ALL ABOARD!!!! or...are you bored?

years ago, i heard someone say, "if you say you're bored, then you, yourself, are probably boring." ive always found this to be interesting. and true.
i have been quite bored (or boring) lately. in this cute little historic town of lexington, virginia, i fill my days with random errands. buying food. cleaning behind jake. studying for school. unpacking. job hunting. going on interviews. texting. thinking about running...and its been fine....so far.
ive been here for about 2mos or so and now i am simply bored. maybe its bc i dont have a job. maybe its bc i havent made any friends.
maybe its bc i have absolutely no reciprocity in the relationship-entertainment  department. for example: the other day i dressed up in 1 of 2 corsets that i purchased in italy. i cooked dinner. i got slighly buzzed, messed up my hair, threw on some heels and when jake came home, i was a sexy house wife hellion for him. at first he was taken aback and i felt powerful. we did what the outfit was intended for, then we ate, and then................................................he fell asleep...................................
now granted, he works long, hard days and i understand that. i do not take this for granted bc he has gotten me thru this summer. until today, i havent had to pay a lick of rent since ive been here and i havent touched an ounce of the utility bills. so im not complaining about the support.
but i intended to spice things up between us and he took what he could from it and was "gone." literally. gone enough to put me off from getting fancy like that again. what's the point? when i didnt do it, he atleast stayed up all day and kept me entertained. i do it for a change of pace and am left bored all day. right the way i was when he wasnt there.
soooooooooo: i feel like ive just figured out my own problem. (love when that happens) im gonna do what i did today and stay busy all day. stay out of the house all day. not be here when he gets home. see how he likes them apples. ha!
of course, i am not vindictive. thats ridiculous and a waste of energy. but i feel like im carrying alot of this relationship as far as the creative aspect goes. and its getting tiresome. so im gonna focus more on things that i enjoy instead of trying to keep it interesting around here. bc apparently, its not necessary.
i also need to make friends but i tend to make guy friends alot easier. and i feel like jake wouldnt want a bunch of guys hanging around the house with me. so im trying to be respectful. but im getting desperate and as i always say...desperate times....hmmm.
i guess we will see what happens. our friendship was great. the first 3mos were great. and now it seems that the honey moon is over.
like i said, we will see.
<3 

One in 300,000,000: My Story of Resilience

foreword: i am currently a graduate student at south university in richmond, va. ive got about 1 yr of school work left bf i start my 2yr internship. then i will apply for my license. as i progress thru this program, it is becoming more and more evident that i am going to have to come to terms with alot of things that have hurt me and that i have dealt with by repressing and "forgetting about it." to counsel others is to help them become emotionally and mentally congruent in their daily lives and one cannot do that, unless one is seeking the same for oneself. so. in my current class, my final assignment was to write out my life story. to share only what i wanted to share and leave out anything too painful for me. one thing about me is that I DO NOT BACK DOWN. yes, i waited until the last weekend to complete this assignment bc i realized that there were some things that i truly DID NOT want to think about, remember and/or relive. but i finally did it. i wrote about everything i could remember. i ended up with 17 pages but had to scale it down to 10 as per the assignment requirements. here, though, is the unedited version. i have tried to be as objective as possible. hard to do when you're talking about yourself, but here it is. good luck. do not judge me.

A few months ago, I was watching a very intriguing special on the Discovery Channel about the journey of sperm from the testicles to the egg. What made this special so fascinating is that instead of showing the journey through a microscope, as most shows about sperm do, this show made sperm the size of humans. I watched spellbound for an hour as the personified sperm ran full steam ahead through miles and miles of “valley” (the vagina) climbed a “mountain side,” (the cervix), and battled ninja assassins (the white blood cells). It really made me look at the human body, at life, in a way that I never truly had before.

Although the visualization was jaw dropping, there was one small fact that stood out to me and resonates with me even now. Out of the 300,000,000 sperm that attempt to make it to the prize egg, only ONE does (and, of course, sometimes two in the case of fraternal twins.) Thinking of these odds and the fact that every sperm has the potential to create a slightly different version of me, but that I was created out of all the possibilities is truly mind-blowing. It made me think of resilience then; and it makes me think of resilience now. Ever since the moment of contraception, I have made it this far for a reason.

Nine months prior to February 10, 1985, a particular sperm, beat the odds and fastened itself tightly to a waiting egg. An interesting little girl was created, nurtured and finally born to newlyweds Wanda, 18, and Bobby, 20, in Brookdale Hospital in Riverdale, Brooklyn, New York. My mother and father were childhood sweethearts and although they were young, they always looked happy in their pictures. It is quite interesting how photos can alter reality; for better or worse.

