The reasons why surviving cancer is stupid

Today I was working with a particularly difficult client who ended up pulling a chunk of hair from my head with his teeth. This is in addition to the chunk he pulled from my head yesterday, only then he actually bit my scalp which ended up causing hours of pain after the fact. 

Some days I really wonder why I love my job. I must have some special form of Stockholm Syndrome. 

"Who needs chemo when they've got you around?" was my response to the hair removal. And really, I'm sure this kid could scare the pants off of any cancer that dared show it's face. 

I tend to make cancer jokes quite often. It's just normal to me, and it's a big part of who I am. It's like making jokes about people with big feet or a hairy backside. It's just something that is, so why shouldn't we make the best of it? 

Then I went and saw The Fault in Our Stars. Finally, I know. I can't believe it took me this long to go see it. I cried through most of it, and by the end I was convinced that to have cancer and be in love must be the very best way to live. And judging by the bucket loads of tears I cried both during and after the movie, only heaven knows how much I will cry once I actually read the book. 

Most days it's fine that I had cancer, and I can laugh and joke about it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Then sometimes I remember how hard it was, and even though I still wouldn't trade it for anything, I get just a little bit bitter. 

Reason #1:
It was never a question of, "Why me?" in the sense that I had this horrible disease that could potentially kill me. It was more so after everything was said and done that I asked, "Why me? Why do I get to live? Why shouldn't Axle or Will get to live? What am I still doing here if they can't be?" Only God knows the answers to those questions, and I know that that's okay. But as I drove away from the movie theater, the wracking sobs came. I pounded the steering wheel as I yelled my questions to the sky. It's a feeling of guilt, confusion, responsibility, and a little bit of fear. What if I'm not good enough? What if I don't fulfill whatever purpose I was left here to fulfill? This leads me to the next reason for my bitterness...

Reason #2:
"I was supposed to be special!" is a line from the movie. The cancer patient feels gypped for not having the future that was so obviously supposed to happen. Whether you make it through the cancer or not, your future is now given a stigma and and expectation that is actually kind of hard to fulfill. If you don't make it through the cancer, your future which was supposed to be so promising is now stolen from you. If you do make it through, you're obviously supposed to live an extraordinarily amazing life, touch thousands of lives and find the solution to every problem this world has to offer. Because you're a survivor. It's a lot of pressure, and it's just not realistic. Very few of us go on to be national speakers and world wide inspirations, and most end up with a life sort of like mine. Going to work, reading to your parakeet every morning, wondering if you'll ever be able to pay off your student loans, hoping that you might get asked on a date one of these days... nothing big. Because it's not obvious anymore. I'm not bald, and the 60 pounds of muscle mass I lost has all come back. I can do pretty much everything the next 22 year old girl can do. I look normal. I do normal things. I'm no longer told on a daily basis how much of a fighter and an inspiration I am. I'm no longer looked at like I know what it means to live, or to die for that matter. I no longer feel like I make a difference or have much influence on anyone or anything. Wasn't I supposed to be special? 

I know it sounds selfish and a little silly, but that's what's real. 

I used to work at a bakery here in Pocatello, and one day a woman and her husband came in. She was in a wheel chair, and it took me longer than it should have to notice her tufts of wispy hair coming from underneath her beanie, and the way her clothes hung on her frail body. I knew. He so lovingly bent near her side as they decided what to order, and he kissed the top of her head as he rose. Just one bowl of soup and a roll for the both of them to share. I struggled to hold back my tears as I punched numbers into the cash register, but held my composure despite my racing heart and shakiness. As they left the counter I had to swiftly make my way to the back where I broke down sobbing. 

I so badly wanted to say, "I've done it too! I know it's hard. I know it's long. But keep smiling and just cherish every moment. You will be fine. You're not alone. I know." I wanted the counter between us to disappear, maybe hoping it would dissolve the barrier of being strangers in a business transaction. I wanted to give her a big hug, or take her hand, or something! I just wanted her to know that I knew. But how was I supposed to do that?

