Day Thirty: Your Face In the Mirror

Jessica,

I'm not entirely sure where to begin with you. Sometimes I love you. Sometimes, I hate you. Sometimes, I'm disgusted with you, and sometimes, I'm proud of the things that you have proven you can accomplish. Either way, I have to live with you every day.

You're at a huge crossroads right now. Don't let your fear keep you from making friends and getting involved at your new school. Don't let your cynicism keep you from participating with the people that want to chat with you and be your friends. Don't let your obsessive need to play it cool stop you from enjoying stupid activities. Make the choice to have fun. People will like you a lot better if you do.

Don't be ashamed of what you're going through right now. People have trouble, people have problems. This is a normal part of life. Sometimes, as you pointed out in that post about Chinua Achebe (and seriously? Eww.), things fall apart. If this were happening to anyone else, you would do your best to help them through it and teach them to love themselves despite their circumstances. So, why does that not apply when it's happening to you? Stop being so hard on yourself! Learn to love yourself again. You used to know how. When you lost that, I don't know, but you need to find it again.

Don't let your negative body image control you. There are people out there that think you're beautiful. Hell, you got hit on last night for Christ's sakes! You know what's "wrong" with your body. You know how to fix it. You can either make the choice to do it or not. It's up to you. Just stop using it as an excuse not to participate or a reason to assume that people don't like you. You assume that people can't accept you before you even find out if they will or not. It's your excuse to keep them at arm's length. STOP! Give people a chance to show you that they like you. Like yourself!

This could potentially be the worst year of your life. Everything sucks, you're broke, and you're lonely right now. I want you to go out of your way to make this the best year of your life. I want you to make an effort to get involved. I want you to make friends and be happy. No more lonely tears. No more cynical blog posts. Make a move! Be unique and fun! Make an impression with the people at the dorms that doesn't involve the fire alarm going off at 11 PM. Be a friend. You're good at that, but I think that sometimes you really forget that.

You're confident. You're beautiful when you want to be--meaning when you're not scowling. You're intelligent and witty. Try to be those things more than you decide to be the lonely girl who makes people feel stupid by calling them names with the biggest words she can think of at the time. Do yourself a favor and use those powers of observation to see the good in people, not the bad.

Love,

Yourself.

Day Twenty-nine: Person You Wish You Could Tell Everything To

I don't think this is a letter that I could possibly write. I'm pretty sure that most of you know by now that I'm not the kind of girl that stifles her feelings. If I have something to say, I say it. There's no one that I wish that I could tell everything to that I haven't told already. If they reacted badly, then we probably don't talk any more, but I'm not a girl that keeps something that she has to say inside. I never have been.

Day Twenty-eight: Person That Changed Your Life

Angie Brugh (I know your last name is different now, but this is the one I know),

I can't even begin to tell you how much of a difference you made in my teenage years. I don't think that I'd be the person that I am today if you hadn't been there for me. There were so many confusing things I was going through back then. It meant so much to me to have someone understand me--or at the very least try to.

It would be difficult for me to explain how hard it was back then. I felt like I was being pulled in seven hundred different directions, everyone wanting something from me, but each of them wanting something totally different. It was so impossible to keep up with what everyone wanted from me. I felt alone, misunderstood, and unwanted. I couldn't live up to all the things that I wanted for myself because it was too hard to keep up with just trying to live up to the things that my parents wanted from me. I had so many emotions swimming around in my head, so many thoughts, that it was hard enough to just slow down enough to breathe.

You were the first person that had any kind of faith in my intelligence. You were the first person that really made me feel wanted, welcome, despite my being a teenager. So many other adults wrote me off, but you didn't. You made me feel like I had something to offer, that I had a reason to be valued. You never betrayed my confidence in you, and you never made me feel stupid for what I was feeling. You gave me perspective without being oppressive or talking down to me. I know that seems like the kind of thing that people should automatically do for each other, but most of them don't.

