and 2) I cannot spend that long blushing. Blushing, why? Because I would be constantly embarrassed that I would be writing that, even if nobody else ever read it and nobody ever would.

I still need to find a use for that poem I wrote, though. I'm ridiculously proud of it, and I know that I could one day recite it to my kids as I put them to sleep/read it as a fucking vow at my wedding or something (it is that versatile, ladies and gentlemen, and it is abso-fucking-lutely that cheesy) but like those events are like 7-10 years away and I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG.


I kind of ran out of steam there. I think I've said all I want to say on that topic for right now.

yer pal,
swegan

How To Fix Everything In My Fucking Life

I think lately why I've been feeling sad is because I keep feeling like I'm doing everything wrong. Like for starters, I need to show up earlier at work. There's another girl there who is studying for her MCATs by taking night courses at the same time as she's doing a summer of lab work and she comes in at 8:30, right when the lab opens. I need to research more at home so that I can actually understand what it is I'm researching and come to conclusions like I was asked to.
Furthermore, I stopped exercising. I need to do that because I am still gaining weight and too much more will be too much for my frame. Like I should be riding my bike, every day, at least five laps around the lake, and while I'm at it, I need to stop buying chocolate pretzels from bulk barn.
That way, I can save money to go out with friends, because I've fucked up at that, too. Does it matter that the movie starts at 10 on a weeknight? Of course not, I need to do these things with friends! Or else I won't have any!!!! Obviously all plans with friends must be attended. Friends are important. Friends are one of the most important things in the world.
While I'm on the subject of relationships, it seems like I should end my current one since I am dating someone who doesn't really have a direction. Who cares that he makes me happy! Who cares that I'm only 18??? I need to worry about the future NOW, obviously. And I need someone who will be able to support me financially when I inevitably have 2.5 kids at 30 and need to buy a house.
And on the topic of the future, I need to get my schooling together. Like start taking a foreign language, and volunteer more- obviously I need to do all of that AlbertaSat reading so that I can be super helpful, and I should be filling the newsletter with fun space news and interviews with people who work for the group. Oh, and I should really also enroll in a physics course- I only have two labs, I can handle the extra one. I'll just put it on Wednesday nights!!! No big deal, right? Of course not. Because if I'm going to go to med school, I'll need to get used to working hard.
Med school, you say? Well, of course! It's the only logical choice for someone like me because I'm hardworking and driven, and definitely smart enough to do it. Plus if I want to maintain this kind of lifestyle, I need to have a good job. It's either this or something like dentistry. Research isn't solid enough, and it requires a lot of school that is not as laid out as med school. Which is why I need to take physics!!! And foreign languages!! And volunteer more! I should probably spend my next summer break volunteering somewhere far away, only to come back to work at a lab job again, maybe in a different lab. And I need to make sure I keep my GPA above 3.5 so I can get research grants, because THOSE look really good on med school applications!!
And then with finances, I need to start investing in stuff, and putting money in an RRSP. And I need to stop spending so much- I should only spend on necessary stuff, like clothes. And time out with friends, I guess. Which is why I need to stop buying myself things like expensive swimsuits when they have them for $15 at target!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHA. OOPS.

AND THEN THE KICKER: I must do this all while pretending that I am ok. Lately I am walking around feeling like I am not allowed to not be ok, and telling my parents that I have felt sad for the past two weeks results in my mom insisting that it's because I spend all my time in my room. Thanks, mom. That's really helpful. That clearly also explains my sudden need to scream at anyone who drives the slightest bit incorrectly on the way home- before I start crying, that is.

I don't know what's wrong and lately I just feel like it's me. I am not doing things right. And the worst part is, there's really an easy way to fix this. It's just that now I feel like I might be too late in some areas, particularly the friends one. I've really fucked up there.

I guess all I can do is move forward and try. Maybe not with this, which would obviously make my parents happy (hooray, our daughter has plenty of friends and is normally social with good grades and bright doctor future ahead of her with her boyfriend who is also on the path to success and pays for dinner sometimes (yeah, that actually came up tonight)), but with friends, and with exercise. The rest, I don't know.

I don't know.


I think I'll start with riding my bike sometimes and doing more things with friends. I feel like that is, at the least, a good place to start. Maybe I have seriously fucked up some relationships. I can still try to fix them. Also I can fix my habits of being inconsistent with what time I will stay out until. Usually I am more willing to stay late if the event starts earlier than if it starts later. I need to quit being inconsistent like that.