"Hey, I see you must be undergoing chemotherapy! I had cancer too! Just so you know, I love you and know how you're feeling. It'll all be okay. Can I get you a drink with that?"

No. Bad idea. This is what makes me frustrated. I still have my story. It still happened to me. I fought, learned, grew, and thankfully came out on top. I know that at the time lots of other people were strengthened too, but now what? I just go back to being no one of consequence? I do the hum drum day to day things that apparently my life has become? Is this okay? Aren't I meant for more than this?

I may not be bald anymore, but I'm still fighting to come out on top. Still hoping to make a difference. Still learning and growing. Trying so hard to be amazing, because I know that's what I'm meant to be. Maybe it's that lady's turn to be the one making the difference. In any case, I guess all I can do is keep trying. Isn't that what we're all doing? And I'm learning that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Yours Truly

Disclaimer: Everything negative about my cancer is in this post. I really actually love my cancer. It would take me days to write a post naming all the positive things about it. 

To make a long story long...

On December 31, 2012, I chaperoned a New Years Eve dance for the youth in my church, and at the time, I had no way of knowing how drastically this night would change my life. 

I was just visiting home for the holidays, and since my family had moved there not too long ago, I didn't know anyone in the area. That meant I had no plans for New Years, which meant I could be my sixteen year old brother's chauffeur for the night. I drove my brother to the dance, and we picked up two girls who he had invited. I knew he had a thing for one of them, and it was pretty evident that she liked him too. Ah, young love... what a pain in the neck! But really, I loved hanging out with them. Most of the youth there thought that I was a youth too, so that was awkward. 

At one point during the dance, I pulled my brother out into the hallway and said, "Don't you dare kiss that girl. Ever. If you kiss her, you will end up breaking her heart." He laughed, gave me this, "You're so weird" look, and agreed not to kiss her. 

Well, he kissed her. And she fell for him, pretty blasted hard. He really liked her too, but she was fifteen and he was sixteen. It's not like he was looking for someone to marry, and once he realized how hard she had fallen for him, he ended it. What happened then? Her heart was completely, utterly, super-duper, majorly and horribly broken. 

Ugh! Sometimes it's so hard being right all of the time. 

January 29, 2013 is when she added me on facebook, and we started talking. We talked almost every single day, and I began to know one of the most mature, beautiful, smart, talented, witty, caring, funny, and truest friends I could ever have. I love this girl so much. 

She was also a very sad girl, broken in more ways than one.

We continued to talk almost every day for over a year. I tried to help her with her heart ache over my brother. I was her sound board, and she was mine. We vented to each other about a lot of things, and she told me her deepest darkest secrets. Things she had never told anyone else before. She told me about the man who had sexually abused her when she was five, and how he told her that if she ever told anyone that the devil would come to torture her family right before her eyes. She told me about the night terrors she experienced every night as a result of it. She told me of her fears that he would come find her and hurt her again. She told me about how hard it is for her to trust people, and her fears of being left by those she loves. She told me about her depression and anxiety. She told me about her eating disorder, and her issues with self-image. She told me about her relationships with her family, good and bad. She told me about her disbelief in God, let alone a God who might care about her. She told me about her experimentation with weed and alcohol. She told me about her belly-button piercing she wasn't supposed to get. She told me about her conversations with her therapist. She told me everything. 

I tried to help. I wanted to help, and I did everything I possibly could from 800 miles away. I didn't understand why she would trust me so much, when I'd only met her once. But it didn't matter. I loved her and wanted her to be okay. 

Over that time period, there were a lot of ups and downs. She sent me flowers for Easter, and I still have the note that came with them. We skyped while she was drunk, and it was one of the most entertaining but disconcerting things I've ever witnessed. We went out to breakfast when I visited for Christmas, making it the second time I'd ever seen her in person, and I worried that she just might puke it up later. Sometimes things were up, sometimes they were down. Then for a while, they were up, and I was so happy for her. 