According to my mother, I was a very smart child. When I was born, she said I looked around bored as if to say “Here we go again.” I, of course, cried when they smacked me, but my mother said she would never forget the initial look on my face. I could sing my “ABC’s” clearly by 18 months and was walking way before then. During a check-up, the doctor marveled at my inner ear stating that he had “never seen such a developed inner ear for one her age.” I do not know how amazing that is, really, but I know that it was enough to reinforce my mother’s belief that she had the most amazing child on the planet.

On March 5, 1986, my brother, Bobby Ray, was born and on January 17, 1988, Robert Lee was born. (Yes, my brothers are named Bobby and Robert. This only shows the intense ego of my father at the time.) My father was a very jealous, smart, and manipulative man. It has always been known that my father verbally and physically abused my mother. From the stories that I have heard, I would consider it intimate terrorism. I seem to have created some sort of mental block about my brief years in New York, or maybe I was just too young to remember but a lot of what I know about this time comes from my mother. She shared with me that she did her best to shield us from his tirades by never leaving us alone with him and only doing so if we were asleep. Sometimes my father would make Bobby, Robert and me fight one another so he could watch and laugh but my mother said she would always make him stop.

I, personally, remember teaming up with Bobby to make fun of Robert because he is a few shades darker than us. This, of course, was egged on by my father who is light-skinned as are Bobby and myself. We used to tell Robert that he was found in the dumpster and was not really our brother. I do not remember being told this as a child, but when I got older, my mother informed me that my father got us to tease Robert because he believed that she had cheated on him with a darker skinned man and that is how Robert was born. This accusation was untrue for many reasons. Robert is the same complexion as my mother (which perfectly explains his darker skin tone.) He also looks just like my father, who was the one cheating, not my mother. I do not know and probably will never know the truth of that story, but it certainly caused problems in our home.

My early years seemed to be very emotionally draining and I am sometimes thankful that I do not remember all the bad times. I do remember playing with other kids in the projects, going to the park with my brothers and mother and visiting Grandma and Grandpa a few buildings away. I remember my mother walking me to kindergarten in the snow and sometimes stopping at the corner store to get candy for my brothers and me. I remember making Robert laugh in his crib while I made faces and getting Bobby to help me swing Robert in a blanket. I remember making up games, playing with dolls, and being tickled. Despite the abuse, we were relatively happy kids. For the most part, we were protected.

In 1990, my father intended to give us a better life by moving us “down south.” So we moved to the small town of Swansea, South Carolina, which was the exact opposite of the over-crowded, dirty, violent streets that were the projects of Brooklyn, New York. In Swansea, we lived in a trailer on a dirt road. We were surrounded by trees and had a very large yard. I remember “rescuing” cats from outside and hiding them in my brothers’ bedroom because mom was allergic. I do not remember if we ever got in trouble for them but I am sure we did. One time I climbed a tree because I got the bright idea to make a tree swing. On the way up, I lost my footing and fell out but not before pulling a small limb down with me, which somehow lodged itself into my arm. (I still have the scar.) I recall my father roughly yanking me to feet by my arm and pulling it out, then yelling at me for climbing the tree. I can only assume that my mother intervened at this point and acknowledged the fact that I was really hurt. She did that for my brothers and me often; always protecting us, always throwing herself into the line of fire so that we would be spared.

In 1991, we moved 40 miles from the satellite city of Swansea to the larger city of West Columbia, which is separated from Columbia, SC (the capital) by the Saluda River. This is where my memory gets better and where things, for better or worse, began to get interesting. We lived in a 2-bedroom duplex on Jackson Street. My father had been working as a cable guy for the better part of my life and still is to this day, but when we moved to West Columbia, he did not find such a job right away. Instead, he began working as a stocker at the local grocery store, Bi-lo. There he made a good friend: James Thomas Glenn.

Around 1992, things between my parents were getting worse than they had ever been. My father seemed to regret moving us down south and often took trips back home to New York. During the last of these trips, before he never came back, my mother began seeing James. I did not really understand what was going on at the time, but according to my dad I “told on my mother and James.” I reported to my father that I had seen James in the room with my mother with no clothing on that he had been staying over. To me, this was just innocent conversation, but it assisted in the imminent separation of my biological parents. Bobby Ray Burgess, Sr. returned to New York for good (where he started a new family) and James Thomas Glenn became our new dad.

My dad was very disciplined, honorable and sometimes scary. I cannot really recall how things changed in the beginning but I do remember how life was overall. We were expected to complete chores, which were posted on the walls of each room (our bedrooms, the bathroom, kitchen, and living room). After completing our chores successfully we were always rewarded. We never talked back or got out of line with dad. If we did, we were met with extremely intimidating looks, hour-long lectures, or, as a last resort, spankings. Dad never spanked me, though. When necessary, he spanked the boys and left my spankings to my mother. Due to their different parenting styles our home seemed to be authoritative. Dad was very strong and if it were not for the softer, more permissive attitude of my mother, our home would have been totally authoritarian.