I don't think that I'd be able to imagine what my life would be like today if I hadn't had you as a friend and role model when I was a teenager. Personally, I don't think that I'd even be here today. There were so many times that I just wanted to be done, but you told me something that always stuck with me: no one could ever take away my ability to end myself. If I slept on it, if I still felt that way and it wasn't going away, that would still be an option for me, and no one could do anything about it. Probably only because you told me that, because you helped me to understand that I could think it through, give the sting some time to wear itself away, did I keep from doing something drastic.

I know I've said it like a hundred times before, but you'll never really know what it meant to me to have you in my life. You were the only adult that I ever trusted at all. I hate thinking that we haven't spoken, like really spoken, in so long. I don't even know where to begin to try to fix that, partly because I feel embarrassed about the situation with my mother and partly because I feel guilty for having a relationship with her (if you can call this one) and not with you right now. I suppose it's more complicated than I'm willing to write here, for the world to see. In many ways, I considered you very much a mother to me.

I owe my mental health to you, Angie. I'm not completely together yet, but I'm getting better all the time. I'm still not the woman I hoped to be, but I'm trying to stop the bleeding. The only reason that I even have a hope of doing that is because of the things that you taught me about myself. So thank you. For everything. You have helped to shape me, change me, better me. Hopefully, I'll end up being the kind of person that you can look at and be proud of.

Love,

Jessica

Day Twenty-seven: Friendliest Person You Knew For Only One Day

Dear Lourdes Employee,

Holy cow! I didn't think someone could be so happy to see me when all I was doing was turning in paperwork. I've also never had someone be so nice to me over simple paperwork. You introduced yourself to me even (not that I remember your name, but still)!

I'm pretty sure that almost all of the people I've met at Lourdes have been like you, which makes me nervous. I'm used to the typical Owens attitude when it comes to college--treat them like they annoy you, talk down to them, then encourage them to leave as quickly as possible. I keep waiting for the initial kindness to wear off and people to start getting rude with me. So far, this has not been the case. It's pretty sad that I'm so pessimistic that I can't trust your genuine kindness.

Thanks, lady in the admissions office. I'm sure you're used to being constantly nice and polite, but I'm not used to having people be nice and polite to me. It's weird, but a good sort of weird. Don't expect me to get used to it.

Yours,

Confused-looking Student

Day Twenty-six: Person You Last Pinky Promised

JJ,

Here we are again. Another entry that seems to only apply to you. You are, indeed, the last person that I made a pinky promise to. Ironically enough, I believe it was one that I did promptly break. I believe that the last pinky promise that I made to you was that I would put more effort into our relationship, into paying attention to us and to you. Several days later, you were on your way to another state, and I was still here in Ohio.

Looking back on it, I feel really terrible. I made a promise that I couldn't deliver on. I'm having a lot of trouble with follow through lately, and my courage has really been failing me. I'd like to tell you that that will change, but right now I'm not sure of anything any more. I can tell you that I want it to change. I can tell you that I feel pretty awful about the fact that I've failed you and myself.

I never really thought that I'd be the kind of person that doesn't keep her promises. I never thought I'd lack the follow-through necessary to be a good girlfriend/fiance/wife/person to you. I guess I just never thought I'd lack that kind of follow-through on anything, really. I always thought that I'd be able to keep my promises. It's a whole new revelation to find out that I can't keep those promises, especially when it used to be so important--the notion of keeping promises. I just never thought that's who I'd be.

Hopefully, all my broken promises haven't ruined anything with us. Maybe you can forgive them. I hope you can. I'm resolved to stop making promises that I don't think that I can keep. It probably won't be easy for me because there are so many promises that I'd like to make to you, to lots of people. I wish that there were more things that I could promise. Promise I'll always be there, promise it'll always be easy, promise that things could never be broken, promise that I'll never fall apart. I wish I could promise all of those things.

Maybe some day, I'll be able to promise that I won't break my promises. I'd like to be able to promise that. To everyone.

