I love it when people tell me I'm wrong

 Because obviously I'm not self harming. Nope, I'm just overreacting. Definitely. This doesn't count, it's just a little thing, completely normal, nothing to worry about.

Well, let me tell you.

I'm pretty damn sure that if I locked you in a room for five hours and just scratched your skin, you would say that I was hurting you. I'm sure that if you stayed in that room and for five hours, and had me pinch your skin until it ruptured and little bits of blood blotted your arms and your face and your chest and your legs and your back---when tears kept filling your eyes so you couldn't see the separate cuts anymore, I'm pretty damn sure you would say that I was hurting you.

And if I began opening all of those scars, every single day, reopening and squeezing the blood out from them, and making a few more, for quite a few hours, in that little room, in your class, in your bed while you were sleeping, I think you'd say I was still hurting you.

I bet that if I took a boiling mug and held to the back of your neck, and held it, letting it sizzle for a while before putting it down, I bet you'd say I was hurting you even if no one else noticed it. I bet that if I held that mug to your back, where all the very worst scars were, and held it there, burning you, over and over, a new spot every time, I'm pretty damn sure you'd say I was hurting you.

I'm pretty damn certain that if I took you outside in the middle of winter, without your coat, without your shoes, and rolled up your sleeves before shoving your scar-covered arms into the snow, freezing, burning, until I felt you had been punished enough---well, I think you would say I was hurting you.

 I can say with some level of certainty that if I began biting you--your hands, your knuckles, your arms--and began leaving angry red bruises on your skin, I bet you would say I was hurting you.

And I bet if I tied strings around your arms and pulled, tighter and tighter, so the circulation in your fingers cut off and you couldn't feel the tips, while it wouldn't exactly cause you pain, I bet you'd agree to the explicit terms that I was
causing you harm.

And if I can be confident in these assertions, please tell me why doing the same things to myself not be considered self harm. Please explain. I would absolutely love to hear it.

Because it took me years to figure out that these mild little  actions could be counted as self harm. It took me years to convince myself, and break through this crippling denial, that there was something wrong with me. I've seen people with self harm, and they had gaping holes where their thighs used to be; they had canyons and rivers and deep red gorges carved into their skin; they had rows and rows of deep cuts growing along them like prison bars, and it felt terrible to compare myself with that, to say that I was suffering from the same thing, when their pain was so very, very worse.

But somehow I was convinced that I was doing something terrible to myself. But if you would like to politely walk me back into that denial, go ahead; tell me about how I'm okay. Tell me about how I'm normal.

...You know what, I think it's about time we stop characterizing self harm as just the scars created. I think it's time to talk about what the real issue is: the fact that some people live their lives with the incredible desire to hurt themselves, every second of every hour of every day. We need to talk about the fear involved when people don't know how to resist their impulses. We need to talk about what it's like to feel broken, and strange, and disgusting, and so filled with self loathing for the fact that it doesn't even feel wrong to hurt themselves. We need to talk about the fact that their gets to be a point in some people's lives where the only way they can calm down and face life is if they cause themselves pain.

It doesn't matter how minor that pain may be. It doesn't matter if it even makes a mark on the skin. What matters is the fact that people want to hurt themselves, and isn't that something to worry about?

Life is good.

Return of Drunken Murmurs

 To start off with, a passage from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried:

"He tried to concentrate on...the war, all the dangers, but his love was too much for him, he felt paralyzed, he wanted to sleep inside her lungs and breathe her blood and be smothered." (11)

 And now, for the murmurs:

I'm not hurting myself, I'm just playing with my skin.

Stop hurting me, myself.

I'm sorry.

I'll keep singing this song into my skull until I'm sick.

I made a mistake. Help me I made a mistake.

Let's forget our cares and throw away our fears.

Running is fun.

Destroy me.

I want to hurt myself, but I don't feel like pain right now.

I'm stupid. this is stupid. I'm stupid.