Then things started to get really bad again. Things didn't work out with another boy. She thought she saw the bad man who molested her, and it sent her into a complete panic, bringing back the night terrors. Her eating disorder was getting really out of hand, and she would spend up to six or seven hours exercising. Her relationship with her parents wasn't super great. She was becoming indifferent to everything around her, only ever feeling depressed, anxious, or numb. It was so hard to watch, and I worried about her continuously. 

I went to visit my family in April 2014 for my sister's mission farewell, and we had an open house for people to come say their goodbyes. I invited my friend to the open house, and she met my whole family and was in our home for the first time. I thought it was great! I loved having her there, but she puts on a brave face, and it was actually really hard for her. She stayed longer than anyone else, and for the last hour or so she just laid in my lap and begged me not to leave the next morning. She fell asleep a few times, and I just played with her hair and scratched her back. I felt so guilty for having to leave. 

We have always strived to have family prayer each morning and night, so once the festivities had died down and everyone but my friend had left, my dad asked everyone to gather in the living room for prayer. We all knelt down, and my dad took the opportunity to explain to her how we pray. He told her that first we address Heavenly Father, we thank him for things, we ask him for the things we stand in need of, and then we close in the name of Jesus Christ. And all of our prayers are words that come straight from our hearts rather than repetitions or recitations of memorized verses. I could tell that she was crying during the prayer as she knelt by me. My dad prayed for her. He prayed that she would make it home safely and have comfort, and that she would feel the Lord's love for her. We stood up after praying and I gave her a hug. That's when she kind of lost it. She started sobbing, and I just held her tighter. I didn't know what to do other than just repeat over and over, "You're okay...you're okay," as I stroked her hair. I walked her to the door when she had calmed down a bit, and gave her another hug. She cried some more, and then she left. The look in her eyes before she turned and walked away completely broke my heart. I just wanted to take every pain away from her, wrap her up safely, and put her in my pocket so she could never be hurt again. But all I could do was shut the door, cry, and pray she would be okay. 

My grandparents and I were to leave early the next morning to road trip back to Idaho, but I hopped on facebook for a few minutes before we left. I had two messages. The first one was from her, and it is said:

"Thanks Cheeka. I'm glad I got to see you. Sorry for the waterworks... I cam home and told my dad. It upset me, at the end... the analogy I use is like everyone is at the beach describing how wonderful the sunset is, the colors, the beauty, the love in the sky... but I'm the only person there who is blind... who cannot see. And it's really upsetting and difficult and emotionally not spiffy. How everyone can be so sure that everything is one way when I can't... and I want it so badly. But no matter who hard you want to see, you can't change the fact that your eyes do not work. You can't fix the fact that you're blind."

The second message was from a friend of hers who had also been helping her through a lot of things, and he had recently been messaging me asking for advice on  how to help her because she had told him of her relationship with me. She has a blog where she writes all of the things she doesn't want anyone to read. Most of it is to my brother, since she still struggles with the heart ache he left her with. I only know about the blog; I've never read it. But this friend of hers reads all of her posts, and helps her cope with the emotions she's feeling and writing about. The second message I had that morning was a blog post she had written the night before which her friend had copied and pasted for me to read. It said:

"I went to David's house today. More to see his sister, Hannah. I've had in my mind I'm going to end my life soon, but I really wanted to say goodbye to her. She's helped me so much, and I've kept her up so many nights while crying. It was a party for one of David's sisters, she's going on a mission trip. It was pretty cool :) Congratz to her. 

I had an anxiety attack there. Not bad, not a shut down one. But enough to cut my palms from clenching my hands into fists until my nails bit into my hands. Luckily your inner hands are easy to hide. 

David and I actually talked... which was nice. I can't remember the last time I felt... relief from everything life is. We talked about League of Legends, and a little about music... really nothing in particular came up, but we were talking. And it felt awesome.

