Bullet.

Dating at my age in Utah is humbling.

Not humbling in the sense that I'm sure you're thinking though.

No, I don't have much shame for being single.

I know I'm "still so young."

I know there's "no rush"

It'll happen when it will happen and that's cool with me.

(look at me... accepting God's timing.)

It's humbling in the sense that most guys I date 

are late twenties,  early thirties

and

WITH

OUT

FAIL

 by the second or third, sometimes even the first date

 it gets brought up that recently, 

they "dodged a bullet"

This means that they were serious with a girl,

something happened,

and she went "crazy"

Whether he needed space and she broke down,

Or in a fight she acted "dramatic,"

Or worse,

she was damaged from her past and was still dealing with it.

but man.

did he dodge that bullet.

it was a narrow miss,

and she could have destroyed his life,

But luckily, he made it out!

I. hate. this. conversation.

This conversation is gut wrenching to me.

Not because I don't agree with the guy,

it probably wasn't a good relationship,

but I have been a bullet too. 

I listen to them describe these horrendous sences. 

  These acts of complete hysteria,

and I calmly listen and think,

"Have we dated? I've done all of that"

Ex boyfriends have "dodged" me. 

 I've cried in desperation as someone has needed space.

I've gotten mean in fights.

and we all know I'm still walking around with pain from my past.

I guess I shouldn't care,

and yet I cringe at the idea of my ex's talking about me like that.

I showed them that side of me

because at one point I felt safe with them,

I trusted them,

some I even loved. 

But them seeing me at my worst,

or simply my lowest,

now turns me into a thing that kills?

I struggle hearing guys talk about the 

"red flags"

of their past relationships.

Why are tears warning signs?

Why are disagreements scary?

How are you dealing with your past so well?

 Why is being what I am,

and feeling what I do,

why/how does that turn me into an object (or bullet) at the mercy of circumstance (or gun),

set, aimed, and only purpose is to destroy?

Please,

Better word choice gentlemen.

Ther-rapy

My First therapist was Susan.

Sweet Susan.

She had short dark hair,
like a bad pixie cut.
She was delightfully plump,
and awful barbie pink lipstick
that often would get on her teeth.

I was almost 8 when I first met her.
and 12 when we said goodbye.

She saw me through starting my period,

meeting my biological father,

 and moving between mom's house, grandparent's house, and aunts.

She held my hand through

 not being able to read,

fighting with my mom,

and battling a dangerously low self esteem.

She was with me while I lost people,

and helped me when they came back.

She taught me how to make cup-o-noodles,

and tie a slip knot for bracelets.

She was great. 

and

 I miss her. 

terribly.

I was in 3rd grade the first time I wrote

"Therapist"

under what I wanted to be when I grew up;

I didn't want to be a therapist,

I wanted to be Susan.

With a better hair cut...

and I decided lipstick just wasn't for everyone.

(including me or her)

Now,

I mentioned we said goodbye when I was 12,

but I saw her one more time when I was 14.

I was struggling with 

self esteem,

self harm,

and self image

(ya know... self"ish" teenager stuff)

I sat where I was supposed to,

her in her chair,

me on the couch across from her.

I could hardly look her in the eyes.

halfway through the session she had tears streaming down her face,

she got up and sat next to me on the couch,

put her arm around me

and we both sat there and cried.

She grabbed tissues, one for me, one for her,

looked me in the eyes and said 

"I so badly don't want you to be sad anymore"

We talked a few more minutes,

and agreed that she couldn't be the one to help me anymore.

She punched my arm as I walked out of the office,

and I forcibly laughed through the tears and walked away.

I had aged out of her scope of practice,
 We had grown too close,
And it wasn't ethically sound for me to continue with her.

This absolutely destroys my heart to think about.
The idea that people are that fleeting,
not always by choice,
but worse,
at times it's by necessity.

That at times,
it is necessary,
for the sake of them,
professionally,
personally,
whatever,
to leave.

People can't get too close,
people can't stay too long,
Everyone eventually will say
I'm too much,
I'm too old,
and They "can't."

 Then they say goodbye.

 

expectational

I'm not really a stranger to worrying about expectations.

worrying about whether my expectations are 

too high,

or

too low.

I've been stuck on the idea of just simply expecting,

what is reasonable to be expected. 

Example.

I was 16, 

and absolutely in love with a college boy.

