I'm hiding from my parents right now because they want money from me. I'm thinking I'l have to find someplace to be all day tomorrow. Too bad Kidd is closed on Sundays. I may just get ALL KINDS of homework done at the library.

Nights like tonight almost make up for how painful life is.

Tonight I spent some time at Kidd coffee watching handsome young men do magic. Normally, I'm excited about one thing, like hanging out at Kidd coffee, but tonight had three: Kidd coffee, handsome young men, magic. It was very entertaining and I got to meet all kinds of new, interesting people as well as see friends I've already made. I love the way life presents you the opportunity to make strangers into friends. Afterwards, I went out to dinner with Johnna. When we came back, some of the guys were still at the coffee shop and I wanted to stay but I wasn't sure if THEY wanted me to stay, so I left.

So I'm happy. I mean, I'm usually happy, but I'm extra happy right now. I just wish I could rewind and stay there just a little bit longer.

I'll tell you a story from work:

Me: Whats your address?
Customer: something something something, apartment G.
Me: Apt. G?
Customer: G as in 'gorgeous' *wink*

Hahaha.

Oh, and an amazing number of people think I've flirted with them. I think the difference between flirting and genuinely being friendly must not be very clear, because I don't think I've ever "flirted" in my life. It sounds like some kind of awkward word-dance I don't know how to do. Why cant we just say, "I like you and I think you're interesting and I would love to get to know you better?" But then, I'm a pretty direct person. I'm not sure this would work with everyone. I believe there are some social rules I missed out on one day at school, like, "things you don't say to people you don't know well." Nika calls me blunt. I just don't see the point in being anything other than perfectly honest.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, never mind. More importantly, I just realized why the whole, "I like you and I think you're interesting . . . blah blah" thing wouldn't work. People flirt to see if the other person is interested as well. I just assume the other person isn't interested.

After all, I've never dated anyone. I've never held hands. I've never kissed (or anything else, for that matter.) And for most of those things, its not because I don't want to, its because no one is interested in me.

Perhaps one day there will be some guy who will be absolutely satisfied with being my first everything.

But I'm not going to think about that anymore because it makes me grumpy and I was in a good mood just a few minutes ago.

I hope you find happiness as frequently and abundantly as I do. And I hope you can survive the painful parts.

Sarah Jo!

Actions speak louder than words. (Or annals of the fat friend.)

A couple days ago a customer told me I had the most angelic face he had ever seen. Then, as if to emphasize, he repeated it again: I have the face of an angel and I radiate pure joy. Once, when we studied the words of the day, my friend said the definition of effulgent sounded like me. Customers, strangers, and friends tell me that I am the most friendly person they have ever met. I am so nice. I am so joyful. Kind strangers say that I have a beautiful smile and gorgeous hair and shining eyes.

And sometimes, when I look into the mirror, I believe them all. For short moments, I see the glimpse of something beautiful inside me, and all around me.

So why can't I remember these things during those moments when I feel so unpretty. I feel like I will always be the fat friend, the friend that everyone is nice to while they ask the other one on a date. I dont want to tell myself that it will be better later; I want it better now. I want everything else about me to be good enough for someone to want more of me. I've wanted it for so long, its like wanting to see the world or wanting to end world hunger, those things you wish for in a way you think will actually never happen.

So, when people give me those compliments, I say "thank you" and I try to soak them up as long as possible. I let the coolness of the words sink as deep as they will go and I hold onto that feeling until it is enough, but it must be enough, because there might never be more than the kind words of strangers, the distant hope that something else might come along later, something people write songs and stories about. Something I apparently dont deserve.

I was so scared

Something was terribly wrong with my mother. She could barely walk, half bent-over and swaying from side to side. She couldn't talk, mumbling incoherent things and asking questions I didn't understand. She was confused, not understanding how she got to the bathroom or how to walk back down the stairs. Her face was slack, her lips and cheeks and eyes didnt move when she spoke. I was terrified.

