How It Started

The first time I saw Kevin was when he was teaching Sunday School, the week before I began college. He was almost 23, and I was 18. Now, let me say this: I do not, nor have I ever, believed in love at first sight, soul mates, or fate; and yet, when Kevin opened his lesson with a corny joke, I just knew. The closest I can come to describing the sensation was someone made something special just for me and was watching with pride and expectancy to see my reaction. A spiritual ta-da! Like some divine valet was awaiting my approval. A wordless, eager question in my mind: "So, what do you think?" And I thought it was good.

Falling for Jared

I am in school now and have shifted my time away from blogging to more productive things, but I feel like I cannot leave off where I did. There was more left unsaid that ought to be grouped with the theme at hand. If I am going to be looking back at old journals, at old regrets, and old feelings, then there is one person who is missing. I haven't written about Jared.

Jared was casually charming. In fact, he was casual in just about everything. I see him in flip flops and khakis, singing along to Spanish songs or old country in his decrepit red car. He was tall, dark, and casually handsome--but far too un-brooding for romantic inclinations. He was always involved in every activity, the laid-back center of the ward social circles. Or maybe just mine.   

This was the year 2007, Austin, after I'd dropped out of BYU to follow Kevin. Initially, I was dating Kevin, and that drama took up most of my time and focus. And for a while, that spring, Jared was dating a girl in our ward. I don't even know how long or how serious it was, but I was jealous and anxiously denying it. Even still, Jared pops up by name in my journal. When Kevin couldn't pick me up from the bus station, Jared was there. When I struggled to make it to activities or church or institute, he was there. When I needed anything, he was there. And Kevin wasn't.

But Jared was everybody's hero. He would drop anything to help anyone, any time. I remember once, him driving three hours to help a complete stranger, a friend of a friend of a friend, whose car had broken down. Jared was a protector. That's why I never took to heart any of his "thereness." Or tried not to. I knew it meant more to me than to him. He charmed everyone, a general favorite among the fairer sex.

And I tried very hard to resist.

Nevertheless, I talked of him nonstop. Ted, Emilie, and Bryan all heard of him during our catching up phone calls. They loved him for me. One problem, however, was that my friends in Texas also loved him. Just, not for me. Vivian and Elizabeth both had crushes on him. It was Bryan all over again. Jared even took me with him to meet with other girls, as I had a boyfriend and was thus "safe."

Jared was the reason that I broke up with Kevin. Not that I was choosing Jared over him--because, again, I didn't think I had that option--but because Jared had been there for me through those horrible months of adjusting to a strange place with no job and no friends, while Kevin had not. Jared knew how my day had been, how work was going, what we would do that night. I talked to Kevin rarely and saw him even less. I chose my friendship with Jared over my dating relationship with Kevin.

And, once I was single, Jared began to show romantic interest. He took me out the very night that I told him, in fact. The most memorable was when he took me to the movies. On the way to our seats, he turned and pushed me against the wall. I waited, breathless, for him to kiss me, terrified to be the one to make the move, frozen and waiting and hoping. And then he stepped back and we watched the film in friendly casualness. Like nothing had happened. 

But that wasn't the end. When we drove, he would rest his arm on the back on of my chair, hand on my neck, fingers in my hair. He took me to the movies and to dinner, danced with me in the grocery store, drove me to every activity. We'd sit in his car and talk for hours. He told me I was beautiful and fun and that he always enjoyed being around me. He would wait until we were alone, and then lean in close as though to kiss me; but every time he backed away. I thought he was teasing, but I wanted so badly for him to mean it.

I was so in love with that boy.

He took me to play ultimate frisbee and won my heart with his gallantry. He dressed up for the twenties-themed party and looked at me like I was the only one in the room. He got me to sing karaoke and play volleyball. He selected a Bollywood film to watch on a night in. He was fun.  He was perfect. 

He asked me once when I would ask him out. I told him that he had to ask me. But nothing ever happened, and I don't know why. I once asked him straight out where I stood with him, but he refused to answer. He also wouldn't answer what response he was hoping for when he pretended he was going to kiss me. He told me on multiple occasions that he wanted to kiss me, to which I replied, "so do it," but then he'd tell me I should be dating other people, making me promise not to kiss him unless we were dating officially. He'd joke about finding a dark corner, but he never asked me out. So, despite his flirting like crazy, I never knew where I stood with him. 

