All Me.

We'll sit in his office,  

my therapist of course, 

Talking of all the things you've done,

and what it's made me become.

On a morning we're apart,

You over here, and me there.

At home, you fulfilling your itch

the doc, tying my last stitch

They gather to watch me drown

Simultaneously

your innocents that you've proclaimed

has only left me to blame.

We've all watched me lose my mind,

you helped it first hand,

You did your best, but I was lost

Lets end now and cut your costs.

Tired.

At age 11, 

sleepless nights had become a regular occurrence.

So, my mom wasn't surprised when she heard a knock on her door at 1 am.

She was surprised when I opened the door and made eye contact with her.

I hadn't started crying yet,

I knew it was coming though. 

I had been pacing the hallway outside her door for a while,

debating on whether to wake her,

or simply try and go back to bed.

Finally I paused in front of her door,

took a deep breath, 

and tried to think of what I was going to say.

I still had no idea what to say.

I couldn't find the words to express what I was feeling,

I just knew it was intense.

I reached my hand up and knocked slowly, but heavily on her door.

A sleepy

"Come in"

I opened the door,

right as she reached over to turn on her lamp.

I took a step forward into her room,

still desperately searching for the right words.

As I walked in and stood at the base of her bed,

I locked eyes with her

and stopped breathing.

This was absolutely terrifying.

And I know she saw the horror in my eyes

as she lunged forward at me screaming my name.

I tried desperately to remember how to make my lungs move,

I tried to contract or loosen my throat.

My body began to get weak and stiff at the same time

  my mom grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

My lungs finally inhaled like I had been drowning

and my body nearly went limp onto the bed.

My mom helped me lie down

and asked, understandably panicked

"What was that?"
I looked at her

honestly surprised that I wasn't crying

and said 

"I forgot how to breath"

I fell asleep within minutes of laying next to her.

As bad as our relationship was,

I usually fell asleep quickly when near her.

The next morning,

neither of us talked about what had happened.

Actually... we didn't even talk.

I think it freaked both of us out

She watched her daughter physically manifest emotions she couldn't express in words,

her daughter who had always used words,

now, it seemed, didn't have them.

I got ready for school,

and to my surprise when I came up stairs,

she still wasn't ready,

but on the phone.

I knew she was talking about me.

About her crazy emotional daughter.

I remember the air of shame that felt almost palpable.

She took me to school.

Dropped me off.

Still not saying anything.

School was ok.

School was never good, 

you needed to be smart for it to be good.

My teacher slipped me a note to stay in during recess,

this was a normal thing,

So I didn't think much of it.

I knew I was about a million assignments behind.

I figured I was just being disciplined.

Again... not unusual. 

The bell rang for recess,

and everyone went outside,

except me.

I watched my friends eagerly grab stuff to play with,

I watched with gut wrenching envy as I saw my classmates smiling and laughing.

My teacher,

Mrs. Hansen,

asked me to come over to her desk.

I walked over to her,

thinking about the smiles and laughter,

and that in comparison to my night the night before.

Mrs. Hansen looks at me,

and with a concerned look she says

"Your mom told me you forgot how to breathe last night?"

I nodded.

She asked for an explanation.

I shrugged.

She asked again.

I shrugged again.

At an obvious loss she looked down at her hands,

that I was already watching intensely,

We stood there in silence,

as she played with her wedding ring,

and I listened to the laughter and squeals of my classmates at recess. 

 She quietly said

"Hillary, I'm worried"

I shrugged and softly said

"I think I'm tired"

She exhaled, almost in an agitated way and began to say

"yeah, your mom has said you don't sleep well at night,

you should really think about..."

I cut her off,

sternly looking her in the eyes,

"No. I. Am. Tired."

I sat down and started crying.

she put her hand softly on my arm,

I looked back in her eyes and through trying to hold back my sobs

and whispered

"I'm just so tired. when does it stop?"

That was the first time I realized what that engulfing emotion was.

And the first time I recognized pity in someones eyes.

And when I realized there was no answer to
"when does it stop?"

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/