One step at a time, I guess.

yer pal,
swegan

p.s. on an unrelated note, i have spent the weekend at my dad's cousin's cabin with her daughters, mine and freckles' second cousins. They're adorable beyond belief and really easy to entertain and i have actually really been feeling relaxed and enjoying myself. and i finished the last book in the mortal instruments series today. A very good conclusion, I thought. Left me with feelings, but also left me feeling satisfied. It was a good wrap-up. I strongly recommend the series (The Mortal Instruments).
Just so you know I'm not always all weepy-sad like this. Today was actually a good day. I just think a lot sometimes.

Away

I pack a suitcase, all comfy clothes. I put it in my car. I leave in the night. I drive to the coast. There, I find a place to stay that looks out onto the ocean.

I spend my days eating popcorn, watching movies, and making food. Sometimes, I buy books and read them. I spend hours in the library and don't feel guilty about it, even though I never finish read anything. I walk along the shore and take thousands of pictures. I talk to nobody. I have the energy to write again.

I sleep for hours. I stay up until 5 AM and go for a walk before going to sleep. I sleep until 3 PM. I eat erratically.

Months later, when I finally feel together again, I come back home.

But for months, I am not responsible for anything or anyone, and answer only to myself.



I feel worn thin like an old rug.

I'm just tired.

Why can't it be August yet.

I realized the other day that I am the sum of my experiences

I realized that other people probably have completely normal middle school experiences. Middle school always sticks out for me as an experience that has shaped me, probably because it sticks out for me as such a glaring example of why I feel so horribly guilty when I am the least bit mean to other people unfairly, and why I try and be kind to everyone and be cute and sunny.

I just want to analyze the whole experience every time. So I'll start with elementary school- grade five, just before I had to leave a school I loved and go to middle school. I was extremely popular and I honestly have no idea why- I had lots of friends and everyone wanted me to sit at their desk at lunch and I think at one point we made a schedule?? I might have let the power go to my head a couple of times, but then again, I was 10. Even then there was some indication to me that I wasn't quite one of the perfect pretty popular girls, but they were never mean to me. No one was ever directly mean to me, and if they were, it was minor, not an ongoing thing, and was resolved quickly. I have wonderful memories of elementary school.

Sixth grade wasn't so bad, I suppose, except that I was probably used to being popular and well liked by everyone. I made friends, and they were good people- they were insanely kind to me even when I was probably kind of mean and bitchy. I'm not sure what it was about middle school, but it made me really nasty. I noticed that when I finally got to ninth grade and met people who I am still friends with now, and I don't know if they had the same experience or not but suddenly having friends meant I just had to be nice and so I adjusted. I said some really mean things in ninth grade- trust me. I'd like to think I've come a looong way since I was 12.

Anyway, seventh grade I think was the worst year. I became absolutely head-over-heels infatuated with a boy for absolutely no good reason. He got shitty grades, was popular so he never had to worry about anything, good looking, and absolutely horrible to me. In the beginning, we just had to sit next to each other, and I didn't think much of it. He and the girl behind him (an ordinary, makeup wearing, fully developed and yet somehow not horribly mean girl) and I would talk sometimes about stuff, and everything was okay. I wasn't a total loser- I definitely wasn't up there with the cool kids, mostly because of my extreme lack of athletic abilities, but people hadn't been very mean. He said something the week before thanksgiving weekend. My family went out to our shared cabin that weekend, and I distinctly remember making the decision to like him on the way there, curled up under a blanket and practically backwards in my seat in the dark. I can't remember why anymore, and if I had to pick one decision in my life that I would do over, it would absolutely be that one. I would go back, shake myself furiously, and shout "DON'T FUCKING DO IT." I don't know how that would have affected the rest of my life- pretty sure my nickname wouldn't exist- but I'm sure it probably would have been better.

Of course it wasn't horribly intense at first- it was just a stupid little crush, which was fine and manageable, but over time it grew into something very big and scary (when I think back on it now). I tried so hard. Although when reading my old journals, I'm impressed at how positive I was. I made a big deal out of middle school issues like sports days and fundraisers, cared about things, had pride for the school, etc. I did everything they asked me to. I tried in gym class- really, I did. I made other friends. I let the boys jump over me in gym class when we all had to sit in our "squads" (neat lines of five or six that we sat in while the gym teacher introduced the class). Of course my gym strip was... decidedly not cool, since I wasn't about to go buy cool gym clothes I would never, ever use. I still danced at that point so I was already athletic in some way, so it didn't matter.