Love,

Jess

Day Twenty-five: Person Going Through The Worst Of Times

Katlyn,

If there was anyone in my life right now that I'd say is going through the worst of times, I'd say it's you. And I know it might not always seem like it, but I feel for you. I know that you're hurting, and I know that times are tough for you right now. Being a teenage girl, even at the best of times, sucks out loud.

The best advice that I can give you is to keep it together. There's always another day on the horizon. It's never over. No matter what happens, stick it out. Keep on living. Keep on going. Keep on trying. I've been through the hard times too, and maybe it seems stupid, but remembering that I could always wake up to new possibilities tomorrow kind of made it easier for me.

It gets easier with time. You'll find your place in the world soon enough, my dear. My main advice to give you is this: don't look for yourself in other people. Find yourself in you. What do you like? What do you love? What do you do when you're alone? Are you comfortable spending a whole day by yourself, totally alone? If the answer is no, it's time to think about what that might mean for you.

Learn to value yourself. Other people come and go, but you live with yourself forever. Just remember that. If you ever come to a point where you don't like the choices that you're making and you don't like being in the same room with yourself alone for more than an hour, it's time to start making some changes.

You're a good kid. You deserve to be treated well and respected. You deserve to be healthy and happy. You are smart, and I believe that you could do just about anything that you set your mind to. Don't let the world or anyone else ever tell you or let you believe differently. Be uncompromising about being yourself. Don't change for anyone unless you're changing for yourself. Love who you are. Respect yourself.

I remember being a teenager. I remember that it was complicated and scary and it didn't make any sense. I remember feeling like there wasn't any one in the world that gave a shit about me. There was one adult that made a huge difference in my life because she cared about me: your aunt Angie. I hope that you have someone like that in your life right now. I also hope that you know that you can call me any time you need someone to talk to or you need to vent. I'll listen without judging you.

At some point, you'll look back on your teenage years and think the same thing that we all do about our teenage years: there were good times, there were bad times, but you got through them all. It seems far away, but that day will come. Cry when you need to cry, laugh when you need to laugh, and always remember to put yourself first.

I love you, kiddo.

Jess

Day Twenty-four: Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory

This should have been posted yesterday, so I apologize for the lateness. I'll explain later.

This entry is hard to make into a letter because several people were involved in this, my favorite memory. So I'll just talk about my memory instead. A lot of people don't really remember their childhood. In that way, I suppose that I'm lucky because I do remember mine--for the most part.

This particular memory is from when I was quite little--perhaps four. We lived in the house on Sampson Street in South Bend at the time, so I know it was before I turned five (we moved to Granger when I was five so that we could be in PHM schools). That little house had a really large backyard which sloped at the back, so it was ideal for sledding in the winter time.

It was a hot summer day. My paternal grandparents were over, and we were outside having a barbecue. My mother had set up the sprinkler so that we could play in it because of the heat. Playing in the sprinkler was always one of our favorite things to do as kids. Even when we had a pool at our disposal, we still liked playing in the sprinkler. The sprinkler is a vital part of what happened that day. We still refer to it as "the pickle incident."

John and I had spent the afternoon busily running about the sprinkler. Joel had avoided it because the water was fairly cold. He was still in diapers, which didn't really make for a whole lot of watery fun anyways. John had discovered that morning, however, that the spigot controlled the water coming out of the sprinkler. (We weren't fancy folks. Our sprinklers weren't in-ground, but rather, functioned via a hose.) Sometime that afternoon, it occurred to John that he could be the master of his sprinkler domain. He discovered that he had the power to decide who got wet and who didn't. He decided to wait by the spigot, plotting his attack.

As a side note which will not seem so random in a minute, Berlakovich children have always loved pickles. Pickles have been a staple to us since we were old enough to gnaw on them. Pickles are always around in a Berlakovich house. So, needless to say, there were pickles at that afternoon's barbecue. Joel, loving pickles as all Berlakovich children do, got himself a pickle and decided to wander around the yard--by this time, of course, John had turned off the sprinkler and was waiting for his first victim to wander over. I was seated with the family, enjoying a little packet of fruit snacks.