So we went to the emergency room tuesday night. Now its Friday, and she is finally coming home. Turns out, she has congestive heart failure and something calld COPD. She must have had these things for awhile. We've been to the emergency room before when her legs have swelled up and she passed out and couldnt wake up, but they just gave her an IV and sent her home. We didnt have insurance, and she was dying. This time, we went to a different hospital, insurance in hand. We got help.

Apparently, she got so bad the last couple days because her lungs were filling up with fluid. If we had waited another day, she would have died in her sleep, suffocating. At the hospital, they pulled bags and bags of fluid out of her. She lost thirty pounds. Now, she'll have to take about four different pills and day and stop smoking.

More than that, she sounds like my mother again. I had assumed that the death of her mother had caused this change in her, making her confused and tired all the time. Suddendly, this woman I've missed is back and I know just how close I came to losing her. I was so, so scared.

Something I just found:

We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.

- Henry Charles Bukowski

Daylight come and me (don't) wan' go home.

If its okay, I would like to say some things here that I cant say to my father:

You make it so I don't want to come home. Do you know that? I try to figure out places to be until you are asleep so you wont ask me for money. You dont listen when I say no. You make me feel guilty and unreasonable. And now, I am having nightmares about you. In my dreams, you steal from me until I am in debt and then say you had no choice. In my dreams, you don't care, and I'm beginning to think that you don't care now. I am trying my best to lay down a foundation for my future, a future where I am not poor, living from paycheck to paycheck, like you. A future where I can take things like toilet paper, running water, and a place to live for granted. I want to know what its like to not appreciate the toilet flushing. Is that wrong of me? But you, you make it so I have to bail you out of jail and pay the rent and the water bill and wonder what will happen next while I try to pay off my credit cards. And I feel guilty about going on a cruise with my friends because I know I cant afford it because of YOU. But more than any of this, I am most troubled by the fact that you make me NOT WANT TO COME HOME. If I cant come home, where can I go? This has always been the placein the world that I feel the most comfortable, even when I dont feel safe, but now I dont like being here. It is like a film on the walls that clings to my skin and gets into my lungs and follows me out the door. What do I do? I love you, but you are making me miserable.

In other news,

I took myself out to dinner tonight (for aforemention reasons) and with my reciept, the server gave me his phone number.

I've been reading some new-age books.

So I've been trying really hard with this whole thing about positive thinking attracting positive energy to your life and negetive thinking attracting negetive energy. I've been thinking positive about things and not focusing on the negetive. I do feel better, most of the time.

But is it okay that I now feel guilty whenever I start thinking negetive thoughts? I think about how I am unhappy, and then I'm feeling unhappy and guilty, and where has that gotten me? I do think that positive thinking will cause me to carry out actions either conciously or subconciously that will work towards my goals, but I don't know about never having negetive feelings. Its not working for me. Instead, they are sort of festering under the surface inside the little bubble I've forced them into. How do I find a balance?

Because I am still unhappy, and I try not to think about it but then I see the youtube videos of all the wls girls or I go to the movies where the seats are almost not wide enough or I worry about how much damage I do to my own furniture simply by sitting on it. Is it okay for me to be upset about these things, or should I pretend that I'm not upset and hope that I eventually believe the lie?

Dwelling on how upset I am will fix nothing, but I cant not cry sometimes. Where do I go from here?

Dream Board

I made a dream board. All the instructions on the internet said to use pictures to represent your dreams, but I like words better than pictures, so thats what I used. The center image should be of yourself or something you enjoy looking at; mine says, "I am happy." surrounded by white space. Nothing else, no conditions, no pretty pictures or fancy caligraphy.

I've been so unhappy lately and it seems that everything I want is just beyond my reach, impossible for me to ever attain. So, here they are, the things that matter most to me, all laid out in plain text on white paper.

The plain piece of paper at the top is for things so great, I would never even dream of them. I thought I should leave room for that.

I'de like to share

something that just came out of me during an IM conversation:

me: I hear all kinds of people that say, "I'll be happy when. . ." It makes me wonder if "when" ever happens, of they spend their whole lives waiting. I could say, "I'll be happy when I'm not fat anymore" or "I'll be happy when I finally move out of my parents house" but that would be many, many unappy days, waiting. And then when I'm not fat anymore, I'll find something else to be miserable about.