I don't even know how it got so out of control. Of course, being the person I was at 12, somehow I accidentally let the whole fucking seventh grade know about who I liked, and from that point on, I was not shown any mercy. Looking back now I can say I think the motive for his being so horrible to me was trying to drive me away. I made him look really uncool; I'm sure his friends teased him about the fact that I had such a huge, glaring crush on him and it was dragging down his reputation. Knowing that I made his life in any way more difficult is incredibly satisfying. Believe me, he fucking deserved it. And a lot more than that, too.

The list of names he called me is not actually that long- in fact, he began calling me "swegan" which of course my friends caught onto and then started calling me in front of him, so he realized that his nickname had caught on (which, unfortunately, made him pleased with himself). I went through other nicknames, the most notable of which were "melchy" (a play on my last name, really annoying but it never caught on) and "smeagol", which was just mean. He is also definitely on the record as calling me ugly, a fucking bitch, and faggot, and I'm not even sure why I remember these things if they hurt so much, but I feel some compulsive need to not forget all the vitriol he flung at me for the crime of liking him.

I think everything came to a head in the seventh grade dodgeball incident. That was by far the worst thing, in my memory. 12 year old me did a pretty good job of describing it in my journal, so I'll just put that here. I won't change his name because honestly I think he deserves any small amount of public shame he gets here, even if it's stupid and petty to wish this on someone who did this seven fucking years ago. (all other names will be altered in some small way).

~ From my journal, May 10, 2008
ughhhh. i’ll tell the story. even though i don’t like telling it.
second period on friday we had fitness friday, right? and so after all the other groups left it was mr. [F]’s group (the one i’m in) and mr. [U]’s group (the one the ugly jerk and his TWIN brother and other friend are in) were left, so we played probably the worst game ever invented because it singles people out and makes them embarrassed.
loser dodgeball.
it’s just like regular dodgeball, if you get hit you’re out, and then everytime your team hits a mat on the opposite side one person gets out. but if you get hit with the green dodgeball, you have to wear the PLC ([school name] loser crown!) i mean, come on!
just hearing we were playing dodgeball gave away the fact that the jerk and his “goons” (i like to refer to them as that) were going to gang up on me. and they did. they hit me once, that wasn’t COMPLETELY horrible, but they did laugh at me and boy, do they throw way too hard! of course after i got out i watched steve try to hit me and hit [C] on the back and then later [C] hit steve on the back of the head. i enjoyed seeing THAT.
then he hit me a second time- HARD on the hand. my fingers were sore until lunch, when we went home! and i had to hold my hand because it was sore and red, and then at the end of the day, when everyone’s going out to the bus, he MOCKS me! he puts this sarcastic crybaby look on his face, holds his hand, and imitates me! oooooooooooo,  that was annoying. not to mention EMBARRASSING! right in front of everyone! and then he was like “oh, smegal, did we hurt your feelings?” and then I screamed right out loud “YOU’RE SUCH A JERK!”
~End

Vince, bless her soul, said she wanted to "punch him" when I copied and pasted that into skype, and it was so awesome. I still want to punch him. I think I'll probably want to punch him for the rest of my life. I know they say that you should be the bigger person and forgive your enemy and whatnot, but I can't forgive him. Honestly, I go through my life not thinking about seventh grade 98% of the time, and I'm completely fine and have managed to get over most of the residual hurt. (On a cruelly ironic note, the song that just came on on the songza playlist I'm listening to is "Obsessed with me" by Mariah Carey and given what I'm thinking about right now, this song is decidedly not something I want to hear). But then sometimes I hear something about bullying, or I read something about being 12, or I watch youtube videos of girls doing makeup just for kicks and come across one of a 12 year old girl and become so curious and somewhat jealous that she is so normal when I couldn't be at that age.