I stayed in Austin, instead of returning to school, and Jared helped me move to my new apartment. He came over for dinner and cake and chick flicks. But he never asked me out. He told me I was limiting myself. Then, he just kind of disappeared from my life and my journal. Months later, I ended up going back to Kevin. But when I moved away in December, saying goodbye to Jared was...tender. And gut-wrenching.

He came to visit me when I was in Provo. He told me that he was looking for a wife. Someone who looked like an elf, he said. I thought he meant me. He had made such comments on my ears before. He came that night to my house to play games with me and my sisters, and I texted him under the table. I asked why he never asked me out. "Because you were in love with Kevin," he said. "I saw no point." I tried to correct his understanding, as we sat out on my porch in the dark. But I guess he still saw no point, because he never made a move. I was heartbroken. 

Jared met my moving truck when I went back to Austin, but so did Kevin. Jared started dating Andria and got engaged before I did. I cried with jealousy. Even being with Kevin, I hated that Jared was with someone else. 

When I look back on my life, there are three people who, romantically, were influential parts of my life apart from Kevin: Bryan, Jon, and Jared. 

With Bryan, if anything had been different between us, it would have played out one of two ways. We would have either continued on best friends for two more months, or possibly dated and broken up, just as I did with Kevin. Though I might have healed and grown more as a person sooner, things between the two of us would have continued on after in the same trajectory and be the same today.

With Jon, I mostly see the life that I wanted: the big family, the adventures, the adoration. I am envious of that life, but I am not jealous. I was not in love with Jon. I doubt any of that life would have been mine. Had I continued to date him, I might have learned to better communicate, but we also might have ended up in a Ted and Emilie drama of being unable to stay together or apart. We wouldn't be friends today, but my life would be the same.

Jared, on the other hand, would have changed my life. 

Not kissing him, when he pushed me against the carpeted wall of the movie theater, is one of my life's regrets. I feel like who I am and where I am have hinged on that moment. I don't know what would have happened if we had kissed, but I know it is not what has happened. I would have stayed in Austin for him. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Had he wanted me, my life would have gone up in flames, and I would have been the one holding the match. 

But he never wanted me.

 

Good News

 I was given a scholarship to nursing school!

Resolution

There is no problem in life but complaining about it makes it worse. Time to just pull up my big girl pants and fix myself.

Think of Me - Emmy Rossum | Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Op...

Reaching Out

Eventually you realize that you are the only one instigating interaction, the only one starting conversations. No matter how politely the other party responds, no matter how friendly, the level of friendship is not reciprocated. There is no reaching back on their part. They are not thinking of you, missing you, wishing for more of a relationship. 

I have tried to revitalize some friendships recently, in light of my trip to Provo. Tried to create some sort of casual message relationship, like I have with my siblings. Like, "hey, I saw this funny thing you'd like," and "I had a weird dream where you were NPH," and only half-facetious, "when will you come visit me?" etc.. 

Ted and Tarythe have taken up the new dynamic eagerly, replying and reciprocating, and I feel more a part of their lives. Others, no so much. And I need to get the hint and leave them alone. 

John Denver - Rocky Mountain High (from The Wildlife Concert)

Family Vacation

I just spent most of a week with most of my siblings up in a mountain cabin. For days, my kids ran wild with cousins in pine forests, climbing on boulders. We did a couple  planned activities, such as our yearly horseback riding. But, mostly, it was wild, in the most wholesome sense of the word. 

17 Days

It has been seventeen days since I sent the latest chapters to the editor. The fact that I haven't heard back is freaking me out.

Taylor Swift - Anti-Hero (Official Music Video)

Mostly Fine

 

This is how I've chosen to illustrate the states of my marriage. I am the blue circles on the left, and Kevin is the yellow ones on the right. The size of the circle represents the individual state of being, from struggling out to thriving. Kevin is most often in his middle circle, maybe 90% of the time. I vacillate more, spending time in each.

And with my vacillation comes fluctuation in our marital happiness.

When I am struggling, our circles do not overlap. There is no marriage, really. No connection. Kevin is fine, and I am not. There is no support given or received. If I need something, I need to look outside my marriage for the strength to get me through.