So, I'm happy today. And I was yesterday. And I willl be tomorrow.
even when it hurts
even when it takes all my strength

Experience has taught me.

I used to think that if someone took the time to get to know me, they couldn't help but fall in love with me. I believed that there was something inside of me worth loving, no matter what my size. And I thought there was a beauty in my face and voice worth finding, worth holding. I assumed that some man would love to look in my eyes, would want to touch my hair, would want to explore what it meant to be together with me.

I don't think that anymore.

I write bad poetry that makes me feel good.

What I want from you:

You said,
“What do you want from me?”
last Tuesday, after midnight
I didn’t answer you
what do you say to that?
But I’ve had some time to think

I want you free time,
not even all of it
maybe just most of it
we can spend all day doing nothing together

I want your stray thoughts
they should be all for me
not just occasionally
definitely constantly
I want you obsessed with the idea of me

And all your daydreams
should be of you and me
doing “couple things”
making promises
build an imaginary house for us to live in

Give me your future
I’ll plan your destiny
fill every day with me
it will be bright and clean
I claim every tomorrow until one of us forgets to breathe

I want your hands
all over me
or simply clasped in mine
they should belong to me
I will memorize the lines across your fingertips

I want your good intentions
I want your grumpy face
I want your joys and disappointments and secret hopes
I want your babies
I want to see what you are like when you are 83

You said,
“What do you want from me?”
last Tuesday, after midnight
I didn’t answer you
What am I supposed to say?
You don’t want what I want anyway

More complaining from the new, depressed Sarah Jo

I know all I do is complain anymore, but I dont know what else to do. I can talk about all my happy things with other people, but discussing the fact that I'm still miserable and impatient isn't really exciting for anyone. Everytime someone asks me how I am, I just want to tell them that I am one step away from falling apart. But thats not a topic for casual conversation. It reminds me of my customers when I ask them how they are and they say something like, "I'm so bloated, you know how it is." Uh, no I don't and I would rather not know anymore. So instead of sharing it, I write it here.

I don't think my poor mom can handle any more of my tears. She would fix it if she could, but there is nothing she can do but wait with me. It seems everyday is ticking by without my permission. Why should the calendar move when my life has stopped? I am being dragged forward to a future I do not want. If I knew that I would be stuck in this body, just like this, for the rest of my life, I don't know what else I have to look forward to. It would be a miserable, uncomfortable future. I would lumber through, trying unsuccessfully to lose weight and maintain happiness until I died of some co-morbidity, alone. Excellent.

SO, this is what I'm thinking about when I gaze off into space. It is nothing you want to hear about.

Sarah Jo

I have to tell someone.

I wake up to screaming. 4A.M. Chris and Amber were staying at a friends house but must be home now because the screaming is Chris. It's right outside my bedroom door. I flail around in the darkness for my glasses, the light, the deadbolt. I open the door to see Chris turn the corner on his way down the stairs. The baby is screaming in his arms. Anger is in his face.

In the bathroom, Mom is slumped over the toilet, leaning against the wall next to it with her legs limp in front of her. She sways and mumbles. I ask her whats wrong. Nothing, she says. I ask her what drug she is on. Nothing, she mumbles. The screaming starts again, this time from downstairs. I ask mom to get up off the toilet. She sways. I ask mom to get up off the toilet. She mumbles. I beg mom to get up, come downstairs. What is she on? Whats wrong with her? Why is Chris yelling? PLEASE get up.

Finally, finally she stumbles to her feet. She clutches the walls for support. Her feet are akward down the stairs. I stay behind her because I can't catch her if she falls. In the living room, Amber and Kiersten cling to each other on the love seat. They are both staring into the kitchen. Chris is still screaming. He says: Do you even know who I am? Wake up! You have to wake up, John. Do you know who I am? Get up! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

I make it around the corner. Dad is cross legged on the kitchen floor. The barstool is on its side. His wallet is on the counter, contents spilled in all directions. His eyes are unfocused as he bats weakly at Chris' hands. He stares at the floor, closing his eyes again. Chris yells. I tell him to stop. Why is he so upset? Yelling doesn't help the situation. Why is he SO upset?