Hannah and I chilled out too :) I fell asleep on her at LEAST three times, thankfully dreams don't start until about 90 minutes in. THAT might have been awkward. Everyone was singing and playing music... it was really... nice. And it made me realize how awful my life is, how awful my family is, m y lack of a family, my lack of hope when these people have so much. My lack of the will to try. My disbelief in a God that wouldn't help me when I was little... It hurt. It really hurt. I stayed for a while, longer than I intended because the last thing I wanted was to get away from all these happy people and go home to a room where I'd just sit and cry and probably take out my razors. And the party dies down to the neighbors and the family... and then David's dad came down, and he told me that it was time for the family prayer, and that I was welcomed to it. He first tole me how to pray... and then he did. And I started to cry... because I realized how detached I am from spirituality. How much hate I feel towards an entity I'm not even sure exists... and they were so happy. They were so loving, and they prayed... for me. For me they asked I'd get home safe and feel love, that He'd help me... that I'd feel safe and happy and learn to love God. And I started crying. I wiped my eyes when he finished, but I hugged Hannah before I left and pretty much lost it. His dad asked if I needed any help... if I was okay before I walked out the door. I told him I was fine... I mean what could I say? You know? And walking down the hill to my car the tears started. And as soon as I shut the door to my car, the wracking sobs came. I had to pull over. I couldn't stop crying.

I don't understand how so many people can feel something so strongly, with all their hearts and all their souls and not have any doubt what-so-ever... that they can accept the fact that there's a being that lets things like rape and molestation and terrorism and torture happen every day. I don't understand how people can forgive him... how they can't be mad at him in the first place. I don't understand why, no matter how hard I pray, I don't feel it. I can't feel it. And that makes me sad...

It's like I'm at a beach with friends... and they keep telling me how wonderful the sunset is. And how beautiful it is and how happy they are... and I'm the only person there who is blind. And I know I'll never be able to see. There is no surgery for this. And pretending to see will never make the sunset visible.

I know I'll never be able to feel that relief."

You can imagine how reading this made me want to bawl.

I was happy she had felt that spirit in our home and hadn't wanted to leave it. But it made me incredibly sad that she was so convinced of the impossibility of ever having that happiness and peace for herself. And that she was contemplating killing herself?! I didn't know what to do. I didn't have time to respond to either of the messages. We were late getting on the road as it was. So I left, and just hoped beyond hope that she wouldn't do anything.

I sent her a text that morning that just said, "I love you! Have a great day!" She never responded.

The next morning, after staying in a hotel that night, we were back on the road, and from the moment I woke up I couldn't stop thinking about her. I just knew something wasn't right, so I texted her again, just asking if she was okay. The response was four separate texts very jumbled and not making any sense, but what I got from them was a, "To be honest, no." I asked what was going on, knowing something was really wrong now. She was always so articulate in her writing, that is, unless she was drunk. More jumbled words came back saying it was hard to type, then another message saying "I'm sorry." 

Can you imagine how fast my heart was beating at this point? I was imagining all of the scenarios in which one would kill themselves making it hard to type in the process, and it was scaring the living daylights out of me. I sent her a text telling her to please know how much she meant to me and how beautiful of a future she had to live. I begged her not to do...anything. 

She texted back, "I'm dying."

I sent more texts, asking where she was, begging her to talk to me and tell me what was going on. After a few minutes of no responses, I decided to call her. 

She answered with a, "Hey." When I asked what was going on, she groggily responded that she was sitting in her car and had been there for about two hours with a hose leading from the exhaust pipe into the car. Even though I'd never felt such a feeling of horror and dread, I remained calm, and told her I needed her to get out of the car right away. I told her to reach for the door handle and pull, but she just kept saying, "I don't want to." I could tell she was crying, and we went on like this for about ten to fifteen minutes. I was starting to panic, holding back my sobs, and begging her to get out of the car or at least tell me where she was. Again, "I don't want to."