When both of us are fine, which is the majority of the time, then our circles also overlap in the light green. We're fine. Our marriage is adequate. So, if I am doing well, then our marriage is pretty good. It's not really that our relationship has changed, but that I am more fulfilled in and of myself, and thus require less from him. 

When we are both thriving, both our best selves, then our marriage falls in the dark green. As I said, Kevin rarely leaves his contented central circle, but this has happened on a handful of vacations. It is enough to keep me hoping for something better and more fulfilling than we have. Hope can be a two-edged sword, however, as it also lessens my satisfaction with anything less. 

For a few months, Kevin and I were both struggling. We're better now. We're both doing fine and thus our marriage is adequate. Friendly. Supportive. Respectful. It is not the type of marriage that I want, not intimate companionship, but it is still a functional partnership. Not the type of marriage he or I could ever justify leaving. 

We get by, and we've accepted that. And I don't know, given our different desires for emotional intimacy and different goals for life, how we can ever sustain anything better than fine.

Through a Glass Darkly

I've written twice lately about wishing I could know how someone else saw me. It's certainly not a new speculation. It is probably a common to all social creatures. We have to analyze how we fit into our society. Or maybe I'm just egocentric. I can't say narcissistic, given that I tend to assume people have less-than-ideal opinions of me. 

Turns out, maybe they didn't?

I saw myself as awkward and frumpy, and very immature compared to the older friends around me. I was the tagalong kid sister type that the others put up with. I had a strange combination of cynicism and naivety and an off-putting lack of social savvy. I had spent my high school years just trying to survive; I didn't have the same socialization as my peers, my worries different, my priorities skewed. College was when I came alive, but I had a lot to learn, socially.

When it came to my appearance, I felt what I might compare to imposter syndrome. Makeup and stylish clothing made me feel like a child raiding her older sister's closet, borrowed feathers, so to speak. I saw myself as plain at best, awkward in my own skin, uncomfortable with the shape of my body. Far from seeking admiration, I felt better being invisible.

Because I could never see myself clearly, I struggled to understand others' intentions regarding me.

I had trouble trusting friendship. I just assumed that other's friendly gestures were empty performances. I had iron walls between me and casual comradery. I hated small talk and new faces. It is a strange concept to me, now, going into social interactions expecting to be rejected. Yet, that was my reality.

I hid my feelings from everyone. (Well, everyone except Tarythe and Ted, who could and can read me like a book.) I would freeze when faced with a situation I didn't anticipate or one where I felt out of my depth. I was not emotionally impulsive and reactions did not come organically. The bigger the feeling, the more time it took me to process, and the tighter the reins I felt against showing it.

It took me a long time to develop true friendships with others, to trust their affection for me and to show my affection for them.

I certainly never believed anyone had romantic feelings for me. Jon cuddled with everyone, so I'd heard. Bryan charmed everyone. Jared flirted with everyone, or at least everyone flirted with him. I could not see myself as an exception, or even worthy of one. I was nothing special and thus dismissed any positive attention as meaningless. Never mind the fact that I didn't actually observe them treating everyone else like that; I just assumed.

I wish I could hear their sides. 

Acknowledging my own bad behavior with Jon, I want to know how the story looks from his point of view. My curiosity is such that I would willingly hear how I went from princess to villain in his tale. 

With Bryan, I always thought there was no attraction on his part. I simply couldn't fathom it. As Tarythe described it, liking Bryan was like having a celebrity crush. Thus, I was at a loss to explain his actions or to know how to act in turn.

With Jared, I thought he had feelings for me. Hoped he did. He gave all the signs, but he never made a move. I blamed myself for being too hard to read, not encouraging enough, but maybe, instead, I had read him all wrong. Maybe to him I was only ever just a friend.

I clearly had zero ability to tell how people saw me or felt about me. I wish I could go back and ask them. Just so I could flesh out the memory in my mind. But how awkward would that be? Hey, did you have feelings for me 20 years ago? Ha!

Maybe that's why I actually managed a relationship with Kevin even back then. He used his words, and I clearly needed it spelled out, literally. He told me how he saw me and how he felt, and I was able to do the same thing. We fell in love over email. 

