How One Thing Can Change Everything

When I found out that I would have to make a blog this year, I was excited because essentially I loved writing. However with that notion, I also had no clue what I would even write about. I had no idea for even a theme. I played around with the ideas of reading, writing, and music. Mostly these stuck out to me because these were some of the only things that I enjoyed. Though these were great ideas for me, they weren’t the best because I had no clue what to even write about with them. On the same day I found out that I had to create a blog, my best friend died. She saw how excited I was and she even helped me brainstorm ideas.

A few weeks after she had been gone, I knew exactly what I needed to write about. I had to write about the struggle of moving on and the change I had dealt with. Truth be told, if she was still here, there would be a million things that I wouldn’t be. For starters, I wouldn’t constantly miss her because she would be just a phone call away. I would probably still be with my former boyfriend, blinded by what I thought was love. I’m not sure that I would have met the people I hang out with here or even be as close to them. But, most importantly, I wouldn’t have had to be right back to square one. I wouldn’t have to start over again.

It’s honestly crazy how many things can change from one thing. I never expected myself to be here writing these things. I’m not the carefree person I used to be who would laugh all the time. I’m fairly cautious, looking both ways all the time. I like to plan ahead and see things before they happen. I guess that’s what having to start over for what seems like the millionth time will do to you. A lot of things changed for me when she died. Now I’m not saying they changed specifically because of that reason. For example, I broke up with my boyfriend. However, losing her made me see who was really important and who was just pretending. As with each of those things listed above, something stemmed from my experience with my best friend.

I’m not going to say that I completely believe that everything happens for a reason because I don’t fully believe that. However, one thing can change the outcome of something else. And that something else can lead to the person you are supposed to be.

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No Place Like Home

img_1436You know that saying, “Home is where the heart is”? Well, I find that to be particularly true.

I went home this week for Thanksgiving break, but that’s not all. For the first time, I visited my best friend. Not in the usual way that most college students would. No. I went to a cemetery, looked down at the newly placed stone and hoped that she could hear all the words that filled my head. Words about my college experience and simply put everything that  I haven’t told her already. Words that I had waited to tell her and words that I wish I knew how to say. While I stood there, I wondered all of the same questions that I had a million times before but no answers came to surface.

Then, I remembered the day. I visualized me walking up to the door to realize she had already come in. I saw her small little dance that she did. Then we walked to the living room and I turned on Glee, the show we had been watching together. We talked forever, not even really paying any attention to the show in the background. We had seen it a million times already. We joked and laughed all day. Not only do I remember what we did that day, I also remember how I was feeling. It was overwhelming happiness. For lack of a better way to put it, I was home. I was with my best friend whom I loved and who made me happy. My heart was whole. I had no worries. I was not stressed. I was carefree. I was happy. I was home. As the day went on, I remember feeling a bit of dread because I knew she would have to go back to her house soon and I simply put didn’t want her to go. After she left, it would just go back to being a random, boring day.

Standing at her grave, all of those feelings rushed back to me. The readiness to see her. Not necessarily happy, but whole. It was the first time since the accident that I had felt still. Not still in the frozen kind of way, but steady. As I stood there, my whole existence was unraveling before me. I wasn’t torn in two. I was just there looking at the stone that sat above where my best friend lies permanently. For the first time, I wasn’t unsteady. My mind wasn’t racing with a million thoughts. My heart ached no longer because I was there. I was with her even though she wasn’t physically there. I was there and this was where her body lied and for me that was enough. It wasn’t like last time when I watched her lowered to the ground. My heart aching. No more tears left to be shed. It wasn’t like that. I was just visiting a friend. I was visiting my best friend. My best friend took up most of my heart. I loved her and I lost her. As I remembered her laughter and jokes standing there, I realized that I had lost my home. My safe place. But in a way it was all around me as I stood there. My mom standing beside me still supporting me through everything, just as my best friend would have.

Then I realized something else. Just like the saying previously mentioned, no matter where I am–big city or small town that no one has ever heard of–I will always have a piece of me that is home. Because that’s where she is. And that is also where my family will remain. And they are my safe places. They are what take up the space in my heart and that’s how it always will be.

Change of Traditions

Beginning in November, we would hop into my grandma’s car only to hear Christmas music coming from the speakers. Now at that time my siblings and I looked at each other with a smirk. However, we would sit in the car those mornings and just absorb the music playing because my grandmother enjoyed it and we were too tired to even say anything. One time each year when we thought to, we would always ask, “Christmas music before Thanksgiving?” This would encourage her to say the words, “It’s never too early for Christmas music.” This was one of her favorite times of year, especially when Christmas music was involved.