At the time, I was bizarrely positive about everything, like I said. I was trying so hard to pretend my life was fine, and certain parts of it were. I was certainly doing well in school, and my teachers liked me, and I had some friends (some who were not exactly the most loyal people in the world, but I was never severely betrayed by them). I think the biggest thing was that at the time, when I was ever engaged with by the popular kids, I always assumed they were treating me as an equal, because that's how I viewed myself. That when they had serious conversations with me that always had a hint of teasing that I chose not to care about, they weren't talking down to me. Looking back, that's the only way I can see the experience. I can see the whole thing from a 3rd person point of view, can see me sitting in my desk, extremely short, mistaken for a 3rd grader quite easily, with hair down to my waist and fledgling bangs I didn't know how to work with, as they would talk to me and appear to be taking me seriously. I remember quite clearly a conversation with his twin brother, who was promising me that he'd talk to Steve for me. When I remember the incident in the light of now, there's other people watching in, either entertained or confused as to why I'm bothering to pay attention to one of the popular kids. I'm not sure if that's my memory being tricky or not, but I think at least some small part of it must be the truth.

I also remember several instances of light teasing in the beginning of seventh grade that could have easily been interpreted by a naive swegan as people being friendly, just friendly teasing, rather than choosing to tease me because they knew I liked the attention and would react to them; now my view of it is that they must have teased me because I was a loser who was easy to rile up. It doesn't excuse their behaviour in any way, not at all, but that's what I think their logic was.


I feel really, really, really pathetic still being hurt about all of this, especially since it wasn't really that bad in the grand scheme of bullying that kids deal with. It still makes me shake- I have a physical response to reading old journal entries from middle school sometimes.

Sometimes I just think that all I really want is for them to apologize. I know it happened 6 and 7 years ago, I know we were all stupid then, but I really just want them to say "I'm sorry about middle school" or "I'm sorry we were so shitty to you" or "I'm sorry we were so mean" or even just "I'm sorry." I feel like that might give me some kind of closure. My only other current option is just continuing to live my life out as I am and enjoying it (as I am) and just wait for this to all fade away. I'm really, really, really, REALLY fucking done with caring about middle school and I can't let it go. I'm afraid it's because I like being a victim or something, or that I want special attention. For christ's sake, middle school was so fucking long ago and we were all stupid and my life has gone nowhere but up from there and I even still have some form of positive relationship with a favourite teacher FROM middle school and why is this even a big deal anymore, it doesn't matter, none of it matters! I hardly cared then, given my apparent positivity. The dodgeball incident was definitely the worst of anything, and that was like exactly 7 years ago come May (the journal entry is dated). That's practically a decade. I have had a decade to be over this.

Seriously, I want to analyze this, but at the same time, I feel like such a gigantic whiner. Other kids have it way, way worse than I did.

Honestly, though, I am putting this post up for 1 part sympathy and 100 parts airing my thoughts. I feel a little more done with everything every time I post about it. That's a good sign, I'd say.


In completely unrelated news, I found a tea that I like! It's jasmine green tea. And I have come into possession of  a whole tin of it via the kindness of strangers, which is a story for another time. For right now, I have to go to bed. I have class tomorrow, y'know.

yer pal,
swegan

I have also decided that that name is no longer associated with him. So many of my friends have been the only ones to call me that now for so long that it's a term of endearment now. It's a friendly nickname, a play on my name and the word "swag" or something. It's mine now. I have taken it and reappropriated it. Deal with it.

Not sure if I've touched on this before, but suicide is a big fucking thing and I need to say this

No, I've never been suicidal, but I did have a friend who was, earlier this year. We're friends more because our parents are friends, considering she lived an 8-hour drive away, but for some reason earlier this year she chose to confide in me. I have no idea why. It was in the midst of final EE writing- I was pretty stressed out- and she just started texting me, telling me about her life and all these things she was going through.

It was a lot of shit. Friends should be nice to each other, kay? If people aren't being nice to you, they aren't your friends. That is always true. Always.

She sent me some poetry once, and that was when she first mentioned suicide at all. That worried me, but I figured she was okay, that that had been in the past and she'd made it through- she wasn't quite okay now, but she was a bit better.

And we kept texting. I think it only went on for 5 days or so, but when I look back on it it feels like it lasted for weeks. In between trying to console her (she had sworn me to secrecy and I was very torn about what to do; it ate me up inside for weeks) and trying to deal with the barrage of IB work I had, I was pretty stressed out and miserable.

I finally snapped on a Tuesday. We had a couple of chem labs that week, some bio stuff, I'm sure lots of other stuff- likely two history readings due with an in-class essay on Thursday- and I was in Spanish class. It was second period, I'd just had chem, and I was feeling a bit stressed, trying to console myself and listing the things I had to do because that always helps me realize there's not that much to do. Our teacher started the class by saying we were going to have a quiz on Friday, and I just lost it. I turned away from the class, embarrassed that I was crying, and someone noticed, and Omnia took me out into the hallway.