My brothers and I are very intelligent and high achievers. We always wanted to be the best. I believe that we were born with this innate drive and having James as our father only kindled this fire. He did not accept less than our best at home, in public or in school. I always made the honor roll, got awards and was considered the “teacher’s pet” but I do not remember getting picked on a lot. I think the worse thing I was ever called was “white” by my African American peers because I spoke properly, made good grades and always had a positive attitude. I do not remember being horribly effected by this. Actually, I was only concerned for my peers (not for myself) because the fact that they attributed my good qualities to being “white” meant that they did not believe they could have the same qualities simply because they were African American. Yes, at twelve years old, I was troubled for them in this regard and felt that they were short-changing themselves. Needless to say, I cared deeply about others and was highly pro-social even to a fault.

In the summer of 1995, between 4^th and 5^th grade, we moved from the apartment to a very nice and new trailer in Hendrix Trailer Park. In this trailer, the rules were all the same, except there was a bit more cleaning on my part because I finally had my own room. It was slightly bigger than some walk-in closets that I have seen, but it was mine and I was happy to have my own space. I was still a tomboy for the time being and continued to wrestle with my brothers, climb trees, make bike ramps in the woods, and collect bugs. By now we completely knew and understood the rules of the house, how to get rewarded, what would cause punishment and the best way to interact with our parents, which was with the utmost respect. Looking back I believe 1992-1995 were probably the absolute best years of my childhood. Unfortunately, those years represented the calm before the storm.

In the summer of 1995, things were going absolutely swell. My dad was working hard at Bi-lo as a manager and my mother was in her second year as a correctional officer at the women’s prison. We were taking frequent family trips to a local theme park, wearing the newest and nicest clothes and shoes, and all working hard to be happy and have good days. Not to say that my mother and dad did not argue. They did and sometimes it was flat out scary, but for the most part, I remember our days being filled with fun.

During this time, my mother’s half-brother, Dexter, his girlfriend, Lois, and her two daughters, Portia and Deanna moved from Virginia to live with us. I remember I did not speak to either of the girls for the first two weeks that they were there. I do not think I was trying to be rude. It is just that they were unfamiliar and I had never lived with other girls. Somehow we eventually broke the ice and became inseparable during the month that they lived with us. We even remained close when they moved out, but finally lost touch when my uncle and Lois parted ways and she returned to Virginia with the girls.

We continued to visit with my uncle Dexter at his new, big house. We got to know his new girlfriend, Rene, and even called her “aunt.” We stayed very close with my uncle, so close in fact, that it ruined our lives in more ways than I understood then and in more ways than I care to remember now. On November 21, 1996, my ever punctual, ever disciplined, ever ready dad was not present for Thanksgiving. My mother was five months pregnant, with my, now 13-year old brother, Jawan. I remember her being very upset and worried, but trying to hide it so Bobby, Robert and I would not worry. I do not know if it was because I am the oldest, or because I am also a female, but I could tell that something was very wrong. The next day we learned that my dad had been arrested, along with my uncle Dexter, and some of his friends for being an accomplice to an armed robbery. The very idea of my dad being in trouble was unimaginable to me. Up until that point, he had always been the perfect model of excellence, honesty, and honor. In the beginning, I think I was in shock more than anything else.

When dad was finally released on bail, he told us that he had been with my uncle Dexter and some mutual friends. He was only driving them around and did not know that they had committed a crime. At the time, I really believed my dad and was sad that he had been made guilty by association. Over the years, I have heard varying stories about his level of knowledge, from his version all the way to him actually planning the robbery. Because of the integrity that my dad had always shown, I chose to believe his version, even now.

On February 22, 1997, Jawan, with whom my mother had been pregnant during my dad’s initial arrest, was born. It was very different having a baby in the house since Bobby, Robert and I had all been babies around the same time, but it was fun. I think we tried to carry on normally, despite my dad’s pending trial. My brothers and I continued to do well in school and seemed to function as normal, from what I remember. Dad finally got sentenced in early summer to eight years instead of the probation for which we were all hoping because of the newly appointed “the hand of one is the hand of all” law. We were given hope in knowing that he could have it reduced if he exhibited good behavior, but even the prospect of my dad being away eight days was overwhelming at the time.

I remember the last night that he was home. He and my mother went away together for a few hours while all my cousins, aunts and uncles on my mother’s side gathered down the street at my grandma’s house. I remember my cousins and brothers playing as if all was well, while I sat on my grandma’s porch looking at the stars. I was very afraid. I did not know what was going to happen. I did not understand what had happened, and honestly, I did not know what to do. So I just sat there and cried. I felt more alone than I ever had in my entire life.