Looking back on moments such as these just days before Thanksgiving, caused me to wonder what it would be like this year. The first year without her being here to celebrate with us. Will we continue to do our baking ritual? Or will that falter away just like she did? Where will we meet? Will it be all of us or just some of us? She had a way of holding the family together even if part of us were fighting with the others. Will the Christmas music continue? What now?

However, as it is Thanksgiving day, I see that not much has changed. To start off with, it was a little bland. Though that changed pretty quickly. My mom put my sister and I in charge of baking a various number of cookies. Then about halfway into it she decided to find a Christmas music station. “This is more grandma’s style,” she said as she went back to the sink to start washing more dishes. As soon as the music came on, my sister starting dancing around the kitchen and my mom started singing. This brought me back to a moment that we shared with my grandma. Christmas music playing softly throughout the house while my sister and I are rolling the cookie dough and my grandma at the sink and setting up what we are supposed to bake next. I watched my sister sneak some powdered sugar from the bowl like she used to with my grandma. I also freely went for the cookie dough because that’s my favorite part. Mom also took the position and sang along to the music. So with all of that going on, it was like she was still with us even though she wasn’t. We were keeping her memory alive, smiling and laughing all the way.

So with that Thanksgiving and any other big holiday will be fine. There will be memories all around that relate to her. Maybe it won’t exactly be the same because we won’t have her there physically, but she will always be there through memories that we shared. For as long as we celebrate, pieces of her will still remain. So we will continue to celebrate.

Senior to Freshman: Starting All Over Again

For a while now, I have been saving this post. You see, among most of the freshmen in my class I had a skewed version of college from the start. My best friend had died two weeks before I had to move in and that had already put me in a weird position to start over. So instead of this post being one of my first posts, I decided that it would have to be a later post due to my skewed reality of my first weeks here at college.

If you must know when I first got here, I thought this sucks. I don’t want to be here. But I also didn’t want to be anywhere in particular. On move-in day, I looked into the eyes of people who equally shared the same characteristics–hope, opportunity, happiness. I couldn’t help, but wonder what my eyes held. I watched this one guy run out of the second floor door of the dorm, almost knocking me down in the process, with eyes of joy. His smile told the story though. This was his time. He was ready for this moment and probably has been for a while. Nevertheless, with each box and bag I carried up to the fourth floor I saw faces of happiness and I wondered what I would be like if Stancil had not died. Would I have been extremely happy? Or, would I be exactly the same? Probably the first. I also wondered how everyone else could be so happy even though I knew they most likely weren’t affected by a death two weeks beforehand. This is my new start, I thought, shouldn’t I be happy? Shouldn’t I feel anything towards this moment? I was the outlier.

As time went on, it seemed to only get worse. I wasn’t participating in things normal college students would be. I would just go to classes and go back to the dorm. I would do homework, which is good. I would watch Netflix until I could finally fall asleep. That was essentially my life. And I essentially hated everything about college. At least in high school, I would have been able to talk to the teachers and even occasionally some of the students. Here, there was no one. At least, not yet.

Now, about three months later, I can say something different. I got involved in clubs and met some people. I stopped hanging out all the time in my dorm and started getting involved in something during the week. I can even say that I have got a couple of people here that I can hang out with and talk to. Now I have a different view on college in itself. Yes, it is very stressful at times with the classes. But, college isn’t just about coursework. I mean that is a big factor, but it’s also about forming relationships and being a part of something.

That is essentially the reason that I believe college is much better than high school. I enjoy the encouragement of clubs on campus and they are always doing things on campus. Every night is basically a different thing. We are encouraged to create relationships with people on campus. That’s really cool because in high school there isn’t much of that. There are clubs you can join and people you can befriend, but academics is the main focus. In college, there is sort of a medium between academics and club involvement. They encourage both heavily here.

More changes that I have noticed is that, you don’t really talk to the people you once did. Like once high school is over, those relationships are basically over. The only one that really stuck with me was Stancil, but that ended in a different way. This can be different for some people; however, I have talked to some people who still talk to their high school friends.

So here is my open, honest truth about my transition from high school to college. It won’t be skewed from past endeavors, taken with an open mind from just a regular college student. College is pretty great. It’s stressful at times, but not all the time. I have met some great people from varying states and even some from out of the country. So go out. Participate in things. Enjoy. Because this just may be the some of the best times in your life.