He came home to find Dad passed out on the kitchen floor. It looked like he fell off the barstool and stayed there on the ground. The back door was open, screen door locked. Chis couldn't get in. He saw Dad on the floor. Banged on the door. Screamed. No response. Chris broke the screen door to get in. Dad was still breathing. He decided to leave Dad on the kitchen floor, let him wake up that way to see what he had done to himself, but the baby was crying.

In my parents room, Kiersten is alone on the bed, waking up. At her feet, there is a tray of food, the remnants of a TV dinner. A plate. A cup. A knife. Kiersten is alone on the bed near a knife and Dad is too far gone to wake up even when his head hits the floor. That is why Chris is so upset. After that, he ran upstairs to find Mom pinned in the space between the toilet and the wall. She was stuck and struggling to come awake because of the yelling.

As he tells me this, Dad begins to realize where he is. He starts yelling back at Chris. He stands up. That tray is now on the counter and Dad tries to grab it, to throw. Mom is screaming. Chris is struggling against my Dad. Amber paces with Kiersten behind me, looking for the phone to call the police. Dad breaks free. He cant get to the tray so he throws the fan. The metal face comes off the front of the fan and the blades thunk rythmically against the metal face. They are still screaming and pushing. Amber still can't find the phone. I run upstairs for mine.

I don't want to call the police. I dont have anymore money to bail Dad out of jail. If he is in jail, he can't work. I can't support the family on my own. I hesitate. Chris has a warrent out for his arrest. Something about the Dog and the kennal he says. I'm sure they would arrest all three of them anyway. Chris has been smoking pot. Mom and Dad are clearly on something.

Downstairs again, Dad is trying to get out the back door. He wants to drive away. I'm scared. I beg Chris to stop screaming at him. Stop provoking him. Leave the room. Go sit down. Go calm the baby. I talk to Dad, he screams at me. I beg him to go to bed, we'll talk about it in the morning. He screams and screams. In the morning, I say, when everyone is awake, we'll talk about whatever is bothering you. Lay down. Go to sleep. Please.

Mom is in the living room trying to get the baby. She starts screaming at Amber. I tell her to go to bed. She can't, she says, Daddy is leaving. No, not leaving, I say, going to bed. Go to bed too. I push her towards the bedroom. I speak in low tones. I agree with everything she says. Anything to get her into the bed.

They are both in the bed now. Dad turns out the light. Mom is sitting up, wobbling again with a ciggerette in her hand. She puts in the ashtray. I close the door. Five minutes later, I go back in. She didnt lay down, she just fell over on top of Dad. I think they'll stay like that for awhile. I take the ashtray and the lighter. I don't want fires tonight.

Chris, Amber, Kiersten and I sit in the living room waiting for our pulses to slow. I think of the song, "Never Going Back to Okay." Eventaully, I decide to go upstairs, but I jump at every sound. It's just the TV. Its just my jewelry falling over from the slamming door. Its just the candle jar falling off the table because of the fan. Its just Kiersten waking up again. Its just the fridge kicking on.

I tell Chris about the song. "Yeah, we're never going back to okay. We're never going back to easy. We're never going back to the way it was." He says it was never okay. It was never easy. I tell him it was, once. Doesnt he remeber being okay? He says we just didn't know we weren't okay. We didnt have anything to compare it to. He's right, of coure. I remember now. More fights. More broken glasses. Police. Homelessness. Fear. I remember these things now. Back and back until there is nothing else to remember. I had hoped Kiersten wouldn't have nights like these to remember.

6AM now. I think of a different song. Julia Nunes. "I'm waking up, to see the sun. Its a light that lets me know a new day's begun. I can leave behind the terrors of my unconcious mind to the sunshine." But its not the terrors of my uncouncious mind keeping me awake tonight. These are real terrors that don't dissapear with the light. They don't fade under scrutiny like so many nightmares.

