Sunday, November 29, 2009

not a bat

no, i am not a bat.
i don't have wings and i don't eat insects.
i don't fly around and i don't hang upside down.
i don't suck blood and i don't live in a cave.
but most of all, the one thing that makes me so very different than the bat,
is this one simple little fact: i am not blind.
no, i am not a bat, so i am not blind to what is going on.
i am not oblivious.
i can see what is going on, though you seem to think i don't.
you think that you are sparing me by "keeping it hidden"
i can see more than you think.
though you seem to doubt i do.
you don't think i see your hurt, your pain, your drowning.
you think that i just skim over it like its no big deal.
you couldn't be more wrong.
it hurts me every time i see you.
it hurts me when i look in your eyes.
and i can see the pain.
it hurts me to know that the smile on your lips,
never quite reaches your eyes.
that the laugh in the air,
never quite reaches your heart.
you think you are sparing me,
by treating me like i'm blind.
i can see.
my eyes are open, as is my heart.
but you think that i am closed.
but i am not blind.
i am not a bat.

Saturday, November 28, 2009


today is the day of the holy war. the infamous BYU vs. U of U game. sigh, this is such a childish and ridiculous game. well, ok the football isn't, but the constant rivalry between the fans is. its just not funny. i hate the hatred for each other. i hate that BYU has to saran wrap its monuments because the university lives in fear that U fans will ruin them. its just sad. i mean i think that the rivalry is fun, but not when it gets so intense that fights break out. i like both teams. this i will admit. i mean i'm rooting for the cougars, i still live in provo, my family has all gone to BYU, and well i just can't escape that my blood runs blue. yet, i will admit, that i am currently wearing my U of U water polo sweatshirt, so i'm kinda a walking contradiction. haha. i would like it if the cougars win, but if the utes win, its not the end of the world, then a lot of my friends would be happy at least.

but this football rivalry isn't the only war going on. there is another. but this one i care a lot more about. this one affects me personally. this one... is one where i just don't even know what to do with. i don't know what to do, what to say. i'm totally helpless. i hate this. i hate this so so much. i hate being at war with her, because i don't even mean to be at war here.

i've ruined her life. its as simple as that. she's depressed and she has no motivation, and it's all because of me. i've ruined not only her life, but i've ruined her. i've ruined the beautiful happy cheerful person that she once was. she's one of those girls, a one in a million, a girl that everybody wants to be, she's such a vibrant, outstanding, loving, caring, selfless girl. but she isn't all those things anymore. she's like a shadow of herself when she doesn't feel like she needs to be acting anymore. she feels so alone. she is depressed. she's not the girl she once was.

all because once upon a time, i was one of those girls who so desperately wanted to be like her. i was a girl who was so jealous of my sister. everybody liked her. everybody wanted her. she was beautiful and desirable, funny and charming, everything i thought i wasn't. just know, i did not seek out a way to hurt her. i didn't want to bring her down in order to bring myself up, that was never my game. but when he started talking to me, when he started asking questions, when he was acting interested, when he made suggestions, opportunity arose. and at the point of no return, i said yes, where i should have said no.

not a day goes by that i wish i had done differently. how i wish i could take it back. how i wish that i hadn't been so insecure. its sad to admit that the reason why i probably said yes was mostly because i wanted to prove to myself that i was as desireable as my sister. how pathetic. i was a horrible person. how i hate the person i was. i can't imagine not caring for her now. i can't imagine even risking her that pain now. but because it happened, and because it only recently came to light, she still think i'm the same. still thinks i would hurt her like that. and it just doesn't seem like anything i say will change her from thinking that, i hurt her in the past, and yet she talks to me saying things that make it seem like i'm still currently hurting her. i just don't know what to say, or how to respond to that. sigh.

i'm sorry for the hurt i've caused her. i'm sorry for having been so selfish. i'm sorry i was never the sister i should have been, not to her or my little sisters. how i wish i could go back. how i wish i could be a better example. how i wish i had realized how stupid i was being. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry i brought her into a depression. i know what that is like, and its awful. its the absolute worst. i know the lack of motivation to do anything, whether its interract with family, homework or whatever. i know that feeling, and i can't believe that i have brought her to that level. it is pure hell. i can't be more sorry for doing that to her. my poor dear sweet sister.


i don't what to do or say to make it better. because i feel like i have no right to it. i feel like yes she should still hate me. yes i deserve that, but i don't want her to. i don't want her to hate me. i don't want to keep living like this. i don't like having to feel like i have to tip-toe around her. but i'm just afraid that if i do or say anything, it will only end up horribly, because thats what happens. whenever she decides to open up conversation, i always end up saying the wrong things, and it only makes things worse. and that is why i don't talk about it. because it doesn't do any good. and then sometimes i do try to talk about it, and i apologize and she doesn't respond to me. silence. thats all. how do i respond to that? how do i work with that? how do i know if anything i say is even believed? how do i know if she even cares?