I'm so, so happy, but I can be so, so sad.

After all my scars, I am anything but beautiful.

Every second I lead you on, I feel like I'm hurting you more.

He's going to break. he's going to break into a thousand million pieces, and it will all be my fault.

I just want you to be happy. And that's why I have to break you.

Grow up.

Just forget about me. Stop loving me.

I'm so, so sorry.

How many hearts do I have to break?

I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me. I'm sorry.


I'm sick of saying sorry.

Just gotta have faith.
Life is good.

Things I wish I could say to my Stupid Boyfriend

You’re acting childish. I won’t start babying you because you’re sad, stop questing for attention and grow up. Be more independent. 

Get a life. Find a hobby. Create a way to spend your time other than waiting for me. I already have a life, you need to find one too.

I want you in addition to my life, not at the expense of it.

I can’t be your life. I can supplement it, but I can’t BE it.

If I have time, I will give it willingly and freely. But if I don’t have time, I don’t have any time to give. Stop asking for what doesn’t exist.

I will give you everything I have. If that isn’t enough, find someone else who can make you happy.

We just aren’t compatible. I think you’ve realized that as well. This isn’t going to work.

I want you in my life, but not in every second of it!

Is this working? Do you really think this is working?

No, forever isn’t going to happen.

….I love you.

Life is good.

A Long Hill

 Self harm is like riding a bike along a long, long, long hill.

I start in the middle. And a few months ago, I decided to finally try riding up the hill and try to get to the top. At first, I was sure I could get to the top. I pushed and I pushed until my legs were sore, but it was a satisfying sort of sore, a sort of  'I can do this' pain that spurred my forward even as my knees began to shake. Sometimes my pants would get snagged in the spokes, or I would start to lose my breath, but I kept going, it was long, tiresome work.

But after a while of riding up, I am so, so tired. So, so pained. I know I'm going to make it to the top, so no use rushing. I get off my bike and decide to walk instead. I go up slowly, but at least it's progress. I tell myself I'll get back on my bike once I catch my breath, and once the sun gets a bit lower in the sky.


Then, so ragged and worn, I stop walking. I stop, and feel the force of this enormous hill. I feel like I'll fall over, that's how great and long the pull is. And looking up, it's harder and harder to see whether I've made it up this hill at all. The top is far, far away, and I wonder why the hell I'm trying to bike up this thing, anyway. I wonder if getting to the top is so important.

Then, when I am so disillusioned I can't continue, I decide that I'll bike down the hill, just a little bit. Just for a bit of fun, to get some breath back into me, give off some energy. Because biking downhill is a blast. I'll make up for it, I'm sure, just a short, short loop down, and back.

The logic doesn't make sense, but I'm far too exhausted to care. All I want is a bit of movement that my muscles don't have to work for. Even if it's downward movement.

I get on my bike and point down that hill, and immediately begin to move without any effort. I don't even need to work. It comes effortlessly and naturally, and it feel amazing. I laugh as I begin to race, because it's the most fun I've had since I started up this hill, and I feel the free.

A few seconds become a few minutes as I've become enthralled in this incredibly fast race downward. In moments, I realize that my speed has caused me to plummet downward farther than all those days of going up, and now I've raced past that starting middle point, and watching progress become erased, and then I'm heading down. And I look at how fast all that work disappeared, and I think that there's probably no way in hell I'm ever gonna get back up there again, not to mention to the top.

And since I realized there's no way I'm getting up there again, there certainly isn't any point in turning around. I let myself race faster and faster downwards, and create a new goal to see how fast and how far I can go before I get hurt. Or whether I can reach the bottom of this hill. Or whether I can race downward and not crash.

At one point I realize I'm scared, but if I try to turn this bike, or try to break, I'm going to flip off and die. I'm going to die. It's just a matter of when.