Already though, the terror of the moment is fading. I tell myself it wasn't so bad. It wasn't so bad. It could have been worse. Its over now. It won't happen again. It wasn't so bad.

We're never going back to okay.

Things I keep doing.

I keep asking myself, Why can't I have it? Have I done something wrong? Am I flawed in some way that deserves punishment? Have I not tried hard enough? Am I not prepared enough?

I keep thinking that if I cry enough, it will stop hurting so much. Like when you feel sick and then feel better after throwing up. Surely I could eventually cry enough tears that the hurt would evaporate from my cheeks. But it doesn't.

I keep waiting for something to change, for today to be better than yesterday, but I'm still always on the edge of tears. I've tried to shut down the non-essential parts of me, shoring up the core so I can survive because this doesn't feel like waiting, it feels like the end. I can't see the future, I only see today.

I keep trying to find other things to look forward to but they are tainted with dissapointment and fear. When school starts in August will there be another classroom with desks too small for me? When I go to the bahamas will I be too worried about how I look in my bathing suit to enjoy the beauty of the ocean? When I graduate, will I move out or stay here waiting, waiting, waiting for something that may never happen?

I keep looking for the part of me that broke so I can try to fix it. I've always been so strong; what happened to me?

I keep praying to a God I'm losing faith in.

I keep looking to the sun for comfort.

I keep pretending that I'm okay because so many people expect me to be.

I keep pushing myself a little further away from those people that expect me to be okay. If they can't understand me now, they will never, never understand.

I keep holding on to the belief that it gets better because that's all I've had my whole life, the broken mantra "It get's better." But it just gets different kinds of worse all the time and after everything I've been though, after everything I've experienced I've let this one thing hurt more than anything and I don't know how to stop it and I can't figure out how to make it better.

And that's what's right with me.

This evening I cooked steaks on the grill with my family.
I planned a cruise to the bahamas with three girls who knew me before I knew who I was.
It was a beautiful, beautiful day.
I have loads of time for reading.
My food is now secure in a freezer that locks.
The baby started calling me "Ra Ra" and seems excited each time she sees me.
After three years, I still like my job.
I graduate in December.
Even though I must wait, gastric bypass surgery will eventually happen.
I have friends who are concerned enough about me to notice I'm not happy, even when I try to pretend otherwise.
Said friends seem to like me even when I'm grumpy. Go figure.
Bella and Edward do eventually end up together, no matter how much book two hurts.
Kaitlyn and I are writing a book and I don't care what happens to it because I so love to write.
Its summer and I therefore have no homework.
My financial aid package covered tuition, and then three more dollars on top of that.
I did by some pretty new clothes.
So you think you can dance is on.
I discovered that I'm a nerdfighter and am therefore not made of cells, tissues, and organs. I am actually completely composed of awesome.
"In your pants" may just be funnier than "Thats what she said." Maybe.
No matter how much I weigh, how much money I make, or how many countries I've seen, I am a person worthy of being loved.
Nearly twenty-two years now and I still think there is a man out there that one day decide he would like to spend the rest of his life with me.
Fruit Punch flavored Crytal Light IS better than Kool-Aid (And I've got a whole box!)
P.F. Changs is like, right down the highway.
I live in a country where food, clean water, electricity, jobs, transportation, housing, health-care, and air conditioning are not only readily available, but actually taken for granted.
My car starts everytime I turn the key, and it takes me where I need to go.
When customers yell at me, my co-workers sneak me sympathy looks and we complain to each other later.
I can still keep thinking of good things, even when I hurt more than I've ever hurt before.
Letters, white space, and punctation create a whole world for me to play in.
I've never kissed, which means I didn't waste it on that guy in eight grade who would have kissed me.
My laundry is all clean and my room smells SO good.
I survived every worst day of my life. There will be more, and I'll survive those too.
I am an impatient, demanding, selfish, blunt, uncompassionate human being and somehow people keep choosing to spend time with me.

So I'm going to try to stop focusing on whats wrong with me and start focusing on whats right with me.