Searching for a Silver Lining

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There are different places and different things that lead each person to their path ahead. There are certain things that lead people to see light in each situation. When my best friend died, I saw light in nothing. Now I had been that way before. Sitting there in a tunnel of darkness was not new to me. It wasn’t the first time that I had felt a total sense of loss and despair. It most certainly won’t be the last time either. But anyways, after she was gone I had nothing but anger and overwhelming sadness built up inside me. I was tired of hearing that everything would be okay. God needed another angel. Or everything happens for a reason. You’ll be okay once again. A person like me did not want to hear these meaningless phrases. Not when I had heard them many times before. When someone dies like that or even just simply leaves abruptly from your life, you don’t automatically think you’ll be okay. You don’t want to think about how everything just happens or whether or not someone else needed them. You just think about how you need them. You think about how you would give anything to have them once again.

With that, I was heartbroken. But most of all, I needed time to be sad. I needed time to let my heart ache for her. I needed to need her back. When you spend almost eight years talking to someone, they become a part of your life. If not, a huge part. Then they leave and there’s this hole in the middle of your chest and there’s no way for it to be filled. I was sitting in a tunnel of darkness with no possibility of light. I couldn’t process what had happened and I needed to. So with every moment of grief, I questioned why we loved people if they always ended up leaving. This led me into an endless spiral of loneliness. I never talked to anyone really about my feelings on what happened. Why? Because I felt like I would get the same meaningless answers. Also, because people didn’t know what to say. I didn’t let anyone in because I couldn’t get over the fact that I had lost her and she would never return. I also believed that no one would ever replace her so I didn’t try.

However, there comes a time when you have to take a risk. You have to take a chance and you have to get back out there. Whether you want to or not. I had to get out there. I had to take the chance of talking to different people. I had to take the chance of loving people again. I had to let go of losing a person that changed my world. That doesn’t mean I had to let them go entirely. I will always have those moments we shared and I will always remember that day because it is forever a part of me. As great as that time was, she’s gone and I can’t bring her back no matter how bad I want to. So I had to move on. I had to step away from the routine that I built for myself. I had to break the routine. To do that, I took a chance. I had my time to ponder everything and now I needed to put the pieces of my heart back together and start again.

So last night when we turned off all of our flashlights and looked up at the sky, I looked all around me at the people I was with. Then looked back up just in time to watch a shooting star fall with them yelling telling us all to look. Shortly after it, we all felt warmth that replaced the freezing cold air that once surrounded us all. Everyone was shocked and amazed. At that moment, with the rush of the water beneath us, I knew that this was my start. This was my moment to begin again. Metaphorically, there was finally a light in all of the darkness. I wasn’t completely there, but one day I might be. That doesn’t mean it makes losing my best friend okay or fine, but it makes it easier to deal with. The pain just might ache a little less. Furthermore, listening to the laughter and music around me, I knew this was my silver lining and I was perfectly okay with that.

Keeping What’s Left Alive

It has been said by many that they keep things from people they have loved once they lost them. I am no exception. I have an old, floral comforter, which, might I add, is not my style, that is stuffed in the bottom of my closet at home. It was given to me by my great-grandmother who has been dead for around 9 years now. I have sets of jewelry lying around that were given to me by my grandma and multiple books that I will never get rid of. I have text messages from my best friend that date back to late April. The storage on my phone will forever remain full because of them. To me, they are pieces of the people that I have loved and lost that are being kept alive. Pieces that I will forever carry with me for as long as I live.

Though those aren’t the only things that I have. I have one more thing that I didn’t mention above and that is a bookshelf. However, I didn’t mention that above because no one gave it to me. It may be just a simple bookshelf to someone who doesn’t know the story, but I may forever keep it because of what I put into it. You see, the day after my best friend died I got up and began to paint the bookshelf. My best friend was with me just before she got into the car accident a few minutes from my house. I told her that I was going to paint it the day after and she was excited about it. The excitement probably wasn’t because I was painting the bookshelf, but, more or less, the fact that we were getting ready for college. Either way, I’m not one to break a promise. I’m far from it. If I say something, I will do it and I will not complain. It was extremely hot that day and the sun beat down with no mercy, but I kept painting. All the while, questioning so many things at once. What happened? Then what actually happened? Because there will be two answers. How did I not know before? Why did I let her leave? Why wasn’t I there for her? Why did I wake up that morning and she a figure of the past? With each question, I slung more paint onto the bookshelf, not caring how much, then spreading it out.

