Depression...

...so this is how it's going to be, right? How can I have my faith in You restored to what it used to be, when I'm forced to watch this charade going on in my own house? How can this happen to Your people...how can this happen to someone whose life got turned around by accepting You...and now she has nothing? I'm struggling to understand this, and I'm not finding any help. Am I the only person who thinks this deeply on things? Am I alone in this?

I watched her today, struggling to open a container, trying to remember what kind of pizza she likes...stupid little everyday tasks that most people wouldn't give a second thought to. She looks puzzled most of the time. I wonder if she even knows who I am anymore. Probably not.

It's so easy to start joking around, pretending like everything is okay when in all actuality, it isn't. It's so far from okay that it makes me sick to think about it. There are little notes all around the kitchen. "Press this button for X, Y, or Z." "Denise is sleeping. She will be awake at the following time:" "Here are snacks." At least she can still read, right?

I go back to Kent tomorrow...I wonder if I will ever see her again. Next time, she won't remember me. I'll be nothing to her; nothing. Just like her daughter will be...her own child will mean nothing to her. Her sons will mean nothing. Everything will be a shade of gray against a black and white background that makes no sense to her whatsoever. Shadows will come and go...there will be good days, days with meaning. But it will be a disastrous roller coaster ride, where the ups and downs are worse than any man could ever build.

I'm scared, and I don't know why. I don't know what to do, how to act. I don't know what to say. "Thanks for taking care of me when I was little...you won't remember me next time I see you"? I see her shuffle across the kitchen floor, unsure of how to even walk like a normal person...and I think about all of those walks we used to take around her trailer park, trying to catch lightning bugs. Watching Mary Tyler Moore and Jay Leno...she used to tell me stories about her childhood, growing up in the Depression in Cleveland. I hope I remember these things, because they are the only things that give meaning to a person's life. We are here...we exist...and we die. And all we have to prove this is evidence that comes in the form of pictures or stories...without those, who would even know that we existed?

I watched one grandparent die from cancer in a painful manner. I watched one isolate himself until they just found his body one day. And now I'm watching this one forget everything about herself, and regress into some form of childhood that only exists in hell.

My boyfriend told me I need to be a strong person. I don't even know where to look inside myself for the kind of strength I will need for this...I cannot do this alone...

Why is this happening? How am I supposed to have faith in You when I don't know where You are? How do I even begin to find You again...I'm so lost...

Here we go again...

...and the stress begins. Where do I start?

First off, Mom and I got into it again today. She threw a new one at me by informing me that she and Dad won't be helping me pay for an apartment for grad school. Because "it's grad school" and I should pay for everything myself. I don't know how I am going to do that, aside from working my ass off all summer.

Secondly, Rudy's been a bit subdued the last couple of days. Nothing too bad; he still tells me he loves me and gets all cuddly before we go to sleep at night. But I haven't heard the phrase "love of my life" in quite a few days...and then I get upset at myself for reading into everything. I think he's still mad at me for how I handled the DJ situation with Kappa Phi; he doesn't understand it. I can't expect him to. These girls, well...some of them...are my friends, and they aren't out to get me. They got their signals crossed, two of them are fighting, and one of them made the mistake of telling me to give the DJ the go-ahead when she should have told me to wait. I won't be bringing up Kappa Phi issues to Rudy anymore.

I need to go to the rec tonight and work out. I need to get this stress out of my system. And I told Rudy I'd be eating alone tonight because the past couple of days, he's been...monitoring?...my food intake. It's sweet to have someone concerned about my well-being, but honestly, I know how much I have to eat to regulate myself...I don't have an eating disorder. It just reminds me of how my mom used to watch me like a hawk...I can't tell him that, though; he'd get insulted. I do love him a lot.

Oh my God, little annoying British girl. How about stay the hell away from my boyfriend?

I'm sorry I have my insecurities, but I have them for a reason. I was hurt before, and for some reason I cannot completely let my guard down. I'm working on it, I promise. But until then, tell me if you really enjoy this girl going after you. Why bother trying to be friends with her, when she leaves her goddamned wallet in your car, just so she has another opportunity to see you again. I'm in love with you, and even I'm not stupid enough to do that. Have a little dignity, my dear.

Why does this bother me? I feel hopeless. What do I do?

Oh. My. God.

So. For the past month and a half or so, I've been aware of this girl who has been after my boyfriend. She's been friends with him since high school, and for some reason, she has it in her crazy little head that there's potential for the two of them. I actually had the...er...opportunity...to meet her when I went to Cincinnati to visit him. We ran into her at the mall. Let's just say I wasn't too worried after I saw her...

Not that I really was from the beginning. When I fell in love with my boyfriend, there was a level of trust there, and he has done nothing to make me think twice about it. I told him I trusted him...I just didn't trust her. Because they've been friends since high school, he doesn't really want to break off the friendship. On some level, I don't blame him...on another level, it seems like their friendship may just be encouraging her to believe that he wants something more, though he's told her multiple times that that is not the case.