That's when I realize that the hill to getting rid of self harm is one that I can't mount alone. I'll never get to the top by myself. Not when it's so much easier to ride down. There's no way I'll keep pushing.

So now I'm finally going to ask someone to help me. I'm going to tie my bike to the back of a stranger's car and hope the rope doesn't break or he doesn't drive to fast or I won't fall off or get hurt or go nowhere. I'm putting my trust in some stranger with some professional degree in whatever, and hope that somehow that engine runs and those wheels turn even though I don't understand the mechanics and I don't believe in the results.

I fucking hate this hill and sometimes I want to to jump off and fall down into the eternity beside it.

Let's hope I can remember why I'm trying to get to the top. Let's hope I can leave this hill behind.
 I'll just keep repeating my mantra.

Life is good.

Gloves

I hate how much these gloves have become a part of me.

I go without my gloves for a few seconds and my heart nearly leaps out of my throat. Mini panic attacks are becoming more common when a few months ago ther had completely disappeared (there were a few when I just broke up with Rachel and then stress with Kate but after a few phone calls I never had these attacks.)

Now I sleep with my gloves on. When I don't, I begin to scratch myself in my sleep and in half sleep and then I wake up with new scars. Before when I slept with my gloves on it felt a bit like my hands were suffocating, but now I sometimes forget they're on, they feel so natural, and that scares me. And Amber sleeps with me so she can tell I wear them. That also scares me.

These gloves are strong. They're marching band gloves. They went with me through a whole year with me marching through parades, drills, shows, and a few chilly practices. They never wore down. there was not a string out of place. But a few months on my hands and they have rips, tears, and holes, and I hate it. I feel like every time I loos at those rips, those are rips that would have been in my skin. But every time I see those loose seams, I feel like my own seams are tearing.
The string coming from my pointer finger makes it difficult to do anything, and the large hole on my middle finger let's me cheat and hurt myself. But I dare not ruin any more of my precious gloves, so I'll wear them until both them and I are torn apart.

Which doesn't solve anything.

I'm realizing that most of what I do doesn't solve anything. I have all of these bad habits, and I try to get rid of them by giving myself new habits. I avoid the mirror a certain way, play with a tangle, or wear gloves. Well, it doesn't work. Most of the time the new practices fall through, since habits are made through being natural and comfortable, so things like avoiding the mirror and don't work, and I forget the tangle in my hands. Yesterday I broke down with the mirror with a good ten minutes. Today I also feel through. It isn't the four or two hour spurts of before, but I'm taking steps backward where I had previously covered ground. I hate that.

Bu then, the few strategies that work even a small but, like the gloves, just makes things worse. Now these panic attacks are happening, which is a huge, HUGE step backward in terms of my mental health, and the thing is, even with the glove habit now becoming a natural additive to myself and my habitations, they don't even work to serve the original purpose of stopping me from hurting myself. Sure, now I can hurt myself far less, which is good, but these holes are destroying that small degree of protection, and now I often just take them off for a few minutes when the cravings get really bad. Which is terrible. I argue with myself never to take them off, the original purpose, but that only works half the time.

The only thing I'm good at is teaching myself new bad habits to learn and never defeat. I can't beat habits. I've been trying for years. I feel like my whole life has been bad habit to bad habit, from the baby blanket I had for far too long, to the late nights that started innocent and turned deranged, to the new late nights when the old ones are in a different room, to just depression in general. And fixing bad habits with new habits is like trying to get rid of a smell by spraying perfume. It doesn't work. It dissipates after a time, or only makes it worse.

I hate how these gloves are becoming a part of me, I hate how they are becoming a metaphor for how I'm living and who I am, I hate how I'm realizing how truly broken I am. I hate how I've started needing to wear my gloves in public, I hate it when people asking me questions, I hate having to lie, I hate having people mock and dismiss my problems when I tell the truth. I hate how some of the closest people around me cannot comprehend how bad this is. I hate how I want them to know.