At some point, Joel spotted the sprinkler. He moseyed over to it, curious about how it might have worked. Just as his little face was bent over it, admiring the holes in the shiny metal, pickle in hand, John unleashed the fury of the faucet on the poor kid.

I wish I could describe the arm-flapping maneuver that my little brother pulled when the water hit him in the face. I can still see it in my head, and it makes me laugh to this very day when I think about it. There are no words to adequately describe what he did. He dropped his pickle, flapped his tiny little arms, and ran to my mother, seated at the picnic table on the concrete slab patio. He sobbed in my mother's arms about how he had dropped his pickle, which seemed to be the main source of his emotional distress. My mother offered him another, but it was for naught. He wanted the original, lost pickle, not some poor first-pickle substitute.

My mother resigned herself to going to pick up the other pickle. It could be rinsed off, she figured. It was sitting on the plastic of the sprinkler, so it wasn't like it was on the ground (don't judge my mother!). She knew, however, that my twin had suddenly become her foe. John was still by the spigot, still waiting, only now he had a taste for the sprinkler's power. My mother called out, "John, you better not!" but it was too late. His plan was already hatched.

When she approached, he turned the sprinkler on her too. Then, he ran away from the spigot. Priceless.

Day Twenty-three: Person You Kissed Last

JJ,

You are the person I kissed last. I don't really have anything new to say here.

Except maybe to say please get a job soon. I know you're trying, but I'm tired of always being broke as a joke. Plz?? Kthnxbai!

Love,

Jessica

Day Twenty-two: Someone You Want To Give A Second Chance

Dear JJ,

I thought about writing this blog post to someone else for a bunch of reasons. For one, I'm trying really hard to kind of make this an experimentation in new things each day, since my old posts seem full of whining stagnation. For two, I'll admit that I'm a teeny smidge worried about what other people will think of me--not enough to stop me, but enough to put some thought into it before I continued. In the end, there was no one else that I could think of that would be more fitting for this topic than you.

I know that we've had our rough patches, but I have never doubted that you're a good person inside. I've always had faith in the fact that you're a good man and that you're capable of being an even better one. Lately, things have been going well for us, and I'm honestly surprised at how sensitive to and receptive of my feelings you have been. I really hope that this is a trend that continues for us. I'm glad that you're committing to trying to meet my needs.

I was really surprised at how much I missed you when I got over my anger. In retrospect, I'm also pretty surprised at how good you were at making me feel completely guilty for all the stuff that went down between us. I think you know me well enough to know that I don't feel guilty about all that much in my life--I'm really not all that invested in the feelings of others, especially not to the point of feeling good or bad about their feelings. That can only mean one thing: that I care very deeply about you. If you ever needed tangible evidence of that, examine how terrible I felt.

I've really enjoyed the support that you've provided me with in the midst of my recent bout of nervousness about my future. It would really be too easy for us to fall apart with our current situation, but it's really important to me that we don't. I don't want to think that the last five years were worth nothing. I want them to matter. I want us to matter, and I want to be able to have confidence in the fact that I matter to you. I need that.

Saturday, we'll be meeting up. I'm looking forward to spending some time with you, and I'm hoping that it all goes well. It's important to me that it does.

Love,

Jess

Day Twenty-one: Someone You Judged By Their First Impression

New Student Worker Girl at Owens,

You know, I'm not generally all that much about first impressions. However, I definitely judged you based on the first impression you gave me. I would love to explain to you why! It's because you were the rudest and most presumptuous person that I have come across in ages!

Generally, when you do not know a person, it is bad form to insert yourself into their conversation. To insert yourself into my conversation is to invite a beating upon yourself. The first day that I came face to face with you, you did this more than once. So, to start, I already didn't like you because you seemed to have no grasp of basic social expectations. Not only that, but you then proceeded to make a loud nuisance of yourself, making declarations about the state of whatever ridiculous work was in front of you.