I do wish, however, that I had seen myself a little more clearly earlier. Perhaps I would have seen others better, too, and believed what they showed me about themselves and not just what they said.

Bipolar II

Nora recently got a diagnosis of Bipolar II, and a lot of what she describes sounds familiar to me. I have always noticed, in fact, that I have good days and bad days, often coinciding with how much the sun shines. On days when I am most productive, I also find myself very irritable. And the more that I learn about the condition, and the more I read my past journals, the more I wonder if the same diagnosis might apply to me. Given its high genetic component, Nora having it is a risk-factor for me.

Reading my old journals, I can definitely see the mood swings. Not bipolar shifts, the huge swings between long bouts of dangerously severe mania and depression. My mood swings were more frequent and less severe and mostly consisted of depressed and functional, but also involved swings in anxiety. Turns out, that's characteristic of Bipolar II. 

I don't ever get manic episodes, but the description of hypomania sounds like the call is coming from inside the house. I am never frenzied or psychotic, but some days I can do all the things. I am fun and adventurous, social and outgoing. I tend to start new hobbies and household projects, spending too much money on supplies. I exercise and diet and get optimistic about weight loss and my appearance, buying toiletries and cute clothes. 

Then, a few days later, reality sets in, and I return the unopened packages.  

The fact that my reality is more closely synonymous with depression is not just sad, but also a potential symptom. A lot of BII is misdiagnosed initially as depression, because for both the baseline is lower than normal. The difference is the cyclical swings into hypomania--days of feeling normal--which isn't part of major depressive disorder.

For most of my life, the symptoms of depression were manageable by a well-timed nap. My performance sometimes suffered, but it was often the anxiety that followed a depressive episode that hurt my college career the most. Even still, when I learned discipline and hard work, I was able to muscle through. When the lows threatened to be lower, friends and exercise pulled me up.

It wasn't until postpartum that I needed medicinal intervention. And, then, boy did I! Severe postpartum depression is common with bipolar, but it was only ever an independent diagnosis for me, not a symptom of something more chronic. I was lucky that the first antidepressant tried worked wonders on me. I went on it after each baby, and two other times. Zoloft is my friend. Generally, SSRIs aren't very effective against bipolar, but that's another way the two subgroups differ: they do work on II. Well, until recently. 

After the recent emotional rollercoaster, I went to my doctor to increase my meds, only to be told that sertraline loses efficacy about my current dosage. There is a family of mood stabilizers (technically antipsychotics) that pair well with antidepressants. Unlike the latter, they can be a short-term solution to a short-term depression. Just enough to raise my baseline to normal. The fact that I have felt both much more energized (I went off caffeine) and slightly more irritable is another indication that I might have more than just depression.

My nightmares are as much a part of my life as daily eating and, sadly, more frequent than showering. I've had them almost every night for over twenty years. Others are always amazed and dismayed to learn this. According to the interwebs, "People with bipolar disorder are more likely to experience nightmares than the general population. These dreams can be disturbing, well-remembered, and cause anxiety, fear, and helplessness." That sounds about right.

Additionally, the fact that the nightmares started when I was nineteen coincides with the average age of mental illness onset. Typically, bipolar is triggered by a traumatic event, whether physical or emotional. Labor is a common cause. I have often wondered what triggered my nightmares. My own theories over the years have basically boiled down to going home for the summer. I left home the same time my dad did, and going home meant facing the divorce and all its implications. It meant dysfunction instead of the warmth and love I had grown accustomed to in Provo. It meant  breaking up with Kevin. It was heartbreak. While the wounds have healed, the nightmares remain.

In general my sleep is not great. I am often exhausted, needing hours more sleep than others just to function. However, at other times, insomnia hits hard. Oddly, the exhaustion is not part of the insomnia. At those times, I just feel like I don't need the sleep. My body and my mind are just unwilling to stop going. I always blamed the fatigue on the nightmares, but if it was in fact the result of a depressive episode, the insomnia may be explained by hypomania. 

There are just so many things that I take for granted that can be explained by one diagnosis. It may be time I talk to a psychiatrist. But for now, I am grateful to a GP who thought to try a different approach with me, which is so far making a difference. 

Friends

 

The Bridge

I went looking for the bridge. And, while I mean that in the most literal sense, it is also an apt metaphor for my state of mind at the time.