My sister came out and offered me water and I didn’t touch it. She also came to help then eventually went back in. My mom came out telling me to take a break and ushered me inside, but then she left and I went right back outside. I had to finish because that’s what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to get up the next day and I was supposed to move on even though I didn’t want to. So with each beat of the brush, I grew infuriated. Infuriated at the driver who didn’t slow down. Infuriated with the people around me telling me everything would be okay. Infuriated at the world for taking her and leaving me. I heard the music blasting next to me. Music that spoke words of anger, sadness, guilt, regret, and sometimes even death. Words that I barely understood before coming through to me in a different light, listening to every single word and understanding clearly what each meant and why. My dad came and went. Me, not bothering to show my face to him. I just kept painting. My vision already impaired by a cluster of tears. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. Then my mom came up to me, grabbed an extra brush and began painting with me. I hid my face from her while knowing that she already knew. She began covering the spots that I missed while I continued to make random, angry strides at the shelf I was working on.

Now I didn’t tell you this just for the purposes of telling you it. I told you this because now every time I look at that bookshelf I am reminded of that day. You are probably wondering why I even want to remember that day. Well, because that was probably my darkest day and it reminds me of the meaning of the word perseverance. Every time I look at that bookshelf I am reminded of the day that I got up of out bed and she didn’t. I am reminded of the day that I would have given anything to be with her. But it also reminds me of the day that I realized no matter how much I want to be with her, I can’t be. So when I look at the chips and unevenly spread paint on the bookshelf I don’t turn away in disgust, I look at it and see a multitude of tears and sweat. Then I look further and see perseverance and the day that I had to go on even if I didn’t want and even if she couldn’t. And sometimes I feel a certain hope that I will see her again. Even if it’s years from now. There will be a day where I get to tell her everything and she will listen even though she probably already knows. So with that, to me, the bookshelf symbolizes something much more. I’m keeping what’s left alive, but I’m also keeping my ability to persevere alive because I’ve already lost a lot.

The Art of What Matters

img_0924“The thing I realize is, that it’s not what you take, it’s what you leave”- Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

Let me just start by saying that this quote is wonderful. Even more so, this book is breathtakingly beautiful. Besides the point, this quote raises a very important aspect that many neglect to notice. Lately this quote has become more meaningful to me than it has before. I wasn’t too fond of it at first because it kind of states the obvious and I have always been the one who looks into unusual quotes to find deeper meanings. However, upon pondering the meaning of what matters in this life, I have come to the conclusion that it isn’t as obvious as I thought it was. In fact, it’s far from it.

Day by day, many people go on taking chances or taking opportunities that they have in front of them. Taking things that they think may be beneficial to them in the long run. However, many people don’t stop to leave anything behind. They just take and take and take until they are finishing with everything. What’s left after that though? Is there any compensation for taking what’s there? At the end of the day, would you be proud with all of the possessions that you have gained? Or would you have just skimmed the surface of what you are capable of?

As I examine my own life, I realize that I’ve taken a lot of opportunities. I’ve taken scholarships. I’ve taken volunteer offers. Small, minuscule things to the rest of the world, but I’m just starting out. There are more chances that I will likely leap at the chance of. That’s normal. We are meant to take chances. We are meant for mind-blowing opportunities. We are human. However, when I view my life, I don’t just want to see a bunch of things that I took. I want to be able to say that I left something for someone. That I left more than what I took.

The quote above came across to me as I was searching for answers to my friend’s death. Stancil was the complete opposite of everyone I had ever met. She was different for me. But it also may be because she was special to me. However, she took less than anyone I’ve ever known. Granted, as teenagers, we aren’t given the opportunity for bigger things to jump out at us because we are young. Instead, she focused most of her time on people. I was one of those people. I don’t think it was intentional actually. But it was done all the same. She was passionate about a lot of things. She participated in a lot of things. But she also was there for a lot of people. When she died, she left behind these people who loved her for being her. Me being one of them. She left her family. She left people whose lives she didn’t even know she touched. She left her boyfriend. She left her friend. She left me. Now I’ve spent a lot of time wishing that she could just come back. Wishing that I could hear her laugh more and watch her talk about something that she is passionate about. Then I begin thinking that even though she wasn’t given many opportunities to take, she found ways to leave her mark. Especially on me. She made the world better for me. A world that was easier to wake up to. Now it’s difficult.