Here's a tip from me to you regarding social cues: SHUT IT. No one cares about your opinion, especially if they didn't ask you for it. Personally, I'll tell you that, as I don't even know you, I could give less than a shit if you have an opinion about my conversation. Also, no one cares what you're doing. You're paid minimum wage to be seen and not heard. Shut up and finish your work. That's all you need to do for success.

You are not ethnic. You are not interesting. You are not cool. Your opinion does not matter. You do not matter. I do not think that you're intelligent because you can spew rhetoric about your African studies major. You're a white girl. Get over yourself.

Thanks,

Former Queen-Bee

Day Twenty: Person That Broke Your Heart

And it's time for another edition of Jessica's cop-out blogging spectacular! Today's entry is supposed to be about the person that has broken my heart the hardest. However, the two people who would qualify as having broken my heart the most have already been written about in this project. As that is the case, I would also like to point out two important things:

• I don't feel it's appropriate to address the kind of deep issues that I have with these two people in a blog post. Mostly, this is because a.) I don't really feel like I need that drama and b.) I know that I'd be hurt and upset if the tables were turned. Also, in at least one of these cases, I have no desire to repair the rift.
• I am trying to learn to live my life for myself and forgive the past. Obviously, writing to the person that has hurt me the most this early into my journey would probably end up in a counter-productive downward spiral. I have no desire to go there.

 I realize that this is another lame sort of entry--two in a row--but they'll improve. Or they won't. I assure you, you'll be fine.

Day Nineteen: Someone That Pesters Your Mind

While the subject of today's blog is supposed to be a letter to the person that pesters my mind, I don't really think that there's a person like that in my life right now. Don't get me wrong, I think about people and our relationships, but I wouldn't describe the people that I think about regularly as pestering my mind.

I'm also egotistical enough to admit that the majority of my thinking lately revolves around myself. I'm at a strange crossroads that requires a lot of thinking. I've always been a little self-centered--no point in lying about that when it's usually pretty clear--so I'd venture to say that I'm not really pestered mentally by people all that often. Usually, there's trouble when I'm in the throes of an unrequited crush or when I'm angry about something that someone has done (i.e. "I can't believe she would do that to me!!").

Since I'm not in the midst of either of those struggles right now, it would only be fair to say that no one is pestering me. Alas! This makes for a rather poor blog post in the midst of my letters project to admit that I don't think that way. However, this project is supposed to be about changing it up a little and being honest with myself and with others. At the very least, this is honest, so we have that going for us. (By us, I mean me, of course...)

Day Eighteen: Person You Wish You Could Be

Maria,

I suppose of all the "adults" that are in my life, you always seemed the most real to me. Now that you have a child, you seem most like what an adult should really be. I realize that that may not sound entirely flattering at first, but let me explain.

When I was a teenager, I had this awesome idea of what a real adult should be like. It's not something easily definable, mostly because I've only had the privilege of having two real adults in my life ever (both of them women--coincidence? No, I think not.) The difference between real adults and other adults is astounding, as well. You can tell when you're faced with a parent who isn't really a parent. This is the same kind of idea. I can tell when I'm looking at an adult who isn't really an adult.

To me, there are some critical elements to being an adult. Most of them, I am totally and completely missing. However, I can recognize them, which is at least a start. Since I'm best at lists, I'm going to make this a list.

Elements vital to Real Adults as follows:

• Having a real understanding of oneself. This is something that most of the people in my life are missing, but I feel like it's a vital part of being an adult. When you're my age and older, you're supposed to know who you are. You may not know what you want or how to get there, but you should know who you are. I did and I lost a little bit of that, but I'm working on finding it again. I'm on the way.
• Being supportive of the people that you care about. This has been incredibly absent from my life as of late. It's bringing me down in the worst of ways. In fact, of the adults I surround myself with, you're one of the few that is supportive of me in a palpable way. This is immensely important to my adult life.
• Having the ability to participate in intelligent conversation. I don't think I really need to explain this one.
• Maintaining a suspension of judgment for those you love. I realize that this may seem like it would go hand in hand with being supportive, but it doesn't always.
• Actually listening when others talk. I feel like this is a really huge difference between hanging on the edges of conversation and actually having and understanding a conversation. Also, the experts are right, it does make me feel more important.
• Having the ability to respectfully disagree. I think this really separates the adults from the children. I mean, a common trait in most teenagers is that when they disagree with you, they call you stupid or gay or whatever token insult seems to be making rounds at the high schools at that moment in time. It really takes an adult to be able to say, "Well, I get what you're saying, but I don't think I agree. Here's why."