I've never felt so scared or helpless in my life. I didn't know where she was. I didn't know her parents’ names, or any of their information. I tried to imagine what I would tell the police if I were to hang up and dial 911 right then... "Hi, I have a friend committing suicide right now somewhere in Washington." I thought they might possibly be able to track her phone if I gave them he phone number, but by the time they figured all of that out it might be too late. My best bet was to stay on the phone with her, as I sat scared and helpless in the back seat of my grandparent's truck somewhere in the middle of Oregon. 

I began praying that someone would find her. I've never prayed so hard in my life. I asked her, "What about your mom and dad? What about David? What about Adam? What about me? What about Hailey?" She said none of it mattered anymore. I told her she couldn't do this, that there was a reason I was calling her right then, she wasn't supposed to die yet. I kept repeating, "You can't do this." What I really wanted to do was scream, "Don't you dare think you can die with me on the phone!" It would completely ruin me, that I knew for certain. 

Then I heard voices. I asked her what was going on. Was someone there? Had she turned the radio on? She said someone was there, that they were taking the hose off, they were calling 911. A flood of relief washed over me and I immediately broke down sobbing, thanking Heavenly Father for answering my prayers. 

Up to this point everything she had said was very groggy, slurred, and disjointed. Then, all of the sudden she sounded very alert, saying "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'm driving." My relief turned into confusion. "What do you mean you're driving?! Why are you driving??" She said "Away," and then nothing after that. All I heard for the next ten minutes were noises and voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I kept talking, hoping someone would realize I was on the phone and pick it up. Finally, I figured I'd better just hang up and try to call again. Then someone might answer. 

I tried calling over, and over again for the next twenty minutes, cursing myself for hanging up in the first place. Eventually there was an answer, "Is this Hannah? This is Jimmy, and I'm a paramedic." I asked if she was okay, to which he responded, "Not really, but she will be." He started to explain more to me, but I lost service right then. 

A few hours later I got a text from her saying they had just given her her phone back, and asking if I was on the phone when she crashed. She crashed?! She sent one more text saying that her ankle was broken and she was sorry to have put me through that. Then no responses after that. 

Later I found out that she had started driving away from the people, hoping to get away from them, but being so incapacitated, she crashed right into a tree. Her car was totaled and her ankle was completely mangled. She remembers the airbag, and then she remembers laying on the grass where she began trying to crawl away from the people surrounding her. Then turning and attacking them with her nails. When the paramedics got a hold of her and she had calmed down some, her two requests were that they would fix her ankle, and answer the phone that had been ringing non-stop. She just kept screaming, "Tell Hannah I'm okay!"

After she told me she had crashed, her dad took her phone away, not trusting anyone in her life at this point. What or who could have caused her to take such extreme measures? I really don't blame him for going into Hulk-protect mode. Thankfully, her mom was able to keep me updated about my her condition over facebook and get my number to her so she could call me when she had a chance. 

She had surgery on her ankle where they inserted all sorts of metal to piece her back together, and then she was moved to a psychiatric facility. There, she was finally able to call me and tell me everything that was going on. 

It was so good to talk to her the first night she called me. Then, a few hours after we spoke, she called me again, and this time she was sobbing. It was right before bed, and she was having a really hard time. She was wondering if I would pray for her on the phone. Do you have any idea how happy that made me? How much gratitude I felt in that moment? As little as a step of faith it was, it was there. She was acknowledging that there could be a God, and that He might care and listen to a prayer on her behalf. So I prayed for her, and for all the kids there with her. I thanked Heavenly Father that she was okay, for the people who had found her, and for the people who were helping her now. When the prayer was finished, she asked if she could call and have me pray every night. I wanted to jump into the air and shout, "YES!!!" It was all such a miracle to me! 

I was sitting on a friend's front porch steps during the call, and when I hung up I continued to sit there, praying. My heart felt like it was going to burst! I buried my head in my hands and sobbed tears of joy as I thanked God for touching her heart. 