Tea Time

I had an amazing weekend back in Provo with some of my best friends of my entire life. I had so much fun with Ted and Tarythe. We revisited old memories and made new ones, meeting his family and hiking Stewart Falls. It was everything I hoped for.

I didn't intend to spend the weekend venting about my pain. But, somehow, when those friends asked how I was, the tears sprang from my eyes and my voice wobbled. Provo just brought back a lot of very complicated emotions. Ones I hadn't dealt with since and ones that I have dealt with continuously throughout my life. 

Turns out, we all felt that way, and being together allowed for some deep catharsis. Tarythe and I cried together in our hotel room. And, more embarrassingly, Emilie, Caitie, Tarythe, and I cried together at lunch. 

I told them how I love Kevin, but it feels like I have to choose between him and the life I want. I told them how he is kind to me, but I feel invisible when he plays computer games. How he is a supportive co-parent, but emotionally avoidant. How he carries his weight around the house, holds down a job, is responsible in his calling, but never does anything with me and rarely with the family. He makes me laugh and matches me intellectually, but he doesn't want more children, and my heart is breaking.

Caitie described his behavior as neglect. I disagree with this. Maybe there is some apathy, definitely distraction. Maybe I would say inattentive, but not neglectful. Maybe it just comes down to having different priorities than I do. He is...differently caring.

The thing is, he has always been this way. Work comes first, always. I am convinced in my soul that had Kevin not been laid off from PWC in 2009, he would never have proposed. He had the ring for five months, but until he no longer had work, he did nothing. It's like he woke up and realized I was there. Then he began working at Dell.

So, Caitie said, the marriage has always been bad. Yes and no. The marriage has never really been different, but I would not say it is bad. There are times when I can handle it. I've explained this multiple times before, so forgive me. I'm trying to sort through a lot of baggage. I imagine many people would envy me this marriage, full of respect and helpfulness, free of violence or anger. I just want more. And I feel horribly guilty for that.

The girls asked what I was going to do about it. Truth be told, I don't know what there is to do. Leaving wouldn't make anything easier. It wouldn't give me the large family I want or the attention I crave. If life were a highway, I would simply take the next U-turn and go back to the exit I missed and go the right way. Time doesn't work like that. I can't undo. 

And I don't know how to move forward.

My friends gave practical advice for prioritizing time together. They talked about attachment styles and emotional intelligence. They talked about making choices and not being a victim, choosing to stay or to go. While I still don't know how to fix the things in my life that hurt, I feel seen and loved and supported.

Back to Provo

The drive back to Provo was a long one. Seven hours, plus. Luckily, with high speeds and good music, I managed to make the best of an otherwise monotonous time. I listed to the soundtrack of my years there: Rascal Flatts, like Matt and Troy; Billy Joel, like Bryan; musicals, like my roommates; and, of course, the mixed CD April made for the very purpose of travelling along I-80 as I was. I sang along with my whole soul.

GPS told me to turn south before reaching Salt Lake, and I wasn't about to object to the scenic route. I left the interstate near Park City, where Kevin and I honeymooned. I drove through Heber and into Provo Canyon.

Then the memories hit.

I used to go to Heber for shakes. I drove past Deer Creek Reservoir where we watched the meteor shower, while Ted played guitar. I passed the turnoffs for South Fork Park, Stewart Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls, places I had gone time after time with people I loved to hike or stargaze. Memory after memory after memory poured over me.

About this time, the song "For Good" began to play from my car's speakers. If you don't know the lyrics, look them up. The song is about best friends saying goodbye to each other for what they think will be the last time and reflecting on how their friendship has shaped them. The song always gets to me, but this time I sobbed, gasping for air as I sang with despair and loss.

These memories from college, these fun adventures and late night bonding, the singing, the cuddling, the loving and laughing--these shaped me more than almost any other events in my life. And I realized that Kevin wasn't part of any of them. And those who had been were no longer salient characters in my life. I began to wonder how I had ended up in the life I live, and how I had ended up married to Kevin,  whose ghost didn't haunt me from those places and times. How did I turn away from the joy and intimacy and fullness of those years? It felt wrong, like a betrayal.