The next day, we told my dad good-bye and my mother drove him to the county jail, where he was later transported to Evans Correctional Institute in Bennettsville, South Carolina. The next few weeks after that are a blur, but I do remember the first time my dad was able to call home! I was the one to answer the phone because I was at home babysitting Jawan. The prison had it set so that inmates had to make collect calls, therefore it was not possible to do a 3-way call, but somehow I did it. I kept my dad on the phone while I called my mother and after about 2 or 3 weeks, they were able to talk again.

Soon my mother filled out the forms for visitation rights and we were making the two and one half hour trip to Bennettsville, South Carolina every weekend. Sometimes we would even get a hotel room and visit on both Friday and Saturday, or Saturday and Sunday, so we could go to church with my dad. Although we desired to, we were not permitted to visit all three days because there was a limit on visitation. We took what we could get, though, and looked forward to visiting our dad every weekend.

Throughout all of this, my mother was still working at the Women’s Institution on Broad River Road. She worked there from 6am to 6pm, and eventually took up a part time job at Wal-mart from 7pm to 11pm. This was, of course, to cover the financial burden left as a result of my dad’s involuntary absence. During this time, I was also required to go above and beyond. When my mother was working at the prison, Jawan would stay with his biological grandmother, who had also claimed Bobby, Robert and me as her own. Then on my mother’s way home, she would pick Jawan up, and bring him home to me so she could continue on to work at Wal-mart.

There were a lot of times when I felt extremely frustrated with this arrangement. I was twelve then and spent a lot of time watching Bobby and Robert play outside while I stayed inside taking care of Jawan. On a day when my mother was home and I could play freely, my cousins would jokingly ask me, “Where is your son?” They were only teasing with me but I do not think they realized how exasperated I was with the situation. I usually became furious beyond words and would storm off crying. Needless to say, it was a difficult time for me and my mother, too. She eventually became overwhelmed with visiting my dad in prison on the weekends and then clocking in to work at a prison on the week days. For the sake of her mental stability, she realized that she had to let one go, so after serving proudly for four and one half years as a correctional officer, she resigned. This was in the 1998. I was 13 years old and about to start 8^th grade.

Around this time, I started going to a Pentecostal church with a young couple named Sarah and Jamie. They had been walking around our trailer park one day, witnessing to people, and they came across my brothers playing outside. I was inside with Jawan, of course, and my brothers directed them to me since I was in charge. Sarah and Jamie talked to me about Jesus and their church and said that a bus would come around on Sunday for everyone that wanted to fellowship. Up until this point, our family had gone to church on holidays when dad was still home and we visited with him on Sundays during the service for inmates, so I had an idea of what fellowshipping was all about. I knew that it was good and fun and I really think I just wanted a place to go away from home. I was hooked after the first Sunday.

Because of my mother’s work schedule, I sometimes had to take Jawan with me to church, but that never stopped me. I eventually became a member of United Pentecostal Church and was riding there with Sarah and Jamie up to three times a week. For about a year or so, I refused to miss designated prayer days at the church and allowed nothing to stop me from going to services on Sunday. I remember a time when I really did not want to take Jawan because it was hard to have him with me sometimes. So I put him to sleep for my brothers, and then climbed out of my window so he would not see me leave. Sarah and Jamie were pulling up just as my feet hit the ground and they were amazed. I had found my home away from home and I was nothing short of dedicated.

Due to the beliefs that I acquired through UPC, I did not wear pants or watch television for about a year. Sometimes my brothers and cousins would go with me. I do not remember if they got anything out of going, but I know it was at least a break from the trailer park for them. I even got Kaneka, my best friend at the time, to come to church with me. She, too, became hooked and continued fellowshipping at a similar Pentecostal church in California (where her family eventually moved) up until about five years ago. I have visited UPC a few times since I stopped going in the summer of 1999, and although I was not gripped by the power there, as I once was, it was still quite evident there.

We continued to visit my dad on a regular basis, but my mother seemed to become interested in different people. There is absolutely nothing inside of me that hates or blames my mother for anything. I love her. She is my best friend, but I was very confused by some of her actions during my dad’s absence. There were a few times when I witnessed her being, what I believe to be, intimate with men that were not my dad. Yes, I was young, but I was not unintelligent, so I would sometimes ask about these various people. My mother always had a rational explanation for what she was doing and why, and because I wanted to keep the peace, I did not argue.

Looking back, I know that my mother was probably very lonely and anything that she may or may not have done was her business. I have wanted to be upset with her over some of the things I witnessed, but honestly, I cannot be. She managed to keep my brothers and me in a safe home while my dad was away. Times did get hard, though. Sometimes we did not have electricity, furniture or as much food as we would have liked, but she kept us together. We never ended up homeless, in a shelter nor was the Department of Social Services ever involved. My mother did exactly what she needed to do when she needed to do it, and I fault her for nothing.