I hate how the only thing I ever seem to hate anymore are my hands and myself. I love absolutely, positively everything, except for my hands and myself. I hate my hands and myself.

And I hate that.

And I hate how I've said this all and know there's pretty much little to no way I can help myself out of this, and I promised mom I'd go to a doctor if I couldn't make it better, but I don't want to. Because how could they possibly help me? Medication? Therapy? That may make me feel better, but the depression is fine. What I need to break is the habits, and those things won't get the memories out of my fingers. I can't imagine anything less than a shock collar helping me.

How long will it take until the me covered with scars is just a memory? I still imagine leaving these childishly habits behind once I reach adulthood, but will I ever make it there? How?

Gotta have faith. Gotta have faith.

Life is good.
 

Panic Attack

 I lost my gloves for a while. I nearly put this message into tumblr:

'where the hell are my gloves?
I don't know how I lost them, they were RIGHT NEXT TO ME and now they aren't, I haven't moved for like 2 hours but they're gone
Now I'm freaking out I do not like this I don't want any new scars before marching band I am so stupid I hate this
I hate this I hate this where are my gloves
Mini panic attack I hate this'

I hate my fucking gloves hate my gloves need my gloves hate my gloves.

I found them soon afterward but I'm still in panic mode and I hate myself for being so damn dependent on these

And I hate how much I was going to worry people by posting that
Or how much I wanted to worry people
I mean I hate this part of myself, hate it, but I need people to know what I'm going through. Maybe because I know I can't trust myself to keep me safe sometimes. Maybe because I just want someone to be afraid for me. Maybe because I still haven't gotten over how terrible those 3 years were when I was dying every day and not one of my friends noticed.

My pain goes so easily unnoticed and it makes me think that if I were to slip away no one would care.

And now I've told most of them about what I went through and even about self harm, but no one asks me questions or wonders if I'm okay or picks up my little hints and it's like they have already forgotten how I'm breaking or are trying to ignore it so that they don't have to deal with me, and I hate that. Because I'm not worth fretting over. 

And that is the most egotistical thing ever but I can't help it, I'm an egotist and I'm selfish and I'm so afraid that no one cares about me and I'm going to die and no one will notice and no one will care and maybe they'll see me dead and hate themselves and wonder why they didn't do anything and

I hate that thought even more than not being wanted.

I just hate how easily I get hurt and cut up and scarred without my friend's notice.

And I hate how Rachel has been the only person in my life who checked up on me and made sure I was okay, and how even though everyone said she didn't care, she's been one of the only people to take a proactive stance in keeping me safe.

She's also the one that forces me to tell others and get help and not do stupid crap.

Maybe that's because she's been where I am and knows what works, meanwhile all my friends have no idea what to do with someone who is hurting and they get scared and don't want to make things worse.

But I've told them time and time again, that all I want is for someone to tell me 'I don't want to see you hurt, I don't want to see you dead'

and they nod and they understand but they never, ever tell me those things.

And I called my best friend and asked her if she would be sad if I killed myself or if I died, and she said "I guess," and "I think people would."

I know she just spoke like that because she doesn't know what to say in those situations, she told me that herself, but those are straightforward questions with easy answers and

I guess
I think

Damn it. I need something concrete from someone important.

I need someone to tell me not to hurt myself.
I need those words to be remembered when I'm about to do something awful.
I need that, even if you don't mean it, just say it.
I'm not sure how long denial and assumptions will keep me going anymore.
'I think they care' worked in seventh grade when I was optimistic and full of hope, but it can only take me so damn far.
I can only believe it so long until someone fucking tells me that they would actually care if I die, because so far the only things I've heard make me believe no one would give a fuck if I did.

Might as will give in.

....Damn it, I hate this, I hate this so much. I hate this dependency.

I am trying so, so hard to save myself right now, but no matter what I do, it's just....
ugh.
I'm tired.
I am so, so tired of chasing life when it doesn't want me back.