From this, I began to evaluate what I was doing. Was I taking the time to leave things for other people like she had done for me? After all, it’s not what you take that is important. Just as in the novel, Finch didn’t care what he took. He just cared what he left. This quote essentially changed the way I looked at things in my life.

At the end of the day, I want to be able to say that I did something to help someone. I want to say that I took some things, but gave everything I had. After all, you won’t be remembered by the chances you take or the opportunities you take. However, you will be remembered by the lives you touched with the chances you had. That’s how I believe Stancil is remembered. And I believe that is exactly what Violet Markey would say about Theodore Finch.

 

Holding Up The Weight of the World

Remember the last time you felt carefree? Unburdened by your surrounding things. I do. I was reminded of it today actually.

It was a day in the fall at my grandmother’s house. I was helping her rake the leaves in her yard and I had this brilliant idea to make one huge pile. It was just me and my brother and sister with her. My end goal was to jump in the leaves; even though, that would mean us having to rake them back up after all that hard work, but I was perfectly okay with that. I told my grandma and she helped us start the pile. Eventually we had this huge pile and we stopped raking for the time being. My grandma had run into the house to get her camera because there was no way that she would miss this photogenic moment. She never missed a picture, even the ones you didn’t really care for her to take. But in that moment, I ran into the leaves jumping around and throwing them around. My siblings joined me in the fun. You are probably wondering why I took you down memory lane. Well my point for saying all of this is that this is the last time I remember feeling unburdened by the world. I was a child, probably around 6 or 7.

One day I looked into the mirror and questioned everything I had ever known and that was the day that I first felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I grew up extremely fast. While everyone was still unburdened and happy, I had the pressure weighing down on me. I constantly asked myself when the next tragedy would strike, because my life was full of them. I had already grown up to the notion that life was not all rainbows and unicorns. It was a tragic, endless pit of pain. Sometimes, it was even confusing.

What makes us grow away from the mindset that we have as children though? How does it change so quickly? And why does it have to?

For me, it was my experiences as a child. My childhood was great. However, unlike any other children my age, I was extremely observant and not just in the “I’m going to do what they are doing because it looks right” type of way. I was invested in an adult’s emotions more than actions. When I say my experiences, I mean watching my father struggle to accept my great-grandmother’s death–the person who had raised him. I also mean watching my aunt murmur empty, emotionless words to my great-grandmother’s lifeless body before they closed the casket. Even the constant worry in my mother’s eyes that I caught as she took care of us among other things. Then a few years later, I learned the hard way with my parent’s divorce in which I felt like I needed to protect my siblings from and pushed my emotions aside to listen to theirs.

This, among many other issues after that, changed my stance on the world. As we grow older, more is thrown at us. We are burdened by school/work, constantly forming new friendships and saying goodbye to old ones, and endless possibilities–both of which can be good or bad. There is never a break in between to catch our breaths. We just keep going because that’s what we have learned to do. As children, in general, it’s easier to become blinded by the bad in the world. We have the notion in our heads that the world is what we make it, but it’s not. And growing up we see that clearer and clearer. Then we feel burdened by this weight of what we need to do and what happens in our life.

When I became so burdened by everything in the world, I felt like I had to just deal with it. And you kind of do have to deal with whatever is thrown at you. But I became so consumed in it that I only saw the bad in the world. I felt trapped in all of this weight around me. However, sometimes you just have to put those blinders on, that a child has, to see the good and the carefree and the unburdened. Because that’s all we have sometimes. We have to forget about the burdens. We have to release the weight upon our shoulders, because if not we will be people just going through the motions. People with a routine. People who breathe, but forget to live.

So when I had the opportunity once again to feel less burdened by the world, I hesitated. However, when I saw that the people I was with were going to jump in the pile of leaves, I put my keys down on the ground and walked over to them. I wasn’t going to mess this up by the feeling of being burdened. So we ran, getting a head start, then jumped because what else was could we do?

Homebody Moving Away

I always was a homebody. From the time I was born to the time I moved away. I went through this huge journey looking at different colleges all throughout my high school career. At first it was schools around my hometown. It would be schools that I could commute to and from or schools that I would be able to go home every weekend just to see my family. Unlike most teenagers, I had a close connection with my family. I absolutely adored my mom. I had an okay relationship with both of my siblings. My life was good at home.

So, why did I choose to go to a school that was seven hours away from my hometown? I’m glad you asked.