This scripture in Alma chapter 32 verses 27-28 of the Book of Mormon came to my mind:

"But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.

Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves - It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me." 

Even if her faith wasn't firm, it was planted. She was desiring to believe! It is truly the best miracle I've ever been a part of. 

She called me almost every night while in the psych hospital, except for the nights that there was too much chaos and hysteria caused by the patients there. She would call me during normal calling hours, and then again right before bed so we could pray together. And the nights that she couldn't call me, she would pray on her own. She told me she was considering becoming a Mormon, and that she recognized there might just be a reason that most of the people she has become closest to in the past couple of years are all LDS (Latter-Day-Saints). 

After three crazy (get it? crazy...haha...), long, frustrating weeks in the loony bin, she is now living with her grandparents, and she is happier and more at peace than I have ever known her to be. They're going to get her a dog, she has decorated her room with all of the art she made while in the hospital, and I have sent her a personalized Book of Mormon, a True to the Faith, a For the Strength of Youth, and a scripture and gratitude journal.  So, that about brings us up to date! 

She's awesome. Life is awesome. God is awesome. 

And now that I've typed all of this (it's literally taken me days to type this all out), I just can't believe it. I mean, I can, but... really? This is happening? I had a conversation with someone while they were committing suicide? One of my best friends? And now she's flipped a 180 and believes that there's a God who loves her? It's just all very...surreal. And I'm so grateful. So, so, immensely and eternally grateful. I know things will only go up from here, and there are great things in store for all of us. Things we never expected, and happiness we never knew we could feel. It's a happiness which none of us deserve, but we are all meant to feel. It's beautiful.

And I'm feeling it :)

Happy Hannah

It was the first day of my English 101 class at Riverland Community College, and the phenomenon of being a freshman hadn't really worn off yet. In fact, it was at its peak. I couldn't believe I was in college! I was ready to conquer the world, read every single reading assignment my teachers gave me, and be the best student that college had ever seen. All of which proved to be equally impossible. 

Yet, here I was  playing a get-to-know-you game with my English 101 classmates like I was in third grade all over again. But it was whatever. I went with it. 

The goal was to create an alliteration using your name and an adjective to describe you, then be able to go around the room and be able to remember everyone else's. Some examples might be: Sloppy Sam, Fabulous Frank, Clever Chloe, etc. I probably could have come up with something more creative and original, but the alliteration I used was Happy Hannah. 

I'm a happy person, right? 

Well, mostly. Actually, if someone were to only read this blog and not actually know me, they may think I was a mostly miserable person. My blogs haven't been particularly "happy" lately. Sorry about that. I tend to blog when I'm frustrated. So sue me. 

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was having an absolutely terrible day. It was one of those, "I rolled out of bed on the right side of the bed. It's all of you stupid people who rolled out on the wrong side of the bed! Get out of my way! Can't you do anything right?" kind of days. I was just mad at the world, and I had no good reason. Which made me even more mad, because I know better than that. I needed an attitude adjustment. 

Really I'm sure it didn't seem that bad. I mean, I don't really get mad or take things out on people. It was mostly all just a storm of rage in my head. I hated it. 

It was a Sunday, and all through church I just wanted to bawl my eyes out. I wanted to go home and wallow in my misery and anger. Instead, I decided to make a list of everything I need to start doing on a regular basis to make my life better. It's not that I never do any of these things. I just don't do them regularly like I should. 

So, being the smart, educated, level-headed woman that I am, I created the "HOW TO IMPROVE MY LIFE" list.

• Be in bed by midnight
• Wake up by 8:00
• 30 minutes of daily scripture study
• 30 minutes of daily exercise
• Keep my bedroom clean
• Say my personal morning and night prayers
• Delegate responsibility
• Serve more
• Talk to my family at least once per week
• Make it to the temple at least twice per month

Pretty good list, eh? And I'm doing pretty well! All of these are well on their way to becoming established habits... except for keeping my room clean. I don't know if that will ever happen. 