I feel like all of these qualities can be found in you, Maria, which is a major part of why I respect you. I also love your taste in literature. You don't mind admitting that you're not perfect.

 If there was anyone that I wanted to be like, it would definitely be you. I envy your writing talents, your self-awareness, and your standing as a "real adult." I'm sure that your life is not as easy at it seems from my limited, state-away perspective, but I wouldn't mind giving it a try. You're so much more well-adjusted and calm than I am. Maybe it's the calm that I'm really envying right now--go figure!

More than anything, I'd like you to know that you're an important woman in my life. You inspire me to try to do better things with myself. You inspire me to seek mental stability and an inner peace. These are things that very few people have attempted to inspire in me. Knowing that you encourage me is a feeling that I'm quite grateful for. It's also nice to have a positive female role model. So thank you. Just being yourself is quite an inspiration to me.

Love,

Jessica

Day Seventeen: Someone From Your Childhood

Auntie Jo,

One of the best things about our family was always having you and Auntie Katy around when we were with Grandma and Grandpa. Having the two of you along with Grandma was like having three grandmothers on just one side of the family. There was constant love and care from all of you, and you all made sure that my brothers and I always had everything that we needed.

Yet, while I know that all of you loved me, I always felt that the person I was most like, the person that understood me those most of the three was you. There was something about you that I always identified with more than the others. Maybe your logical reasoning, maybe your cynicism (and I do mean that in the best of ways), or maybe it was your inability to put up with anyone else's crap.

After Grandma died, it was hard on all of us. However, having you to turn to, to complain and moan to, to confide in somehow made my life much easier. You passed away when I was 18, and that was incredibly hard for me too. I lost a valuable part of my support system at a vital time in my life. Since then, I've been very worried about your sister, whose naivete was often cushioned by your good sense and advice to her.

You and your sisters made my childhood a much better and happier experience than it might have been without you. We never had to suffer inept teenage babysitters or daycare centers. We never went without anything. Birthdays and Christmases were always spectacular because of you all. My childhood was always the better because of you.

Love,

Jessica

Day Sixteen: Person Not In Your Country

David,

Oh, David! You were the super interesting Irish guy from my fledgling days of the Internet. I was maybe 14 and we still had WebTV--what a trip that was! I stumbled upon you in some kind of chat room, and I was quite glad that I did. You were terribly cool to me at the time.

Needless to say, things fell apart when I got grounded. (You know how it is. Bad girls like me get busted for long periods of time. I'm pretty sure that I was grounded for something like two months.) Of course, when I was finally permitted back online, I didn't get to talk to you as much. School and life get in the way.

At some point, we got rid of that archaic WebTV. I don't even remember what my screen name was anymore. OzzyChic and some numbers (maybe 94515? 94514? Something like that...I think). I'd say if I had to point out a first online crush, though, you were it! Of course, at 14, I'd have had a crush on a wooden post if it had pretended to listen while I blathered about my teenage problems.

The point here is that I still occasionally wonder what happened to you. Ah, life! How interesting to think of the people that touch our lives, no?

Jessica

Day Fifteen: The Person You Miss The Most

Teenage Self,

I suppose if I'm going to be a real person, I'm going to go ahead and be real about my extreme egotism. The person that I miss the most is the person that I used to be, my teenage self.