Now with that said, on September 22, 1999, a few months before my dad was released from prison, my brother Thomas (Tommy) Alexander Glenn was born. Even to this day, I think that it showed the unwavering character and loyalty exhibited by my dad when he named Thomas (after himself, James Thomas) and also gave his surname: Glenn. The day my mother told us that she was pregnant, we were visiting dad. Everything was going normally but my mother seemed a little nervous and my dad seemed really sad. She finally told us that she was going to have a child and I remember my jaw dropped, Robert climbed under the table and cried, and Bobby just put his head down. My mother made Robert get up and he cried with his face in his arms for the remainder of the visit. Even though the news was quite shocking, a part of me was not surprised.

Towards the end of her pregnancy with Tommy, my mother finally visited UPC with me and experienced a life-altering interaction with God. (This eventually led to her life-long commitment to Christianity, to which she adheres even to this day.) I also started 9^th grade around this time, and my dad was released from prison around October or November. I remember the day he came home. The general consensus was one of excitement and nervousness as we spent the entire day cleaning the house. We wanted everything to be perfect for my dad’s return. My hope was that our lives would go back smoothly as if he had never left. We would all fall back into our roles comfortably and proceed as if nothing had ever happened. Sadly, this was not the case.

When the stability and consistency provided by the presence of my dad was snatched away, it required, from all of us, sacrifice and self-righting. For me, this meant I had to take on adult roles which made me the “substitute mother.” If my mother did not have Jawan that meant that I did. If mom was not home to cook, then I did. I was even allowed to practice my mother’s signature so that when we had important papers from school, I could sign them when she did not have time. (In fact, I became so good at signing her name, I used it later to forge notes for myself and skip school with my friends). With these new set of responsibilities came a certain sense of power. Decisions that I would not have been included in previously were suddenly mine to make. I was only thirteen, but the way I had to help my mother made me feel and believe that I was older.

While in prison, my dad got involved with the church group there. When he came home, his newfound religion was the only thing that was different about him. The strength, discipline and unwavering intimidating energy that he gave off was still the same, but it no longer sat well with me. I had become a different person while he was gone. I was not as willing to follow blindly because I had experienced what it took to lead. A small part of me still wanted things to be the way they had been, but the reality was that they were not. In short, instead of remaining overjoyed with his return, I ended up feeling powerless, worthless and as if my sacrifice over those years did not mean a thing. My dad did not seem to understand this, and in his innate drive to lead, I became utterly lost in a futile power struggle.

I do not know what made me start or even the first time I did it, but I began to cut myself. I would cut my arms and then cover it up with long sleeves. At first I used box cutters, but once I discovered what an Exacto knife was, it was game over. I had been dating a very disturbed guy named John a little before I started cutting. He was one of the people with whom I would skip school after forging a note. I was about 15 then and we did not date for long but looking back, it seems that his emotionally abusive behavior was the “straw that broke the camel’s back.” I was tired of everything I had endured while my dad was gone; his blatant disregard for who I had become; John’s abusive interactions with me; and mostly I was tired of myself. Being open, honest and loving people had done nothing but get me hurt and I could not take it anymore. So the part of me that had always been there to laugh, love, and smile uninhibitedly was locked away deeply for safe keeping. I actually remember the distinct character shift that occurred during this time. I recognize how it has continued to shape my personality and the way I interact with people even today.

By the fall of 2000, when I was going into the 10^th grade, I was already an expert cutter and was even getting creative with it. I could cut words and designs into my arms and legs and still hide it. The relief I felt after cutting was unmatched by anything else. At school, I was still making good grades, so as far as I knew, the adults were fooled. I was a “clique hopper,” meaning I was friends with everyone. I did not really identify with a set group but all my closest friends at the time tended to be skaters, punks and into rock music. We were all very intelligent and often debated about the news, government or whatever we could think of, but the style of dress was definitely odd. I really enjoyed this group, though, because even in it, I was still very different. I was one of the only females and one of 2 or 3 African Americans (the others being my brothers who were also “clique hoppers”).

When I experienced my character shift, there were a few weeks that I spent alone at lunch time. Instead of being the center of attention, as usual, I sought quiet places to be alone. My friends often found me and tried to cheer me up but nothing worked. I understand now that I was depressed and should have probably gotten help through the guidance counselor. But for some reason I believed that the pain I felt was my fault and that I deserved it. I continued to cut and even when I went back to my group, I kept to myself. My friends were all very concerned but there was one who remained persistent. His name was Cullen Zachary Kirton and he absolutely changed my life.