I am so goddamn tired of being the only one who cares. I am tired of being called selfless and kind and nice.
I want to be selfish. I want to be that selfish, whiny brat. I don't want to hide my words anymore, I don't want to think about how I might annoy someone or be seen as a bother, because goddamnit I am unhelathy and I am breaking and I NEED to be that person who asks 'do you care about me' because
I don't even know if anyone does anymore,

ASK ME. WHAT IS WRONG.
ASK ME. IF I AM OKAY.

Tell me if YOU ARE SCARED, YOU ARE SAD.

I want to know that my friends actually am happy if I'm alive.

Do I make a difference?
or would everyone's lives be exactly the same if I had never been here?

 .....I should talk to someone. But every time I try to think of how to bring it up, I can't.

I think I'm done panic attacking now. Wow, I hate myself. I still don't want to bother anyone with this.
How sad is it that i can't trust anyone around me to care, or I care too much for them to tell them.
Damnit.
I hate this.
.
EDIT:

The worst thing is, even if someone did tell me those things, I know it wouldn't fix anything.  It wouldn't make me happier. I'd continue being horribly, terribly sad from time to time. Depression is a part of me now. Even though I now have the ability to enjoy life, put most of my suffering behind me, got rid of the hyperventilation, crying, insomnia, and the worst of the self harm out of the way, I'll still think dark thoughts like this from time to time. The damage is irreparable.

But at least, if someone said it, I might treasure those words and keep myself from making anything worse.

I want to get through all of this, completely beat my self harming habits, and walk the world as an average person without all of this trouble and brokenness. But first, I need the proper strength.
.
Life is good.

Let's Make it More

Since I used this blog yesterday, I might as well use it today. What small phrases and vents will come from my head today?

This will be more drunken murmurs, meaning small reoccuring wisps of words that enter my head.
----

i.
How do I save you?

ii.
I hate having to wear my gloves to sleep.

iii.
Can I make something to truly make you happy? Do I bother you? Do I say 'I love you' too much, to the point that you don't take comfort from it anymore?
When I talk to you, who's heart am I trying to calm, your's or mine?
Do you become happier with my company?
I wish I knew. Not that I wouldn't continue doubting it if I did.

iv.
I try biting my nails, but they only get sharper, not shorter. They still manage to break through my gloves and continue to hurt me.
I see my gloves breaking, wearing down, wearing new holes and brokennesses that they hadn't had before. I fell like, when these gloves finally turn to tatters, I will fall apart with them.

v.
I wonder if I'll ever ever ever ever tell them.
Or more of, I wonder if when I tell them, would they ever ever ever ever ever love me.
I wonder if I would ever ever ever let that happen.
Damn it.

iv.
I feel like if I met them in real life, I'd most likely want to hug them. But if I did, I would become terrified, because they are so small and fragile, and I think I'd feel a pang of sadness in that.
And I imagine lying down together and just resting, happily, in relaxation, and I imagine putting an arm around them, but then feeling that small torso....
Last time I couldn't get my arm confortably around the girl, and now I'm scared to even imagine it. I want someone I can fit comfortably with.
I want someone I can hold with absolutely no difficulty.
(But then again, maybe difficulty is the key here?)

(I'll continue adding throughout the day if I have more troubles to write. let's see how many troubles one Me can accumulate in a day.)

Life is good.

Phrases that Enter My Head Too Often

 'I love you.'

'Destroy me.'

'Darling.'

'Damn it.'

'I hate this.'

'Kill me.'

'Please....'

'Love me.'

'Mean it.'

'Damn damn damn damn damn...!'

'I want to be your princess.'

'Please be okay...'

'I love this!'

'I love you.'

'I miss you.'

'I love you.'

'I  L o v e  Y o u'
  

Life is good.