because well... i don't think she cares what i have to say. she wants me to be sorry, and i am. i am so sorry. and i've told her that. i have told her i'm sorry, but the way she just assumes what it is that i'm feeling, and the fact that she tells me that she doesn't even believe what i do tell her, just makes it seem like she wants her point of view shared. she wants me to know exactly how awful i've made her life, but when its my turn to respond (and admittedly by the time its my turn to respond i'm upset, because of the assumptions she's made) but anyways when its my turn to respond, to get out what it is that i'm trying to say, she tells me "anger doesn't tell me that you're sorry" and then she runs off. before i even get to explain myself. because she doesn't care. she doesn't care what i'm trying to tell her. she doesn't care, because 10 months ago, I didn't care. i hate this. it's such a cruel irony.

so maybe if i explain just a little here, maybe she'll read it. maybe she'll get a little bit of what i've been trying to say, but only saying wrong, or in the wrong tone.

i do not hate him. i do not hate the guy that she is in love with. and i do not hate her, or look down upon her, for still being in love with him. he admittedly is a good guy, he is funny, and he is nice and he is a great athlete. and he is sweet to my sister. he still has room to improve, but most guys do. he isn't perfect, but no guy is. and thats ok. i'm all for giving out second chances, heaven knows that when it comes to my own heart i've given out more than one or two second chances. i've come to accept that my sister loves him, and its true, i don't know him like she does, and because i love my sister and respect her, i should respect her feelings and emotions, and if he has caught her interest, there must be more than what meets the eye. besides, i know how hard it is to control your heart, you can't help but love some people, no matter how much you wish you hadn't. so i do not hate him. or hate her for loving him. and i really don't mind her talking about him. in fact i actually enjoy hearing her talk about him, because he brings her joy, and heaven knows that girl deserves some joy in her life.

sigh... i don't know what else to explain. i think thats all i can say... sigh. i guess i can only end this the only way i know how to. with three words that will hopefully mean something to a certain someone.

i. am. sorry.

oh, and ps. BYU won :)

Sunday, November 22, 2009

it, if, hope

it doesn't seem quite fair to judge a person without having any proof at all.
it doesn't seem quite right to make wild accusations.
it doesn't seem quite nice to make that person fear you.
it doesn't seem quite christian to have such feelings of hate.

what if you were the accused?
what if you were innocent?
what if you were unable to convince them they were wrong?
what if you were the one alone?

i hope someone would speak up for you.
i hope someone would believe in your words.
i hope someone would say they were on your team.
i hope someone would give you a hug.

this world isn't fair to everyone.
this world doesn't treat people the way that they should be.
this world can be an awful and nasty place.
this world should be a heaven on earth.

let us all give the benefit of the doubt.
let us all treat each other with kindness.
let us all help to lift one another up
let us all care for others more than ourselves.

love one another.
love the life you're given.
love the world that you live in.
love your Father in heaven.

Friday, November 13, 2009

life story

Discovering my critical life event has been very difficult for me. It has required a lot of thought; it has required me to be introspective. It has made me think back to the defining time of my life, where I learned the most in order to make me the person I am now. And I do believe that it was my childhood, where I was required to grow up so fast, that has influenced me for the rest of my life.

I love my parents. This I must say first and foremost. They have been through hell and high water together, and although they are currently, supposedly, happily married to this day, there were many times in my childhood where I did not think they could be for much longer, or times when I secretly wished they would separate. My parents have always been a major part of my life, and a major reason for doing the things I did, and even still currently do. I do not wish to say that my parents have created my life for me, and I do not say that they are at all responsible for my poor life choices, but I would be so bold as to say that they had a major influence on my personality.

Let me set the scene. It was about 1997 when my family moved from Texas to the snow covered mountains of Park City. This is where most of my childhood takes place, in that beautiful resort town, that was full of secrets. My family moved to Park City to be closer to my grandparents, my mother’s parents, because their health was failing them. We moved to a little house in a neighborhood known as Eagle Ridge. 7954 Springshire Drive, that was my house. I have such bittersweet memories there. That house never felt like home to me, perhaps that is why I was not sad to leave that house behind when we eventually moved. It had too many bad memories for me. Too many times I hated going home. Too many times it scared me.