When I was a teenager, everything was so different. It wasn't just the lack of fiscal responsibility--though I did have a job and take care of myself fairly well, I think. It was the friends, my personal level of honesty, the way that the world felt to me. So many of my friends, I think, are starting to give up on their lives. Once you hit the mid twenties, the possibilities aren't so endless anymore. People start to give up on their dreams, and it's sort of heartbreaking to watch.

I guess the centrality of what I miss about you, Teenage Jessica, is your honesty. When you get to be an adult, you have to sacrifice the idea of being honest with yourself and with everyone around you. Social graces and responsibilities start to stand in the way. You start to have to conform a lot more for the sake of making your life just a little bit easier. You don't have the luxury of being careless with your possibilities and the feelings of others. When you're a teenager, you get over things so much more quickly. You move on, you forget and forgive. As adults, there's much more bitterness. People don't forgive as easily, and when they do, they certainly don't ever forget.

It's not just your honesty with other people that changes, though. It's your honesty with yourself. You start to accept things that you never would have accepted before because you keep telling yourself that it's a part of being an adult, part of growing up. You think you're obligated to settle down and take some things, so you start to take 'em. Hopefully, if you're like me, you have a wake up call and you start to rethink your life, rethink why you're thinking the way you're thinking.

The world just felt so different when I was a teenager. There were so many possibilities. I had much more hope, more faith in people. I've definitely become jaded over the years. I felt things so much more deeply. I allowed people into my heart so much more quickly. Time has made me cautious, less trusting. Conversely, I'm so much riskier with my choices now--perhaps as a side effect of being so tired of this rut I'm in. Emotionally, I'm closed off, but I'm reckless. If I could combine my recklessness with my emotions back then, I'd have been a much more interesting person. Maybe I'd have compromised less.

Teenage Jessica, this is me in the throes of my mid-midlife crisis. If I could go back to where you are right now, I might take that opportunity. I think there's more of a chance when you're younger to follow your heart--the main problem with that being that, when you're young, your heart has no idea what it wants.

In an effort to stop missing myself so much, I will be doing the following things to bring me back to me:

• Blogging more often--when I was in high school, I wrote in my LJ about EVERYTHING. I also kept a real journal for when I felt like writing in cursive. Good times.
• Acknowledging and owning my feelings.
• Being more outgoing--meeting and trusting new people is important.
• Sleeping. (This may sound ridiculous, but I used to LOVE sleeping. My friend Sam and I used to take purposeful naps.)
• Embracing emotional honesty, even if it's a situation that makes me uncomfortable.
• Trying a little harder at poetry and writing because they used to be so important to me.
• Setting aside some quiet time for me each week.

I'm hoping that the idea of those things will help me get closer to myself and to the person that I used to be. I remember being confident, feeling so justified. I remember being quite sure of who I was and what I thought I wanted for myself. Maybe the picture of what I wanted for myself has changed, but I want to be confident about it again.

I hate to think that I need to start all that self-exploration all over, but I need to know who I am now. If that means starting over, then I'm starting over. Just help me, Teenage Self, to recall what it felt like to know who I was. I don't always remember.

Yours,

You!

Day Fourteen: Person You've Drifted Away From

Karen,

I would say that, of all the people that I've drifted away from, I definitely miss you the most. Back in school, you were always one of the girls that I related to the most. You always had a much more unique perspective, closer to my own than most of the other girls that we hung out with. Maybe that could be chalked up to your unfailing cynicism, honesty, and commitment to logical reasoning. (Don't get me wrong, I don't certainly don't embody all of those qualities, but I always related to them in you.)

We never had a big falling out or anything. There were never hard feelings or whatever, but it was always something that I missed. I mean, you know, time splits people. We're certainly on different paths with different goals. You've probably forgotten more about technology than I have ever known. And I probably know more about drinking and poor choices than you'll ever learn--even if you decided that making bad choices and drinking was your new life's goal.

Beyond all the digression, I'd like you to know that I have always respected and valued you. And if you wanted to chat or whatever, I'm totally down. Also, I miss our awesome Japanese class days. If only I could go back to just that one class!

