Roots

Today I hit the side of my knee against a desk and it hurt. I thanked a God that I don’t believe in for the pain that radiated out. I could feel the outside of my knee. My nerve damage is healing.

I’ve fallen and I’ve gotten back up. I’ve been cut and I’ve scabbed over. Yet, I couldn’t quite convince myself that my nerves would grow. They are the roots that had been severed. I was completely disconnected from a part of my body for months. I didn’t know I could miss a small circle of skin that seemed too inconsequential until I lost it. But now I have it back and I’m so grateful.

Throughout life, we grow roots in everything we touch, in places we’d never expect. My roots are miles below Uni and wrapped around my house. They are burrowed deep under the rubber base of the Mill Creek Elementary playground and they are nestled against the skin of my friends. They pump nostalgia into my soul as I think of where they still connect me to and tingle as I move about. My roots are my worldly nerves. Each place that my roots reach is like the surface of my skin.

We have so many roots, however, it’s impossible for some not to be broken. We walk too far and they begin to fray like old rope. They snap and we lose touch. When they break it’s like that circle on my knee. You reach to touch it and feel absolutely nothing. No matter how hard you press, the connection’s gone.

When our roots break, it hurts. They are living tissue tying us to something of significance. So, as they snap we feel it. When a friendship ends we can feel the hurt that accompanies it. Eventually, however, we forget. After a month of no feeling on the side of the knee, I forgot until I avidly reached down to touch it or someone else did.

I’ve struggled a lot this year trying to keep my roots thick and healthy, but with all of the work and stress, I’ve felt them fraying. I’ve touched those empty spaces and felt cold. I let myself get too used to that lonely feeling. No more, however, now I’m determined to mend the breaks! I’m going to water them and cover them in plenty of nutritious soil (I’m done drawing out this analogy now).

I’m just saying that even though this online diary of mine is coming to an end, I’m going to keep thinking about what’s important to me. Currently, that is reconnecting with the people I’ve let slip away. As my nerves are healing, so will my roots!

Hoco!

            I love school dances and I know that sounds silly, but they’re fun. They’re a night when we all get together in a room, tell each other we look snazzy, and dance and sing to inappropriate songs. However, as I’ve mentioned, I’m recovering from ACL reconstruction surgery. I was really nervous I was going to have to miss homecoming in addition to having already missed my favorite dance of the year- Howdy Hop. 

In the couple weeks beforehand, I was still struggling to keep my knee stable with each step. I couldn’t turn in a circle without landing in pain. I was so worried I’d miss out on yet another last chance of high school. Thankfully, however, all of my physical therapy was paying off as the dance neared. I bought the cutest romper I’ve ever worn for any dance, I got new gold heels, and I even bought myself new makeup!

I can’t say it was the best dance I’ve ever been to. I still can’t jump or do much on my left leg that I normally would at a dance, but I got to do something I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do. Going from not being able to walk to suddenly dancing with all my closest friends in less than a three-month span was pretty amazing. My knee is far from healed but I feel as though my hope was brought up way higher than before. 

My world is full of a lot of stress and uncertainty currently, so having a night that was all about dressing up and having a good time was a welcome a relief. It’s shocking how therapeutic standing in a hot, dark room, shouting inappropriate lyrics into the air as faculty and parents look on disapprovingly can be. 

That night, with a throbbing knee and a full heart, I teared up in bed thinking how lucky I am to have great, supportive friends. We gathered in my basement and watched Planet Earth II (y’know, as teenagers do) and laughed and talked until it got late. A few girls stayed over, we stayed up together until far after the time change. Then, we rescued a dog in Centennial Park and got donuts in the morning. Senior year isn’t exactly what I was expecting it to be. It’s hard, it’s scary, plus it’s largely devoted to my recovery. But it’s also full of deepening friendships, excitement, and hope. 

Me 'n' My Cute Date

So thanks, homecoming, for reminding me a little extra what I have to look forward to.