She asked what was wrong, and I explained all the school stuff, and she gave me a hug, and tried to console me, and I ended up blurting out that I'd been texting one of my friends and I was really worried she was going to kill herself.

I guess I have Omnia to thank; she was the one who suggested I tell my advisor about it. He worked in the counselling office, so he I guess had some experience with it, and either way I'd be in the counselling office when it happened. (Omnia also admitted she was glad to get out of Spanish class, and that lightened the mood. I know she wasn't taking advantage of my sadness- it was just an unexpected bonus. I liked Spanish, but getting out of any class is fine with me).

During advisor period I did talk to my advisor- at first, in the main area of the counselling offices, with all the couches and students. I started crying in the middle of it, so he pulled me into his office and closed the door and I explained everything to him. He offered suggestions and we eventually worked out that he could call the guidance counselor at her school and tell that counselor that this student was having problems. We looked her up on facebook- thankfully, she had listed what high school she went to. He made sure I was okay, sent me on my way, and called the counselor.

I guess that friend- the one I was so worried about- thought that whoever told the guidance counselor had greatly exaggerated the situation. She texted me to ask if it was me later that day, and I eventually told her it was. She wasn't mad at me, and eventually I think she thanked me. I hope she realized that I did it because I'd finally decided that her life was worth more than our friendship, however big or small that friendship was.

It took me a few days to tell my parents about it. My dad later got mad at me, saying I should have said something sooner and it was stupid to leave it for so long, that if I had been texting her these things, he would have wanted her to tell her parents (who are friends with my parents), that things could have been much worse. That didn't help the situation- I already felt bad enough about that, and dwelling on something I couldn't change was useless. I'd been on the fence about it for days, even looking up on the internet what to do if a friend was considering suicide. The message I got was the same across the board- TELL SOMEONE. Every website said the same thing. Tell someone you trust, tell anyone, but do not keep it a secret. That was hard for me to get past. I'd never felt so conflicted about something in my entire life. I contemplated calling the Kids Help Phone line, but never did get around to it.

So I'd like to add mine to the list of messages that say tell someone. Really. Honest to god. Fucking go and tell someone right now. It's not going to get any better. Unless you're an experienced counselor, you're not going to help them by just trying to be there for them. Being there for them is important, yes, but it might not be enough, and aren't their lives worth more than that?
That was a key realization for me. Her life is worth more than our relationship. I realized I would rather have her live and hate me bitterly than die thinking I was such a good friend. That's the message nobody told me and that needs to be told.


I know the whole thing wasn't about me, and it still really isn't, but it threw me into a colossal funk for the next couple of weeks. I would get so sad for no reason that I would just cry. It almost felt sobering, like up to that point in my life I'd been giddy and almost drunk in my disposition, I had been too smiling, too bubbly, too happy, not serious enough. IB made it hard to get out, but time heals everything and eventually I got back to normal, even if normal was a new and different normal. I'm not the same person I was, but then no one ever is.

From what I've heard from her now, she's doing better, she's gotten into sports again and that's helped. I'm just glad she has people around her now that can support her and help her out and that it's not this big fucking secret anymore.

One thing I do have to say that doesn't sound pretty: what she did wasn't fair. I realize that yes, she was in a dark place, she was going through trouble, things weren't all peachy-and-sunny. But for her to ask me to keep a secret like this when I was already going through the stress of something like IB was really not fair. To her credit, she didn't know how stressful IB was, but still. I'm not saying she did this on purpose to be unfair, but more so that it was what I did- expected myself to go along with her wish that it be kept secret- that was unfair. That wasn't fair to me. I shouldn't have tried to hold so much on my shoulders. It's not fair to have to keep adding stresses to yourself. Don't do that. Please. It's not worth it. Life is short and you can't do everything right, so don't wear yourself out trying to. Please.


I guess that's all I have to say about that. Some secrets are not meant to be secrets and I mean that with every bit of my heart.

I know this is the part of these entries where people usually refer numbers, but I have none to give. All I can say is that if you know someone keeping a secret like this and you haven't told someone (by someone I mean someone trustworthy), do it right now. Forget your homework, your sports practice, all those things you have to get done. Do it now. Right. Fucking. Now.

yer pal,