Yours,

Jessica

Day Thirteen: Person You Wish Could Forgive You

Amanda M./K.,

I really miss you. I don't want to be those people that never speak again for a stupid reason. I don't want my life to turn into Snow Flower and the Secret Fan or The Kite Runner or something.

Maybe soon, one of us can swallow our pride and bridge the gap.

Jessica

Day Twelve: Person You Hate Most

Unfortunately, Readers, I don't think that there's a person that qualifies here as a person that I hate the most. There are people that I dislike and people that make me grind my teeth with their frequently uttered stupidity, but I don't think there's anyone that I would go so far as to say I hate. I think that requires an expenditure of energy that I'm just not a really big fan of.

Don't get me wrong here, Readers, because I am a very angry individual. I rant, rave, and complain on a regular basis. As someone I worked with at Owens once said, I don't suffer fools well at all. I have very little patience for most people and even less for people that keep making the same mistakes.

Hate, on the other hand, requires a ridiculous amount of time spent on the person that you dislike. Also, you really have to have a perpetual commitment to thinking about how much you dislike that person. You might even formulate elaborate revenge schemes to get back at them or spend your life trying to ruin theirs--which, in truly Karmic form, usually ends up only really ruining yours once you've realized how much time you spend on the science of hate and revenge.

Personally, I don't believe in devoting that much of my precious time and energy to people that I dislike. I might do a little bit of Internet where-are-they-now searching, but that's about it. I just don't really care that much. Now, really, I'm cheating with this post because the alternate topic was to write to the person that's hurt you the most. I had two really good choices there, but I've already written to both of them--and I'll let you go ahead and have the capability of determining who I'm talking about. For the sake of avoiding redundancy, I decided I'd just make a blanket generalization on the subject of hate.

Realistically, I could write even more about this subject. I am, however, choosing to go back to bed. In triumphant, sleep-related news, I went to bed at a decent hour and slept for five solid hours! Woo hoo! The downside is that, in order for me to accomplish this goal, I had to stay awake for a consecutive 24 hours. However, progress is progress, no matter how much regression you had to do to get there.

Day Eleven: A Deceased Person You Wish You Could Talk To

Grandma,

I don't even think that there are words to tell you how much I miss you. Some of my very best childhood memories revolved around spending time with you and your sisters. You really were the glue that held our family together, and we have not been the same since you're gone.

I remember so much. I remember strolling around Wal-Mart with you, getting to pick out a toy. I remember having a fashion show with Linda in your living room. I remember the pink room, and napping up there while we waited for Cynthia to come to town. I remember how you used to babysit for us at the house in Granger, how we sat in the evenings and watched movies--specifically, I remember laying on my tummy and watching The NeverEnding Story while you guys folded laundry (whites because there were socks). I remember that first time that we dyed my hair an irrational, unnatural color and how afraid Dad was that you were going to hate it. You'll never know how wonderful it was for me to hear you tell me that you loved it.

There have been so many times since you've been gone that I've wanted to talk to you, to get your advice. On more than a few occasions, I've just wanted a hug from you or to see your face. There have been so many occasions in my life that I've wished you could have been there for: my high school graduation, my wedding day, the day that I got inducted into Phi Theta Kappa, my second female lead role in my high school play, etc. I wish I could know if you'd have been proud of me, of the choices that I've made. I wish I knew if you'd have liked to person that I've become today, or if the person that I am would have been different, would have been better if you were still in my life.

Most of all, I just hope that you know how much I loved you, still love you. When you died, I was a snotty thirteen-year-old girl. No one could tell me anything--in many ways, I'm still the same, I guess. I was so busy trying to grow up as fast as I could and find my place in the world that, sometimes, family fell by the wayside. I've spent an awful lot of time worried about myself and not enough time at all worried about the people that I love--or, for that matter, whether they know and understand that they are the people that I love. I hope that it wasn't ever like that for you, that you knew that I love you. I hope you know that I appreciated the things that you did for us and the love that you gave us, and that I miss you all the time.

Love,

Your Teary Granddaughter