Applying to College

In the midst of college applications I am beginning to feel entirely burnt out when it comes to writing. I’ve been trying to write the same application essay for more then two weeks and have barely made a dent in it. The 300 or so words that I have written are okay at best. The thing is, I’m really excited about this school. In fact, I’m more excited about it than anything else going on in my life right now. Plus, I know that it’s important. And yet everytime I open up the doc containing the words for my future, I feel empty. It’s like every ounce of enthusiasm within me has been slowly leaking out over these last months.

I feel like an old-timey doctor has prescribed a good ole bloodletting, y’know get those demons out of my veins, and I’ve just been standing here watching it flow out onto my skin and drip to the floor. But they’re not demons at all. He’s let out my inspiration and passion. Everytime I look at my 300ish words I get stuck.

Who am I? Why do I want to go there? Why do I want this major? I know why, I truly do. I have answers! Yet, everytime I go to write them they turn into bland, robotic statements. The truth is: I love Wisconsin and its glittering snowfalls, I love the thunderous school spirit that their students harbor, I love the beautiful city in which it sits, I love so many things about this school. With their help I can travel the world (I’m most excited about their programs to Tanzania and Spain), study animals, learn a new language, volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, and so many other amazing things. I know that I have a passion and a dream and I want to pursue them. I know that not only is their campus beautiful, but their mission and student culture is too. On their campus I felt invincible, like no matter what I wanted to do this was the place to do it.

So, I know exactly why I want to spend my next four years there. Why can’t I just make my essay individual and eloquent instead of a mess of blocky, uncomfortable sentences. Thank the Good Lord™ for the long weekend.

____________________

P.S. if anyone wants to help me edit it LMK! I could sure use it.

My Life in Chronic Pain

I try my best to conceal the pain in my body, usually by ignoring it or turning it into a joke. I feel like a nuisance when I complain. Pain is as normal to me as breathing, but even so, that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to handle. Pain is still pain even when it’s expected. It’s such a constant force in my life, and there are so many parts to it that I’m frequently nervous that my friends don’t even believe me, they can’t feel it and I’m sure can’t really imagine it. People tend to think that I’m exaggerating, which is really frustrating. Although, I am sure it may sound too crazy to believe to others. So, here’s a glimpse into the absurdity of my broken, pain riddled body:

• My left hip was dislocated at birth and it still commonly pops in and out of place- sometimes it’s not a big deal, other times I can’t walk for hours or days. It’s also just uncomfortable ~all the time.

• When I was two my family was run over by a semi-truck while we were travelling down the highway. My oldest brother sustained a severe concussion and my second oldest brother broke his back in six places. It was unclear if either was going to live at first. In fact, the only reason my second oldest brother beat the odds (those being ~14% chance of survival and ~10% chance of survival without paralysis within that 14%) was because a top spinal surgeon happened to be in the city and volunteered to do the surgery. With all of that happening it was easy to overlook my injuries. They thought I was just shaken up and most of the focus was on them. Four years later we found out that I’d actually broken my back in two places and it had healed incorrectly. As a result, I use the muscles in my back, neck, and jaw incorrectly. This means that my entire back needs constant medical care or the pain becomes too much for me to even move, the same for my neck but it also causes migraines without proper care, and my jaw is numb or in pain all the time and clicks in and out of place of its own whims.

• I’ve gotten migraines since the car accident. If I leave them untreated for too long I begin to lose vision and have difficulty hearing.

• I’ve had my knee pain for as long as I can remember, I’ve never gotten any conclusive diagnosis. My doctors all have their own ideas about it and mainly now just focus on lessening the pain.

• Most recently I tore my ATFL, a small ligament in my right ankle, and my ACL, a large boi ligament in my left knee. I had to get surgeries to correct both and they are still quite painful, my ATFL every once in a while and my ACL almost all the time.