He was 19, lived in a dorm,

and I was up there as much as I could possibly find an excuse for.

I remember stressing to myself

to not expect ANYTHING.

I knew the likely hood of something happening with us was slim,

and if I kept my expectations low,

I wouldn't get my heart TOO broken

anyway.

while up at his dorm,

we'd often wander the halls,

and usually stop at the vending machine.

This vending machine sucked.

it was rare when it'd give you what you'd ordered.

If it gave you anything at all.

once, though,

we ordered a twix,

and guess what it gave us?

twix.

We threw our hands up in the air and cheered,

like we had just won a game 

and the prize was a stuff animal the size of a small car.

But it wasn't.

The machine had just functioned the way it was supposed to.

We had gotten exactly what was reasonable to expect.

Yet we had been trained to be

disappointed, let down, or forgotten

and that that was our reality,

and to be grateful for whatever we got.

And that's how I feel like I'm living my life now.

I'm walking around,

putting my precious quarters, nickles, and dimes

into various relationships, items, and ideas

never. expecting. a. thing.

and cheering when I do get something.

this doesn't feel fair 

 this doesn't feel right

...this isn't how I thought it'd be...

...it's not what I expected...

Angel Mommies

 As you know,

My aunt recently passed away,

 and,

My mother passed away a few years prior.

My aunt passing away has been strange for me,

in the sense that

 it's amazing how much it's made me miss my mom.

Like I just lost her.

again.

 (which I find to be incredibly unfair.

I mean...

I already lost her.

I did these tears.

I did these stomach aches.

I did these panic attacks.

I "shouldn't" have to do them again right?

O Well I guess.

Cause I'm doing it all again)

Anyway.

Back to the point.

At my aunts funeral last month,

Just after the service,

I was holding my little cousin

Ellie

(aka, "L", "Ell-Bell", and my personal favorite "Bella")

We walked outside

following behind the casket.

As they were putting the casket in the hearse,

Bella looked at me and said 

"were are they taking her?"

I forced a smile and said

"to Springville. We're going to go down there too"

 She nodded knowingly and said

"Oh. That's where Angela is."

Before I had a chance to confirm,

she looked right in my eyes and said 

"That's your mom huh?"

I fought back tears and nodded.

Then she laid her head on my shoulder and calmly said

"We both have angel mommies"

I held her a little tighter and felt my heart drop.

Now, before this

The whole week I spent crying whenever I looked at my two other cousins,

Hazen and Corbin,

Because of the eery similarities there seemed to be

with my story,

and theirs.

I honestly hadn't put much heart into Bella yet.

I realize how awful that sounds.

Because she's so young.

But that's why I didn't.

Everyone else seemed to have that covered.

But.

As I held her tighter.

As my heart dropped.

As I thought about my "angel mommy"

I realized,

Ellie and I and the only granddaughters.

and

we. are. motherless. daughters.

While before this moment, 

I thought that my experience of losing my mom

would never correlate to Ellie's,

I've spent the last few days looking at pictures

from both funerals

And

Well

Whether you're 4,

or 20,

Heartache looks the same.

 

 

How we actually feel

Forced smiles for the camera.

 

I've spent countless hours with Bella since the funeral.

We usually sing and dance

[correction, I sing and dance and she giggles]

or color.

But sometimes we cuddle,

and talk about our moms.

Again, 

there are a million differences between our situation,

hers will never be mine,

and mine will never be hers.

but.

We have a connection that no one will understand but us.

Because we are the Ivie granddaughters

and we have angel mommies.

(that "walk on funky clouds")

Forever Young

9.27.13

"Forever Young"

Prom 2013

Age rage?

20-40.

Yeah. 

That's Right.

I threw prom.

It was so much fun, 

and I had an absolute blast.

Thank you to everyone that came,

helped,

and didn't talk me out of it.

I'm already looking forward to my next big dance

April maybe?

(it'll be formal)

Anyway. 

for  everyone whose been wanting pictures,

go to this website.

Love ya!

http://ysaprom.weebly.com/

Pervert.

I was 13.

I was 13 when I was sitting talking to my ballet teacher,

we had a while before class was supposed to start,

and her and I had a great relationship.

We always talked

and could talk about everything.

Friends.

Family.

but most of all...

boys.

We began talking about the boy I liked,

and she (like usual) gushed about her husband. 