Drunken Murmurs

 This would be a pretty damn terrible way to check up on me, seeing as I only update it maybe once a year or more (if that), and go through multiple phases in my life before I touch this. Each writing is a bit more outdated than the last. It will never really serve to teach anyone anything about me. But I am realizing this and figuring out it's a good thing. I never meant for anyone to read these, anyway. It's not like I've been explaining my little code words or references to events. This has been a way of explaining myself to me. Because I figure things out as I talk about them. So, this has never meant to serve others.... it only serves me. It serves my need to think and vent. And today, I need to vent.

I'm tired, I messed up my sleep schedule, and got to that point where I keep on wanting to say stuff that's stupid, so instead of saying it, I'll type it hear, where I don;t need to worry about embarassing myself. But just as a reference to future me, this post is a few months after I started using my gloves to stop the scratching. I am wearing them even as I type this.

Now, for those silly words in my head to finally be said so that I can sleep.
---

i.
How stupid is it that I would literally scream it to the entire world, but the one person I can't tell is you?

ii.
I don't think of myself as a 'girly' type, even though I definitely identify as a girl. I mean, i have my feelings, and I grow weak for romance stories, and I love cute things and whatnot, but I'm not your standard highschool girl. I don't wear makeup or search for clothes, I don't go to prom or post song lyrics as a status update....
But sometimes I want to run outside in my prettiest dress, and make myself small and curl into a ball, and cry until my face is red and say,
"I want to be your princess."

iii.
I love you.
I miss you.
I love you.
I love you so much I could die.

iv.
I keep holding onto these depressing thoughts, even though I have this life filled with happiness and joy and miracles and God and safety and security. And yet, I cling to these feeling of suffering--yes, I do have real problems, serious problems, but they aren't that bad, they aren't life threatening, so I don't have much of a right to keep in the 'troubled girl' mantra.

And yet, I do. Because I'm terrified of who I'll be when I'm not disturbed. Because there won't be any reason of you to take care of me. There won't be any reason to pay special attention of keep me close. There won't be anything obligating you to watch over me. You could leave. You could finally let go. But I'll still need you, even if I don't need help.

I'm not special anymore once I'm not depressed. I'm not worthy of your love.

I need someone to tell me that I'm important even when I'm not broken.
I need someone to tel me I'm important even when I'm 'normal'.
Why is it that others fear for not being wanted when they're living dead, but I'm terrified of being unwanted and normal?

I need someone to tell me I'm wanted even when I don't need to be loved.

v.
Am I okay?
Oh, my precious dear, my precious dear....
There is never a second that I'm not breaking.
I am breaking more with every single moment.

iv.
Did you know?
I call everyone 'dear', but I only call the one I love 'darling'.
 -----------

...I'll never have the courage to tell her any of these things. I'll go on being silent until I die.
Damn it.

----
Life is good.

Moving On

 It's been a while since Rachel broke up with me. I thought, since this was the third time, that I was used to it by now, but I guess I'm not. Before, I always assumed she would come back. IK never gave up on the notion that I was what she needed, and that I could help. I believed it was my ultimate purpose to save her, just like she saved me when I fell in love with her. It was a sign, I assumed. There was a grand meaning for my being in her life.

But this time, I knew it was different. I finally realized... Just because I mean well and am more than sincere, that doesn't mean I can fix anything. Once I realized I couldn't change anything... It was sort of hard for me to deal with. Breaking up with her, I was okay with that as long as she was happy, which is why I hadn't gotten upset before; but facing the truth that I didn't have some great, life-changing power, that was what upset me. I guess my pride was a lot more influential than I thought it was. But I really believed I was special in her life, not just to her, but in some big life order!

Well, I was special. Just like she saved me, I think I helped save her, too, just like I wanted to. Because she stopped cutting when we started dating. She struggled a lot, and I know sometimes she thought even my support wasn't enough... but I guess it was, because she's been clean for a year now. And that's something really special, and really important, but somehow..... I don't want my influence to end there. I didn't want to bring her life up to safety; I wanted to improve it past the point of contentment, and help her feel ultimate happiness. But I couldn't do that.