I was about eight. I had two little sisters, Steffany and Courtney, and another little sister coming not too far down the road. It was our little family of girls, plus Daddy. I loved it. My Mom would wake me up for school, sometimes make my breakfast, and then I would hop on the big yellow bus. Then after school, I would come home to my Mommy, and after homework, my sisters and I would play, play, play, until Daddy came home from work and we would eat dinner together. Then as the evening wore on, we would do the bedtime routine, and my parents would read us stories and tuck us in bed. All throughout our routines we were laughing and giggling, as only girls do, we were so happy. Maybe it was because I was oblivious; I was only eight after all.

Then in 1999, Daddy’s company that he worked for went bankrupt. Daddy didn’t have a job. Mommy didn’t have a job. We didn’t have an income, and Mommy had just had baby Lindsey. We started living off of our food storage in the basement. Dehydrated and canned foods became our life support, much to my displeasure. I still will never like those foods, and dehydrated milk was by far the worst. I knew money was tight, I had to quit piano, and we didn’t get book orders anymore. Then one night, Mommy and Daddy told me that they had decided that they were going to try to start a business together. I thought it was a great idea! I had no idea how hard it would be.

They started off trying multiple different things, but they eventually landed on a scrapbook store and a retail product. This is what they wanted to do for a job. Together my parents became the president and vice president of “GoneScrappin’ Inc.” and the designers and creators of “Scrap Pagerz Alphabet Templates.” Oh how that store is another bittersweet memory for me. Sometimes it seems so long ago, like a part of a whole different life.

We started out right in my living room, dining room, and a room down in our basement. They put up big warehouse shelves, and paper racks and they were covered with products of what seemed like hundreds of companies, even though it was only probably a dozen. And in the basement we had a laser and a smell of burnt plastic as we cut out and packaged the alphabet templates one by one. They put GoneScrappin’ online and we sold our Pagerz, and we got orders from around the nation, sometimes even from around the world. People heard of our scrapbook store at our house, and they would sometimes even come to our house and shop. That always seemed so strange to me. Perhaps it was because of our neighbors would come shop that we decided to move the store, move it so it could really flourish as a retail store and not just online.

So, we moved the store. Finally our house looked like a real home again, with the exception of the laser in the basement. Mom soon spent much more of her time at “the store," as we began to refer to it, and Dad spent much more time in the basement with the laser and the computer and the door closed. We lost our routine. There was never a set time for anything, because the world revolved around “the store” and getting all the orders out, and getting them out to the post office, and whether or not we had enough templates, it seemed like my sisters and I took a back seat to the obvious success of my parents’ business. Especially during the summer, my parents would take our store to trade shows in order to get it better known, and so they’d be gone for days and days at a time, off to Chicago, or California, or Texas, and leave us behind with relatives.

So we spent more time together, me and my sisters. Little Lindsey Lou was only a young toddler when my parents became so engrossed with their businesses. So I was always the babysitter. From the time I would come home from school, to often times when it was time for bed. I was eleven, and I was acting as the parents. I would do my homework, make sure my sisters got their homework done, I would make dinner, usually something easy and along the lines of macaroni and cheese with hot dogs, and then we would play and watch TV, til bedtime. Then I’d get my littlest sisters in their jammies, brush their teeth, read them stories, then have them be in bed, and then I’d go to bed myself. It became my routine.

This went on for quite some time. Me being the parents to my sisters. It got to the point where my littlest sister grew to recognize me as the one to come to for comfort. She would not come crying to Mom, but she would come crying to me, calling me “Mommy”, because I was the one who was there for her. I was not going to lie, I secretly enjoyed that Lindsey recognized me as her primary care-taker. And every time she would call me Mommy, I would tell her I wasn’t, but only half heartedly. I knew it bothered my Mom. Yet I took pleasure in that. “Serves her right. She’s never here.” Those were my exact thoughts. How sad for an eleven year old to be feeling so vindictive.

The businesses brought much contention home. Since my parents were each others co-workers, they could never just leave things at the office, they could never just argue at “work” and then be fine at home. No, that’s not how it worked. The disputes came home, sometimes in full sight of all of us. And then my Mommy would be crying and sobbing and yelling, and yell to me as I stare at her wide-eyed “NEVER get married!”

Mom would sometimes vent to me, tell me secrets, and the awful things Daddy would do and say to her. I didn’t need to hear that. I didn’t need to know. I didn’t want to know. I wished I could be oblivious. But how could I? How could I when my parents couldn’t manage to hide their struggles and pains from me?