Some how it came up how interesting it seemed that different guys

were attracted to different girls.

I remember this like it just happened,

she turned to me and said 

"yeah! some guys are more into pretty faces

and thin peitte bodies,

like my husband.

Then you'll find guys who like curvier girls like you;

unfortunately they tend to be more perverted"

She then back tracked a lot,

making clear that I wasn't fat,

Just significantly bustier than her 

(yes, even at 13)

and that my hips were bigger, 

not in a bad way though.

(and that I too, had a pretty face)

But she never took back the fact that guys attracted to girls,

that look like me,

tend to be perverts. 

This idea has been uncomfortably reinforced with 

"compliments" like:

"You have the natural body of a porn star"

or

"people pay a lot of money to get some of the curves you have"

I usually reply with

"that's the most offensive compliment I've gotten in a while"

They then explain why they're right.

And I stand there...

taking in the idea

once again

That my body is only appealing to a highly sexual mind.

Now,

poor me right?

Who is going to listen to me complain about this,

and take me the least bit serious...

probably no one.

But keep in mind,

after that conversation with my ballet teacher..

I started wearing clothes that were way too big for me,

and usually "boy" clothes.

While I've gotten a bit better,

I'm still really uncomfortable in anything

"figure flattering"

I'm writing all this because I recently stumbled on an ex boyfriends facebook page.

Now, when I say ex... I mean... like years and years and years ago ex.

His profile picture is of him and his new bride;

who is small,

nearly flat chested,

small hips,

and a very pretty face.

When we dated,

 I knew he struggled with an addiction to porn intermittently.

But as I sat there looking at this wedding picture,

I "heard" myself thinking,

"he's finally kicked the addiction.

good for him."

When I said/thought that though,

I was basing that completely on the fact that his wife 

didn't have a body like mine.

He was no longer a pervert.

I've spent most of my life walking around

(like many girls)

Hating my body.

picking apart every possible flaw,

noticing weight that "needed" to be lost, 

and 

 despising each blemish that showed up.

Now imagine that,

while simultaneously cringing whenever someone expresses 

that they like my body at all,

because I automatically think,

"that's because you're a pervert, and only want to have sex"

 

 

 

Funeral.

This post is going to be borderline morbid, 

kinda,

for some.

As you know, this last week my aunt passed away.

and I watched as my cousins, grandparents, and other family members

went through the painful process of planning yet another funeral.

A funeral that was a bit more expected,

but not much more planned for.

I watched my cousins become over whelmed,

when all they wanted to do was sit and grieve.

Planning a funeral is horrible.

There are a million and ten things that have to be done,

all while you're trying to be grateful to everyone who calls or stops by,

when all you truly want to do is lay in bed and cry.

The week of planning the funeral

is the most intense feeling of sadness,

and the busiest week you'll ever experience.

So. 

to avoid that for my family again,

I'm 23, in pretty good health, a safe driver,

and have my funeral planned out.

I have who I want to speak/play some part in the program,

(this is updated as people come and go in my life)

(Brother, Grandpa, Grandma, Dr. C, and a few others)

 

I have my favorite hymns listed to chose from

(Nearer My God to Thee,

Be Still My Soul,

and 

I Know My Redeemer Lives)

I have a list of songs saved that I'd like played/performed/sung;

Examples:

Tangerine: Led Zeppelin

 Golden Slumbers: The Beatles

Look at Me: Damien Rice

Annie's Song: John Denver

Close Your Eyes: Jump Little Children

Smile: Nat King Cole

(This list is actually really really long)

I've talked to a few people about how important it is to me

that my obituary is "real."

I've told them,

"I'm not the best at anything,

I'm not very sweet,

I'm not the greatest,

and not everyone I meet loves me,

So don't say any of that"

(I can't write my own. It'd be too depressing for people to read)

My headstone needs to have my middle name.

 I don't care that it's not legal,

put quotations.

I want to be wearing pearls.

and for heavens sake...

Will someone PLEASE make sure I don't have

a) a uni brow

b) a mustache

and

c) will someone put fake lashes on me?

(we put them on my mom, they looked amazing)

Well, 

I guess you don't even need to come,

You've just read the whole line up!

(there are no plans to die anytime soon.

But after losing my mom unexpectedly,

and working at the hospital and seeing so many unexpected/untimely deaths,

you... I guess just plan more than most)