So, yeah, my body basically just sucks at being a body- literally from my head to my ankle and everything in between. Walking hurts. Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. Even laying down hurts. I try not to let it limit me, but sometimes it’s too hard not to let it take over. I’ve been having a few of those days when it doesn’t even seem worth fighting. Pain killers help to ease it but, even then, there’s only so much they can dull. On those days, I’ll probably be distant and quiet, maybe even rude (please don’t be offended it’s so hard to stay positive sometimes). But I have good days too, where I’m just mildly uncomfortable because of a couple of these problems and those days feel like a blessing every time. I usually only get them a couple times a week or less. I try to live those days as fully as I can.

Sorry to complain after starting off by saying I try to avoid it, but my body sucks and that sucks. I’m upset about it. I wish I could live a carefree life but I’ll never get to. It’s always in the back of my mind.

So, please, if someone says something hurts, believe them. Please be kind about injuries, those of us who suffer from them would also much prefer not to!!

Thank God for Animals

         This may come as a shock to many people, given my boisterous nature, but as a young child I was terrified of strangers. I was “chronically shy” as my mom would call me. When the doorbell rang I would scurry behind a chair or my mom’s legs to watch from “safety,” when my family brought me to meet Santa Claus I screamed, cried, and kicked until I could run away and hide. I was scared of everyone, other kids, women, men- especially men with beards. This phase of my life lasted for years. 

I even found talking to my own family troubling. Yet, I babbled to our family dog for hours on end. Everyone else found it endlessly strange that such a scared child never had any issue with animals. I would pick up wild squirrels, coo over enormous dogs, catch and release toads, etc. Where people were endlessly confusing, animals made sense. All that animals want is the affirmation that you care, and they’ll show you that they care right back.

(P.S. This is my childhood good boy, Strider)

My parents noticed my connection to animals from a very young age and decided that it may be the perfect way to help me get through my shyness. My mom began taking me to the dog park with her in early elementary school. She instituted the rule that I couldn’t play with or pet a dog until I found its owner and asked for permission. That way, I had to interact with people- and for those dogs I was very willing. 

Quickly my absurdly large knowledge of dog breeds, facts, and behaviors drew adults towards me. They found my shockingly thoughtful responses to their questions to be quite adorable. I would spend half an hour talking about one person’s dog with them, a total stranger, which no one would have predicted I’d be able to do before then. As the months of dog park visits went on I was picking up on how to talk to people, how to connect, how to not be so scared. My mom even began taking me to pet stores and zoos, so that I could ask questions and get more practice talking to people.

Through all of this I learned that not all people are terrifying. A concept that has helped me leave behind my social anxieties and bond with people. I also still love animals so much that I aspire to become a veterinarian! I really believe that animals are the reason I’m now the outgoing gal you know and love. ;)

BONUS PET PICS (from left to right: Mufasa, Daenerys, and Chief)

  

Teenage Love Story

I’m sure by now most of you have heard me say the name Spencer. For those of you that haven’t- Spencer is my best friend, my “mans,” my companion as we say. So, yeah, he’s my boyfriend. If you know our relationship you know that we are annoyingly PDA, never not talking (shout out to every teacher that’s had to deal with us not-so-slyly texting in class), and basically the same person. We’re always there for each other, always there to listen, to cry, and to laugh, for anything and everything.  

So here’s our little story:

Spence and I have known each other since freshman year. A mutual friend thought we’d ~like like~ each other, or however we would have said that as little freshies, and tried to subtly set us up. Sadly, at the time he was going through deep hardships and we fell out of contact after a few months. When we reconnected in our sophomore year I had just gotten myself out of a terrible situation that I won’t get into too much- but basically I was 15 and stuck in a relationship with a controlling 17 year old guy. I felt exploited and ashamed. I didn’t know how to explain what I’d been going through to anyone. When I couldn’t find it in myself to tell anyone else, Spencer was there

From our first kiss I could feel how much he wanted me to be with him. Which is something I hadn’t experienced in a pure way before. He… just… liked me?? Like my personality?? CRAZY SHIT. But let me tell you, I was digging it. He’s one of the few people I’m entirely myself around.