I guess what really aggravates me is her lame attempts at whatever she is trying to do. For example, she called him four times in half an hour because he never called her to go hang out...and then sent him an email saying she felt like he was blowing her off (um...duh?!). Then, when they finally did go out and he took his friend along, she purposely left her wallet in his car. He had his friend take it back over her house. Finally, she called and tried to make the guys change their plans so she could tag along. What the hell is wrong with this girl? She knows damn well that he has a girlfriend, yet she never gives up!

The part that got me was the fact that the only fault his stepmother found with me was that I was "too possessive." When he asked her what she meant by that, she said I made a comment about the girl he's friends with while we were at the dinner table. He said, "But I make comments about her all the time...we're only friends, but she wants something more than that." His stepmother kind of blew that off, until this girl called and called and called. Yeah...somehow, I don't think she's going to accuse me of being too possessive anymore.

Give it up, woman...jeez!

I'm Unbreakable...

I have that song by Katrina Elam stuck in my head for some reason, as I usually do when I feel like I am about to taste defeat. "I'm unbreakable, I'm unshakeable, I've got a shatter-proof heart." For some reason, I haven't felt very positive the last few days. Especially when I sat down to write more of my thesis, and experienced a major block. I had a fifteen-page outline of precisely what I wanted to say...but the words that existed in my head refused to be captured and placed upon the page. I gave up and wrote anyway; I can always go back and edit later. The grand total: 30 pages on Elie Wiesel. 19 on Corrie ten Boom. 49 pages written during break thus far...and still more to come. I just hope it's a worthwhile 49 pages.

I printed out an application today for the Masters of Library and Information Sciences today, and started filling it out. For some reason, I'm beginning to feel swayed in this direction, and I think it's worth investigating. After all, I want to get a decent job with my degree, and having a Master's may help in that process. I hope I feel some connection with the program, as I did when I started in history a few years ago.

My boyfriend also called me last night. We made plans for him to possibly come up on the Saturday before classes start. That way, we can go out with some of my friends to Howl at the Moon and I can spend some more time with him before we actually have to think about school again. This is going to be my last undergrad semester...though if I get accepted into the library science program, I will be on campus once again, and able to spend time with him during his senior year. After that is nothing but uncertainty. I really hate not having the power to predict the future sometimes, and not having the power to control things...maybe it's better that I don't, though. Although my boyfriend was quite unexpected...he's definitely someone I could see myself spending the rest of my life with, if things work out that way. I get the feeling sometimes that he feels the same way, especially from the little comments he makes, and that makes me happy :o)

Anyway, that's about it from here. Although I've felt a little separation anxiety from my man...it's nothing I can't deal with on my own. After all, I did for almost a year before I met him!

And he calls me the love of his life... <3

Back from Cincinnati and ready to get this show on the road...

Last night, I sat down to update my resume, and the more I think about it, the more unfair those things are. How can a single piece of paper (or two, in some cases) fully describe someone and accurately depict their abilities and skills for a job? How can you condense those years of learning in high school and college, your experiences with jobs, everything that made you who you are...into a few sheets of paper? How can you tell an employer about yourself in that short of a paragraph? You can't. They're going to hire you based on your GPA, your awards, your recommendations. They won't know that you'd go the extra mile to make sure something is right...they won't know that some nights, you worked past your shift to cover for someone but never got paid for it...there's a lot they won't know. God, how am I ever going to find a job?

I am leaving for Cincinnati tomorrow, to spend five days with my boyfriend. Though I'm so excited to see him again, I can't help but feel extremely nervous at the thought of meeting his parents and friends. On top of the normal pressures of the initial first impression, he's already warned me about his stepmother. A warning that she has the potential to basically verbally abuse me, rip me apart, even if it is behind my back.

I guess the part that gets to me is that this is my Achilles heel...this is my weakness. What other people think of me; their perception, their view of the person I am. I don't know why this matters so much to me, but sometimes I think God is trying to show me that aside from His perception of me, I am the one who should judge myself, not a complete stranger who was in my presence for a day or two. Granted, my boyfriend did tell me that no matter what his parents think or say, he will love me regardless. But it sounded like more of a premonition than reassurance -- they might hate you, but don't worry, I will still love you. He should be the only one who matters. Why am I letting this get to me?

Flashback to sixth grade. Our desks are all set up in groups of four or five, and there are two guys and a girl at my "table." The girl continues to call me "Hairy" because of the dark hair on my arms -- nothing too noticeable, but this is a Catholic school; thus, they must pick you apart. The boys chime in, tossing out sexual innuendo. "Do you know what a pussy is?" I can't take it. I go home and get into the shower, armed with my razor and a vendetta against the hair on my arms. Hair that I never really noticed before, yet with each passing stroke, the razor takes off more and more hair. Finally, there is nothing but my pale skin, spotted with freckles every so often.

I caved in. I gave up a part of myself for what other people thought. I may never understand why I think the way I do, but I'm damned well going to try.

I just hope that the Tagamet works tomorrow...and the Pepto. The feeling of acid shooting up my throat is more than I can tolerate for five days. Maybe I will feel better once I get down there, and the anticipation is no longer making me nervous. Then I will only have to deal with myself, and try not to worry about anyone else.