Zach was a schoolyard friend of my brothers Bobby and Robert but not until the fall of 2000, did I know him personally. We did not realize this until years later, but we had always been close. We actually found an old chorus picture from middle school where we were only separated by a few kids. So we used to joke that we were destined to be together, even before we knew it. When I first became aware of Zach, which was months after he had been aware of me, the first thing he said was “Oh, my gosh! You have freckles!” We were at lunch at school and I was still depressed but this made me laugh the way I used to laugh, which felt good. He was completely serious though, and realizing that I had freckles turned his childish crush into an all-out pursuit.

Zach and I did nothing but get closer and closer after this initial meeting. We wrote notes to each other all day, every day, and I found myself slowly coming back from the brink of self-destruction. My cutting did not necessarily stop in the beginning of our friendship. I had actually slit both wrists around the time we met, not deep enough to kill me or leave a scar even, but just to see what it would be like if I did do it deeply enough. Zach eventually helped me to stop, though. He always said that he knew who I was before John hurt me and he wanted to see that person again. Zach always made me laugh, always encouraged me to “come out of hiding,” and wanted nothing more than to see me happy again. I truly believe that he saved me then and on March 31, 2001, during spring break, we began dating.

Even though Zach and I are no longer together, I still tell people that we grew up together. After ten years, it is a bit hard not to claim such a thing. In the beginning, our relationship was probably typical of most teenagers. I was his first real girlfriend and he was my first decent boyfriend. We spent as much time together at school as possible, and eventually started spending more time together outside of school when he got his license at 16. He was very intelligent and I found that he was one of the few people to whom I did not have to explain my jokes. We were two teens caught in the daunting process of developing our identities, but we had at least found a kindred spirit.

We were, of course, not without problems. Zach was what one would call a “pot head” and got in trouble with the law a few times because of it. He was extremely intelligent though but sometimes unmotivated. So in 2002, his mother finally took him to a specialist where he was diagnosed with audio attention-deficit disorder and prescribed Adderall. For Zach, me and all of our closest friends, this became one of the best times during high school. Zach began selling his Adderall to his friends and giving them to me for free. With the money he made from the Adderall, we were able to go to the movies every weekend, eat at restaurants all the time and do many things that we had not be able to do before. I was working by then but most of my money went to helping at home.

In February 2003, my mother’s mother who lived down the street (where we had all gathered for my dad all those years ago) passed away. My mother, who had been her sole care taker since she lost her ability to walk in November 2002, was utterly destroyed. She could not work for a while, so my dad worked even harder so she could mourn. I graduated from high school and my mother and dad decided that they would move into my grandmother’s trailer since it was bigger, so we did. I spent the majority of that summer with Zach because I was going away to college that fall.

While riding to visit my dad in Bennettsville, we always went through Hartsville, South Carolina. I always thought it was a cute, little town and I sometimes wondered what it would be like to live there. In 11^th grade, when I started getting solicited by colleges, I got a post card from Coker College, which I recognized immediately from the signs that I had passed in Hartsville all those years ago. I decided to go there and Zach actually held the application with me as I dropped it into the mailbox. We always said that he helped me “mail my future.” I think if he could have somehow known who I would meet in Hartsville and how living there would change me, he would have never helped. Everything happens for a reason though, and I regret nothing.

I was given my grandmother’s car for college and in August 2003 I became a freshman cobra at Coker. During my four years in undergrad, I made six of my 8 best friends and even more close friends, including my current boyfriend, Jacob. I spent sophomore year partying, junior year as president of Campus Crusade for Christ and senior year doing a healthy mix of both. I was a part of the choir and sang at Carnegie hall twice. I traveled all over the east coast, had up to three jobs at one point, and took the concept of moratorium to a whole new level. I did any and everything one could possibly do in college in order to find oneself. I maintained a 3.0 though and still went home on the weekends to visit Zach and my family.

By the fall of 2006, I had decided that Zach and I would get married after I finished college that spring. All my life, I believed that marriage was a trap and only served to end the happiness that couples had had previously. I had nothing but example after example of this in my family, but with Zach, I felt like I could do marriage the right way. Up until this point, he was still trying to get me to “come out of hiding” which he claims I only did during extremely intimate moments, if at all. It was hard for me to be the open, present, and emotionally uninhibited person he had seen all those years ago. Being “robot Mila,” as he called it, seemed to be easier. I did and still do this personality shift seamlessly. I would not know how to stop if I tried.

In short, my reluctance to carry out his request made him nervous about getting married so he called the entire relationship off. Even though we had taken breaks before, it was always me who made those decisions. He never had before so I was devastated. I graduated from college in May 2007, and decided to stay in Hartsville that summer instead of going back to Columbia. Zach and I kept in touch and even still interacted as if we were a couple, but we were not. It became evident to me that things were not going to be the way they used to be so I decided that it was the perfect time to visit my childhood best friend, Kaneka, in California so I could get away. I bought a ticket from Greyhound and at the last minute, invited another childhood friend, Jamie, to come along. Zach was upset by this because Jamie is a male but he had no say at this point.