Essentially, in my town there was not many options. My town consisted of farmers, teachers, and random other stuff. Things that I was not interested in. It was a small town. Everyone knew each other and everyone would continue to know each other. What do I mean by that? Basically whoever was born in that town seemed to stay. They didn’t seem to go off and see other parts of the world. They were just stuck there. It was like an endless cycle. Now for some people, being in the cycle is great. It’s unifying and it’s all they have ever known. For me, not so much. I didn’t want to be a part of the cycle any longer. I had to break the cycle while I still could. However, I couldn’t think of a way out.

Was I capable of going to a school miles away from the place I grew up? 

Then one day a former student of our school came to speak about her college experience out of state. It made me realize that if she could do it, I definitely could. With that, I began looking at colleges from surrounding states. This led to some of the best road trips I could ever imagine having with my mom. We visited schools in Virginia, New York, and Tennessee until I finally settled where I am now. After that I was determined on breaking the cycle set forth by many generations before me. I was going to get out and see the world. My mother even encouraged it. She knew I was not destined to live in that town for the rest of my life. She knew way before I did and she told me that. Granted, she is my mother and she is supposed to believe these things. However, she was genuine and meant it. I wasn’t supposed to be there.

What is it like being a homebody in a new town?

It’s honestly kind of hard. Especially because I don’t have the best communication skills. I can’t just go up to some random person and hold a conversation, not for a while anyways. It always turns out really awkward. However, I can say that it has gotten easier. The more I get involved, it seems, the more I am able to communicate and feel a part of something. And it honestly feels great to be a part of something here. On the other hand, I still miss my family. That doesn’t just go away. I’m actually really excited to be going to see them in a few weeks. But I like to think that I’m forming some kind of relationships here that make it easier for when I miss them. It’s almost like starting over.

Now that I’m here, do I want to ever go back to living in my hometown?

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever physically live there again. I will definitely visit many times because my family is still there and will most likely always be there. However, as far as me, personally, living there I can’t say that it is my plan. Now that I have seen another portion of the world, I want to see more and more and become more cultured. I also have a dream that cannot be fulfilled there.

Nevertheless, the little town in North Carolina will forever remain my home. Even if I’m a thousand miles away, my heart will always have a place for it. It will be the place I reference back to and say that is the place where I grew, changed, and developed into the person that I am today. That is the place where everything started and that is the place where everything changed.

When He Left For Basic Training

Now this isn’t about a time where I found some genuine change in myself. Or about a time that holds any kind of significance in my life now. But this is about a time that, I guess you could say, changed my way of thinking to some degree.

On a hot, summer day in the beginning of July, I said a temporary goodbye to the boy that I loved. I stood right there on the sidewalk and watched my boyfriend walk into the building where he would wait to be taken to basic training. Now for some people, this may not seem like a big deal. For some, it may. All I know is, at that moment in time, it was a huge deal to me. He would be gone for eight weeks with no communication. That was the only thing that went through my head.

At first, I’ll go ahead and tell you, it wasn’t easy. It was anything but easy. I had grown so used to him just being around. I was used to texting him into the early hours of the morning. I was used to calling him when I needed to speak to him. I was used to him being just a 15 minute drive away. Then, just like that, a drop of conversation. I was just thrown into a depth of eery silence and I had no clue what to do with it all.

The thought of not being able to talk to a person you want to talk to anytime you want is essentially terrifying. I would know. I’ve been through it twice now. I had so many fears and I only ever voiced a few of them. I had a great person to help me through this time though and I’ll never forget that. My best friend constantly sent texts just subtly checking up on me. She would even stop by and just hang out with me. There were even nights where I couldn’t sleep and she stayed up with me until I finally could. Just as they say–It’s the small things that count.

As time went on, however, it got easier. The letters started coming and that became our form of communication. Then he got random phone calls and for some reason I was the one that got them. I still missed him, but it was easier to deal with not having him around.

Though it did not necessarily work out between the two of us, I am here to tell you that it can be done. I’ve seen many good relationships come out of this. Yes, they leave, but it’s only temporary. It took me a while to figure that out. This lifestyle; however, was just not for me. Or maybe it was the boy. I’ll never really know. This whole thing now seems crazy thinking back on it, but it was a part of my life. As the significance of this moment wears away day by day now that we aren’t together, I begin to think of what significance it still has. It wasn’t so much the moment anymore, but what stemmed from it. It was the power of choice and whether or not I was supposed to be where I was at that particular moment.