Sometimes they would wait until late at night and fight in the basement, where “nobody could hear them.” They forgot my room was down there. They didn’t know I could hear every word. They didn’t know I heard them fight about the business, their marriage, their parenting, their sex life, everything. They didn’t know I’d spend my night crying in bed. Crying, and wishing that things could be different, wanting them to just be happy, and if it meant divorce, at least the late night fight sessions would go away.

They would sometimes leave. Both would run home to their parents at times, for days. And my little sisters and I couldn’t get a hold of them, we’d call and we’d call, but they wouldn’t answer. Eventually they would come back though. And we would just pretend everything was ok, again.

When Daddy had to replace a door because of a shoe that Mommy had thrown at him, I knew things were getting dangerous. I couldn’t handle it. I was scared. So so scared. Where could I go though? I went to a school counselor. In the 7thgrade. Nobody goes to the school counselor then. My friends would ask questions. I couldn’t answer. Nobody wants to hear about your parents lives.

On my parents’ anniversary, I had talked to my counselor earlier that day, and I was feeling better, until I got home. The house was spotless. And Mom was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. She sat me down on the couch, and told me that Daddy had packed his bags. Daddy had left us. Daddy wasn’t coming back. And Mommy said it was right. Mommy said she felt better already. I didn’t. I sobbed all day and all night long. Until late that night Daddy came home. He couldn’t find a cheap enough hotel I came to find out. I didn’t care. My Daddy was home.

Depression took over our house. My Daddy was seriously depressed, but he wouldn’t admit it, and he would get angry if we suggested he was. He spent all his time in the basement, in the dark, with the computer, and the laser. He lost all motivation for anything. He wouldn’t DO anything. He was angry and tired and mean all the time, and I couldn’t help him. Mommy was depressed because of my Daddy. Mom was doing everything. She tried to be the single parent and the breadwinner at the same time, while my Dad wasted away in the basement.

Little girls shouldn’t have to worry about things like this. Little girls shouldn’t know half the things I knew. My parents always said I was “mature for my age” but I can’t help but think that I wasn’t mature by choice, but because they gave me mature things that I had to deal with at such an early age.

Ever since, I’ve been “mature for my age”. As I grew into teenage hood, I believed I knew so much more than I did. I tried so hard to grow up even more, I acted out ridiculously since I was so “mature” I could handle it. I couldn’t. It broke me. And I’m just now figuring out that I’m not really as mature as I act. Inside I’m still a little girl crying. I’m still not ready for the grown up “mature” parts of life. I’m not ready to deal with the things that adults deal with. Now is my time for being selfish. Now is my time to figure out who I am. Now is when I will mature at my own rate.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

four letter word

love is a four letter word.
love can hurt as much as hate.

love can be so many things. sometimes when you peel all the layers back, what you thought was love, turns out to be something completely false. other emotions, other fears and feelings, wear a mask of love. they claim to be love,with all the shimmer and shine, the appeal of such a fantastical, dreamy, desirable thing, but they aren't underneath. beneath the facade they are a lie. beneath they are not love at all.

love can be tricksy... like hobbits. (sorry LotR nerd, can't help it. teehee)

for love itself, is complicated. love makes you hold people close. love makes you let people go. love makes you attached. love makes you distant. love makes you forgive. love makes you vengeful. love makes you blind. love makes you see. love makes you make right decisions. love makes you stray. love makes you turn away. love makes you come right back. love is selfless. love is selfish. love makes you tell truth. love makes you tell lies. love makes you love. love makes you hate.

love can't make up it's mind. love doesn't make sense.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009


another wonderful country song. to me it pretty much defines my sister to a T. she is so amazing. can i just say that here? i think i'll brag about her. i admire and look up to my little sister in about a hundred thousand ways. it's so hard to believe that she is only 15, when she seriously acts middle aged. she's just SO mature. i wish i could be more like her. she is such an inspiration to me. she is so selfless. she cares so much about those people around her, she constantly thinks of others before herself, despite the fact that sometimes it kills her. oh the lessons i try to learn from her. oh how i wish i weren't as selfish as i am. she is such a beautiful young lady, inside and out. i adore her, and am so glad that i have her as my sister. i couldn't ask for anyone better. she's been through so much, and a good portion has been my fault, but she has handled it SO much better than i ever could have, had i been in the same position as her. she never ceases to amaze me. anyways, i think this song was written for people like my sister, the girl who goes above and beyond what is expected of her every single day. this is for her. this is for my lil sis.

By: Rascal Flatts

You feel like a candle, in a hurricane
Like a picture, with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you've lost your fight
But you'll be allright, you'll be allright

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend til you break
Cause it's all you can take

On your knees, you look up
Decide that you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand.
Then you stand.