After returning from California, I confessed to Zach that I had been intimate with Jamie while I was there. Zach was devastated. There was even a physical altercation between us and my brother got involved. For weeks we did not speak, but as always, we ended up together again. From the fall of 2007 until the summer of 2009, Zach and I cohabitated and functioned as a normal couple, but in reality we were not dating. No matter how hard we tried, things were never the same between us, so I finally decided to move away again. I moved to Charlotte, NC to get an apartment with Kaneka, who had recently moved back to the east coast. That living situation was unfavorable so I ended up in Columbia every single week with Zach. It seemed like I just could not escape.

In February of 2010, I decided to take a trip to Tennessee to visit my old friend, Jacob, from Hartsville, South Carolina. We had kept in touch loosely and he had even visited me in Charlotte in November. There always seemed to be some interest between us but nothing ever happened. During my visit, I had so much fun with Jake and I realized that, if I really wanted, I could have someone that did not keep me bound by guilt. I could grow with someone, be happy and have a fresh start. I suddenly realized that I was worth it. On the night before I was to leave for Charlotte and return to work, I acted on this belief. It was not until May 26, 2010 after many more visits, talks and adventures that Jake and I started dating. When my lease ended in Charlotte in July 2010, Jake and I loaded everything I owned and hauled it to Lexington, Virginia where we now reside.

I do not regret my decision, but I knew for a fact that these final choices would devastate Zach. Even now, he considers me “his girl,” although I am not and have not been for a while. Zach copes with the past by ruminating and for three years I worked as hard as I could to help him to move forward, get over his depression and try to make things okay between us again. I blamed myself for his pain but nothing I ever did helped, and I just could not do it anymore. Even after Jake and I began dating, I tried to remain friends with Zach but he still insists that things would have worked out if I had “come out of hiding.” I can no longer deal with the guilt and shame of “what could have been, if…” and the fact that I could not save Zach although he had saved me all those years ago.

I am growing and changing every day. I know one day I will find the right balance between the open, free and happy self that I once was and the “robot Mila” that protects me when necessary. Jake has always known me the way I am now and he loves me. After everything I have been through, I can do nothing but go up from here. Resilience defined my conception, helped me get through my past and it will continue to drive me forward to the balance I so passionately seek.

inception: the harbinger of terrifying dreams

"You’re waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know this train will take you where you want to go, but you can’t be sure. But it doesn’t matter. Because we’ll be together."

if i were going to be cripplingly honest about inception id say: inception really ruined my life. the world is not real. my dreams are not real. i am not real. and it solidified every fear that i have ever had but dared not express outloud or atleast not beyond a whisper. it rattled me on a fountain/eternal sunshine level. deeply. and to my core. to the point where i feel compelled to question life, my decisions, and reality more often than ever before. my desire to feel real has only been fueled but with no real means of quenching this fire. leaving me in some sort of limbo. but how do you explain this to people without sounding dramatic or flat out nuts??? you dont. and i wont try. no one can help me anyway.

now if i were going to give a pleasant critique, id say that it was an extremely innovative movie that mixed an old idea (dreams and dreaming) with a relatively new one (cgi). it really was an amazing movie with an interesting plot although the characters could have been developed beyond their role in dicaprio's story. adding more of a back story for the others wouldnt have hurt in my opinion. the love story intermixed into the overall plot, was very gripping and i believe it appealed to all. the ending was unfair though. HA!

now about my life.
i have wondered what i need to do to feel more real. should i go to counseling? should i become a christian again? should i take up yoga? become a buddhist? become a drug addict??
truly. i do not know what to do to in order to be real and free. i do not know how to NOT think about death. i do not have a plan. i do not intend to die but i know that i will. and some one that i love will. it is always at the back of my mind. i want to know what happens after you die and if it is really worth anything that i am living for. i believe in karma but i want to know if karma is really real. everything is cyclical. that is evident in the seasons, in the life cycle, in the rotation of the planets. but is that true for energy and good/bad deeds?
also, what is the point to life? why do we love? hate? care? not care?
and why have i made the decisions that i have made? am i in control or is some bigger, grander entity guiding me to some greater truth? i want to know all of these things and i want to believe that what i discover is the absolute truth. beyond the shadow of a doubt.
i also desire a more base life so i dont have to be tortured with such existentialistic thoughts.