I guess I shouldn't complain--I mean, how could I? While still a bit unsteady, her life isn't in constant peril anymore; she may not have totally escaped her depression, but surely she sees a lot more happiness in her life. And I helped her reach that, I improved her life just by being beside her. And that's all I ever set out to do.

But I have realized that more often than not that many people come into your life to play one role, and when that role is done, they pass out of your life and take their importance with them, only leaving behind the lessons they helped you learn. And I feel life urging me away now. My role is through; it's up to someone else now to make her happy. I'm not sure I want it to be over, but I do know that it feels like the correct path now, and when I try to fight it, there's this discomfort.

After loving someone for so long, it becomes a lot more than just feelings toward a person; it becomes a part of you, too. It's part of my identity now: 'My name is Autumn, I have brown hair, I am an artist, I have a passion for teaching, I have my birthday in January, I am in love with Rachel.' Although I have been in and out of love more than once, it always feels criminal for an inherent part of my character to suddenly not be true anymore. I hate moving on. How could I have loved so sincerely and persistently for two years but just let go afterward? Couldn't I hold on forever, like I feel I should?

I used to imagine that I could never fall out of love with Rachel... This was special, much more special than any other time, because at least for a time it was mutual, and we created a deep, deep bond. I learned her inside and out, to the point where I could always tell what she was thinking and always understand her, even while I worried if she was hiding anything. We had a certain feel together, a new life. But now that I'm realizing the truth, and feeling life leading my ahead, I think that I'm actually beginning to move on. I'm not sure. But I think I'm letting go. (If my friends were to know, they would probably rejoice; that would hurt me dreadfully. Even if they hid their happiness, I would be able to tell.)

It's weird, feeling the loose, weightless freedom of not belonging to anyone or revolving around another person. I feel like there's nothing grounding me. But I think this is actually the right path, for once. I'm regaining what I lost when I was devoted to Rachel; I can find others attractive again, make jokes, think about the motives of others. That dire need for affection is lessening, at least a little. Still, I miss her; I miss all our happy memories.

We would sit together in a small, isolated corner on the top floor before a teacher this year told us we couldn't stay anymore (no one last year had said that; strange). I would often find every comfortable silence needing to be filled in order not to bore her (overthinking on my part), and would often go on and on about practically nothing. I would always worry I was boring her, but she would tell me,
 "Don't worry; if I wanted to shut you up, I would kiss you."

And she did use that tacit a few times, but barely ever. She was much to considerate for that, and far
 faithful. She always brought it up when I fretted over boring her. "You know how I would shut you up," she would say in a teasing manner.

It was really nice, like something out of a book. My days with her were always filled with magic and happiness, even in the midst of strife. I always knew what I wanted, and always knew my goal and my purpose. While the trails we faced were beyond difficult, life was easy. At least, living was. Each day couldn't come fast enough; I knew what I had to do and what I wanted accomplished. In contrast, the lethargy of now has managed to shake my foundation, but connecting myself with reality I've managed to create mental stability now.

For now, I have found enough small goals and improvement to hop between, at least until I find some greater purpose again. I can't live like Kate says and just live for the sake of reaching a new day; but for now, I'll be fine. I'm confident now. No more fear, no more tears, no more slips into depression.

I never would have learned any of this if not for Rachel. I guess she has played her part in my life as well; no matter what anyone says, I'll remember it all fondly, and refuse to take as anything but a life changing experience. In my heart of hearts, i know there will always be a part of me who still loves her, the one inside my memories; and that goes for the past two real loves as well. I will always love them in my reminisces. And that helps me move on and continue looking ahead and not behind at what I had, because I still have it. I haven't forgotten them. I'm just going where I will continue to grow.

I hope my next adventure is just as meaningful.
Life is good.