Life's like a novel
With the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon
With only one way down
Take what you're given, before it's gone
Start holding on, keep holding on.

Cause when push comes to shove,
You taste what you're made of
You might bend til you break
Cause its all you can take

On your knees you look up
Decide that you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand.
Then you stand.

Then you stand
Everytime you get up
And get back in that race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend til you break
Cause it's all you can take

On your knees you look up
Decide that you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand.
Then you stand.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

country girl

i have always been a country girl at heart, a die-hard shania twain fan from the beginning of time pretty much. anyways, i've been refreshing my country roots lately. i seem to have forgotten how much i love it. LOVE IT. it always speaks to me in weird lovely ways. so today, i was listening to my country girls on my itunes, and well this song came up, and i just feel like it is so me right now. its called "Born to Fly" from Sara Evans. I love her.

Born to Fly

I've been tellin' my dreams to the scarecrow
About the places that I'd like to see
I say 'friend, do you think I'll ever get there?'
Aww, but he just stands there smilin' back at me

So I confess my sins to the preacher,
About the love I'd been prayin' to find
Is there a brown-eyed boy in my future, yeah?
He says 'girl, you got nothin' but time.'

But how do you wait for heaven?
And who has that much time?
And how do you keep your feet on the ground
when you know
That you were born, (that you were born, yeah), you were born to fly?

My Daddy he is grounded like the oak tree
My Momma she is as steady as the sun
Oh, you know I love my folks, but I keep starin' down the road,
Just lookin' for my one chance to run

Hey, 'cause I will soar away like the blackbird
I will blow in the wind like a seed
I will plant my heart in the garden of my dreams
And I will grow up where I wander, wild and free

Oh, how do you wait for heaven?
And who has that much time?
And how do you keep your feet on the ground?
When you know, that you were born
You were born yeah
You were born to fly

So how do you wait for heaven?
And who has that much time?
And how do you keep your feet on the ground?
When you know that you were born
You were born to fly fly fly fly

Oooooh, ooooh

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

critical life event

for my psychology class i'm supposed to write a five page paper about a critical life event. so what i'm doing now, since the paper isn't due for a few weeks, is just summarizing a list of possibilities. but i still think this is a really strange assignment, well maybe not for some of the older people in my class. because i do take night classes, there are very different walks of life that enter. there's the typical college student, aka me the newly graduated freshman, and then there's the people who have been in college a few years because they keep changing their major, the single mom's who are coming back to school to get a better job to raise their children better, and then the older people just getting a degree to get a raise in their current job. anyways, there are lots of very interesting people there. and its always an entertaining class to listen to, even if i'm not really learning anything, i know that there is always something interesting to hear. but perhaps because it is so interesting that is why we don't really get through the curriculum, and thats why i only got a C on my last test. but oh wells.

anyways, the point i was attempting to make is that i feel as if i'm too young to have had a critical life event, but now, upon reflection, i have discovered that maybe i have had a lot of different critical life events that have led me to be where i am today. and yet, i don't know what to write about. I don't know what to say, because i'm almost afraid to admit to myself exactly what has made me the person i am. i don't know which event has even affected me the most.

so now i reminisce. now i go back. now i re-read my journal. now i figure out who i was.

now i look back and see how lost i was. now i go back and see how miserable i was. how awful life was because it was full of lies, deceits, transgressions, and sadness. its horrible. i don't know how i lived like that for so long. but was it really that long? i hardly seem old enough to say that it was a long time, i haven't even existed for a long time. as the residents say at work i'm still such a "spring chicken" and yet, it seems long enough. long enough to know i don't want that ever again.

but the question still remains, what part of my life has affected me the most? and what can i write about for 5 pages?! was it when i was that young sweet innocent 6th grade girl who ran across scandalous images on a computer in the dark? was it when i read that silly book from the library? was it when i tried fitting in by involving myself in vulgar conversations with friends? was it when i decided my friends meant more to me than my family? was it when i thought i loved a boy? was it when that boy broke my heart? was it when i thought i was pregnant? was it when i was in such a deep depression that i stopped caring for anything or anyone but myself? was it when i started shoplifting? was it when i stopped believing in god? was it when i realized i was wrong but didn't try hard enough to change? was it when i had my privacy taken away from me? was it when i was caught in my lies? was it when i graduated and felt like i could start over? was it when i met a boy who showed me the light? was it when i realized i wasn't too far gone? was it when i confessed? was it when i fell in real love? was it when i had the spirit back in my life? was it when i discovered that we shouldn't be together? was it when i was crying for days but knowing that it was right?

i just don't know... i just don't know... there seems to be a lot to me. that i never realized.