<3

"only time will tell if ill allow the scenery around to eat me alive"

"i wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at his feet, even though i know it wont work out in the long ruuuun!"- man man

i am in love with, or obsessed with, rather, a new band. man man. they are amazing. reminds me of a not-so-polished modest mouse which is what makes me love them. i would loooove to get the discography...but i am not able to at this moment which is a perfect segue for main topic of this blog....

i have blogged previously about my ups and downs with my exboyfriend. although the contents was rather cryptic and morbid as in "could you please stop the noise, im tryna get some rest" or all the poems i saved from my deleted myspace acct, id like to be completely blunt and straight forward about everything now. i believe that itll be cathartic and help me to move on to my impending BRIGHTER FUTURE. : )

so after the fiasco that occurred 3 years ago (he decided he was "scared" and didnt want to marry me RIGHT BEFORE i grad'ed college and we were suppose to start working toward such. it was alot of unneccessary drama and i shant go into now) we have been in, what i like to call, relationship-limbo. he wanted "forever cake" which is to say: he wanted his cake and he wanted to eat it too. he wanted to be able to remain friends, but still do the things that dating ppl do. and i was fine with this, overall. there were moments when i would complain about it or flat out revolt against it, but it never got me anywhere.

sleeping in your car to prove a point does nothing. trust me, i know.

what i realized was that even though i desperately needed to change. for my own sake and for his, i never really had a reason to do so. because there seemed to be nothing promising in sight to make the change for, i just never did it and never did it...and never...did...it. until last week.

something amazing happened to me over 2 blogs ago and i am not yet ready to express it in full detail in such a public forum (although i am convinced that not even my followers read this.) but i will just say, that it gave me just enough hope needed to make the change i so desired.

i was texting my ex, and everything was going fine. then i said something (what, i dont remember) that made him take a second and ask if something was wrong. he knows me well enough to pick up on things via text. it had been 10 years since the friendship began and 7 since we started dating, so it made sense that he was able to do this. i eventually got around to expressing my lack of interest in our relationship-limbo, and although i had done this many times...something was veeeeery different. i know he could tell and i could certainly tell. i think my text held the hope that i had recently been granted. and just as he knew something was wrong after a vaguely off response, he knew that something was different with this ultimatum.

well not to get bogged down with detail i eventually told him that i didnt want to do whatever it was that we were doing anymore. that i either wanted to be friends or not and that he couldnt have his forever cake. i told him that we could aaaalways be friends but it was up to him. we could be friends but that meant FRIENDS. no sex, no strings attached or we could date again and try afresh. and of course he is stubborn and would rather have his forever cake or nothing at all. so my past visit to columbia, didnt involve him, which was a first after aaaaaall these years and oddly i wasnt at all sad about it.

wait, i take that back. i DID get kinda sad one night but i talked to my mother and someone else...and every thing was a-ok again! ; )

i think it is simply amazing what we can do and overcome as humans when we are given HOPE.

<3

there is only one path to heaven. on earth, we call it love.

i honestly dont know what to blog about.

no, that is a lie. i DO know what, i just dont know HOW.

how do you describe it in english (or ANY language for that matter) when you feel like the entire universe has housed itself inside of you?

when your eyes feel like stars burning bright for all of eternity?

when your bones feel like the roots of every tree that has every grown on this planet and the next?

when your soul feels like the biggest, whitest, fullest cloud to ever grace the sky?

HOW?

for those who have ever been in love, you know that i am at a loss and words are unneccesary. and for those of you that havent, you could not POSSIBLY understand what im saying and words are unneccesary.

lies (from deleted myspace acct)

lies:
they're usually subtle
little signs that creep up
first at your toes
we cast shadows to hide them
but soon everyone knows

who could ignore the vines growing from our bones?
hiding every whispered word
like:

looooove

and:

foreveeeeer

so am i to be your secret now?
hiding my car in the dark
while you scope things out?

i get to be the unspoken words
i get to be the forbiden thoughts

but when i was alive
and breathed only to hold you up
i was the black hole
i was the empty cup

lies are like vines
they choke me
as they grow

and he whispered "i love you"
as he let.me.go.


-associating love with lies is undoubtably the beginning of the end

we defend ourselves (from deleted myspace acct)

i've decided to agree
that bitterness rots the bones
still my heart screams
"but it's such a comfort when you're alone!"

we defend ourselves:
remember how
i lost count after
the millionth smoky breath?

and remember how
i forgave
the millionth death
you caused
.i.n.s.i.d.e. myself?

and when i said "it's time for forever."
you made me scratch the surface
for a clue to your doubt?

and he said
"baby, we're not ready. we dont know what life's about."

this was the beginning of the end

have you ever felt so heavy inside?
turned inside out
like the only black hole in the entire world?
unraveled
and stretched across the sky
with no hands
cause the ones you knew
flew away
long ago?

we defend ourselves:
now we live in this world
uncovered and all alone
the garden burned away
and i ran to him
but he was not home