I continued onward, passing the intramural fields where the Akulas played in yellow, with Ted pitching; the Riviera, where we danced in the courtyard and sang on the balcony; and BYU campus with the oh-so familiar mountains in the background. The memories felt clearer to me than my own life, like I had surfaced from a dream, and the last fifteen years weren't real. 

I thought revisiting would bring with it nostalgia for the past--and it did--but it also brought a hefty amount of regret and mourning. I didn't just miss those days, remembering them with fondness. I longed for them back, with a fierceness and desperation that surprised me. I found myself thinking that I would give anything to be back there, with those nights and years and choices still ahead of me. And nothing could ever make that possible.

When I finally got to Ted's office on campus, my eyes were swollen from crying, and I felt raw inside. 

I think that drive to Provo will haunt me for the rest of my life. 

Vulnerability

At the art retreat in June, I met an editor, who approached me about my writing. She asked me to send her some chapters. I finally did so, and received back some incredibly encouraging commentary. She asked for more. Twice. She's now received nine chapters. The last I sent her was over a week ago, and I have yet to hear back. 

I know people get busy. They get distracted. They have different time tables than I. I am not at all put out by any delay on her part. That would be only too hypocritical of me. No, I'm not annoyed. I'm worried. Because, what if she did read it? What if it's bad, and she just doesn't want to say so? Or maybe it's taking so long because of all the editing and comments necessary. I think I'd rather receive a rejection than wait for one.

Sharing my writing is incredibly vulnerable for me. I don't even share it with all of my friends, let alone strangers. I haven't let my siblings read it or even my husband. I'd rather be seen naked. It's less embarrassing. And I'm far from peak physical attractiveness. 

Part of it is that I feel silly for making up stories. Like I got overheard playing "pretend" as a kid by my older siblings. Like my imagination is something I should have outgrown. 

Additionally, it feels presumptuous to think that I could have anything to offer the literary community, that I should want to count myself among their number. I compare myself to the authors I love, and I fall short, even in my own estimation. 

But most of all, my stories are the innermost workings of my soul. They are what I think about when my mind is free. Words feel inadequate to capture what I see and feel in my head. Yet, I try. I try my best. I work hard to attempt to convey what it is about these characters and places that means so much to me. To have that mocked or rejected would be too deep of a criticism for me to handle. 

I know all I did was send an email. But it feels like an act of bravery. 

As Ready as I am Right Now

Believe it or not, but I did actually get into the nursing program this fall. They weren't very on top of things, getting the news out on time, but as someone who has dropped a lot of balls lately, I can't blame them. 

Today, I got my tuberculosis test completed, which is the last of the documentation I needed to gather for official admission. I got CPR certified, updated my vaccinations, submitted to a background check, registered for clinicals, etc. I even took a very lame class on how to succeed in the nursing program. It covered things like managing time and stress, etc., in a very general way. Luckily, I have developed those skills over time myself. I even bought myself a new planner, complete with highlighters and sticky notes.

The next step, then, is nursing school, starting in a month. Do I feel ready? I mean, I'm prepared. I've done all the things. But I still feel totally blind. I don't know what to expect. I wish someone would walk me through what my time will be like for this first semester. I know they'll do that in the first class, and that everyone is as blind as I, but I want to see. To know. I like having a plan and detailing and overthinking every step of the way, even if that plan changes from time to time. 

Nursing was never the plan, until recently. I want to be a labor and delivery nurse, but I also know that hours will be tough. So, maybe I'll start as a school nurse, while my kids are still little. I can even work on furthering my education at the same time. That's the plan, anyway. And that part of the plan scares me a lot less than actually taking the classes to get there. 

One reason for my nervousness is that most of the other students have been practicing CNAs for the last few years at least. While I am licensed, I have never worked in the field. I have never taken blood pressure with a sphygmomanometer (the exam only required digital tests). The most I've done was a weekend of clinicals. I feel like in the practical skills, I will be far behind.

I have to remind myself that I am smart. Not just smart. Really smart. And focused and hard working. I aced my anatomy and physiology courses. I aced microbiology and statistics. My lowest grade going back to school has been an A. I got an almost perfect score on the standardized test. When it comes to the terminology, pharmacology, etc, aspect of nursing, I am going to be ahead of the pack. 

I can do this. I am as ready as I am right now. And I can work with that.