He and I love to try new food around town, binge watch tv shows, get deep in each other’s hobbies, compete in sports and video games, dance, sing, walk, cook, we even work together over the summers.

 I remember this one night when we built our first blanket fort in my basement and talked for what I’m sure was hours. There was this moment when I was looking at him sleepily smile at me, doing nothing in particular, and I knew I was in love. I was so scared to tell him- what if he didn’t feel the same?? But the way that I felt with him and how he shared every part of himself with me (and the furious encouragements from Kat and Glo) quickly convinced me that I might as well just tell him how I was feeling. SPOILER: he felt the same. He’d just been too nervous to say anything for a couple months beforehand.

I was under the impression that teenage love was puppy love, not real or deep, but this didn’t feel like puppy love to me. It felt like a canyon filled with a golden mist, glowing and mysterious. 

I had assumed it would end eventually, even though I wanted the feeling to last forever. But, luckily, helping him with his algebra changed to calculus and the common app. Meeting his parents grew to hours long conversations with his grandfather. He’s the one that’s taken care of me through both of my surgeries. I’m the one that looks after him while he’s down. And still just holding his hand fills me with warm happiness.

My canyon expanded and a golden river has begun to run with the mist. I know it probably just sounds like a silly youth romance to most of you, but to me it’s a real, deep, true love. The kind that I know, no matter what happens, will be completely unforgettable. The amount of love I hold for him has helped me show love to the other people in my life, including myself. It’s the type of love that makes me write letters, draw him when I’m sketching, call just to hear his voice, and try to tell him every single day that I’m so grateful to have him in my life. Spencer is and always will be my first love. And that’s my teenage love story. 

Favorite Songs

I’ve grown up in a very musically inclined family. Everybody plays an instrument. They all play guitar, Ben, my second oldest brother, also plays the drums, my dad also plays bass, and my mom plays the flute. I was once a skilled violinist before suddenly deciding to quit and selling my violin for a quick $350. I still think it was worth more but that’s neither here nor there. Basically, unlike them, I was never attached to making my own music.

But listening to music- now that’s where I fit in. I’ve always found my emotions to be immediately tied to whatever song is playing. My confidence goes through the roof when Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet plays, seventh grade Jess really tried to model herself after that girl with “big black boots” and “long brown hair” (I’ve since moved past that phase). I’m filled with a longing ambition every time I hear Fast Car by Tracy Chapman, completely ready to hit the open road for a new life. I’m hit with nostalgia and youthful rebellion as soon as Keeping the Faith by Billy Joel kicks it through the radio- I mean who doesn’t relate to those timeless lyrics of “I heard about sex/ But not enough/ I found you could dance/ And still look tough”?

My brother recently asked a room full of family and friends what our favorite songs were. The room was immediately filled with responses. From Europa to Into the Mystic to Last Stand, every single person had an answer except me. “How do you not have a favorite song?” they asked me, “you never stop listening to music.” This should have been a perfect topic for me! I’ve spent the following months trying to figure out what my favorite song is, what is the perfect fit for me? Angel of Sweet Death and the Codeine Scene? Cecelia and the Satellite? Levon? I seem to change my mind every time a different song I like plays. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t have one.

I’ve never been the favorite type anyway. I always said rainbow when asked about my favorite color or “all of them!” when questioned about animals, why would I be any different with music? There are too many amazing songs, each completely unique with its own vibe, its own message, its own emotion. How could I choose? I may have a favorite sad song or pump-up song or love song (and the infinite categories within) but there isn’t one song that reins above all the rest. I think it’s silly to assume people have a favorite and if they say they do I’m not sure I believe that it’s truly their favorite. I think they may have arbitrarily picked a song that they liked at some point and stuck with it, saying that it’s their favorite. Or it's just a song they want to listen to in that moment. There are too many amazing, relatable songs to choose just one!

Although, I’m not them so maybe they really do?