So, yup. That's it. This post isn't super insightful or uplifting. It's just me trying to be a better person and be happy. I think it's working. 

Yours Truly.

I can't get up without a heart

Is it that wall you’ve built around yourself? I’ve seen that wall. I know that wall so well, and I’ve been pacing outside it for so long. I know every bump, every chip, every hard spot and soft spot. I know where it’s weak and where it’s strong. I know what parts are carefully cleaned and maintained, and what parts are neglected. I know what parts are thicker than others, and what spots are higher than others. I know where others have broken through, because the patch job is a complete mess. I know the spots where you’ve sat on top of that wall and talked to me, telling me about what’s on the other side, and what the wall is made of. And occasionally, while you’ve been distracted, I’ve climbed and I’ve stood on my tip toes to be able to see over the top of that wall for myself. I’ve seen what’s on the other side. I’ve sat there looking at all of it, wishing you would let me into your little kingdom. There are a lot of things on the other side of that wall, not all good but not all bad… and I love them all. I love every single last bit of what’s there. And, whether you know it or not, at some point I accidentally dropped a big chunk of my heart on the other side. It slipped out of my fingers while I was falling in love with you, and you weren’t there to catch it. It’s bruised from falling, and I can feel it hurting. But it’s yours now, and I can’t get it back. 

Metacognition can be a dangerous thing

Writer's Block: "The condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing." 

That definition is according to Google, so it is obviously the most correct definition there is. And if it is correct, then that's what I've got. I really like writing, but having the desire to write is really frustrating if you don't know what to write about.

There's been a lot on my mind lately, but considering the fact that I'm a woman and everything I think is somehow connected to everything else, I wouldn't even know where to begin. You should be grateful that I'm not going to even try. You're welcome. 

However, in thinking about what I've been thinking about, I think I've found a common theme in all of it. The theme is that I very much feel that everything I do is done in some sort of servitude. 

Now, I'm not complaining. Please don't think that. I wouldn't be doing any of what I do if I didn't want to. I like feeling like I can make a difference, and I fully believe that we are put here on earth to help each other. If I were the only person alive, would anything I do in a day matter? Nope. I probably wouldn't even shower as often as I do. Gross...maybe. True...yes. I do what I do for the people I love. Take it or leave it. 

So, this being the case, I'm perfectly fine living a life of servitude. It's what I'm here for. But, I am still human and have the stupid, selfish desire to be appreciated for my life endeavors. My parents and my bishop say they appreciate me... but they have to say those things. I want to feel like I matter to everybody else too, you know? 

I think all of us either knew a kid or we were that kid who was dramatic enough to occasionally tie a handkerchief to the end of a stick with some bread and a Gogurt in it, swing it over their shoulder, and yell to their parents that they were running away. My sister did it enough times that I knew the routine well. I even helped her pack her knapsack a couple of times, then was the one sent to go find her sitting on the curb a few blocks down the street a couple of hours later, bread and Gogurt mostly eaten. 

I know it's stupid, childish, and selfish... but I feel like putting a knapsack together and just running away. I just want to see if anyone would come find me. 

One time, when I was about 9 years old, I went sledding at Clear Lake Park with a bunch of other primary kids. I was playing with another girl who was my age, and I thought we were having a good time. Then some more kids showed up, one of which was also about my age and who I looked to as my best friend. Well, the first girl and I went running over to the second girl, and the first girl said to the second girl, "Oh my gosh, I am so glad you came! I was afraid I was going to be all alone with no one to hang out with!" Yes, I was standing right there. And that's just one of the examples I could give of the many times I felt completely and horribly used as I grew up. 

There's a difference between feeling utilized, and feeling used. The feeling of being utilized is a good feeling. It's a feeling of being useful in your contributions to those around you and society as a whole, and being appreciated for it. But after a while, I think it is easy to start feeling more used than utilized if the appreciation isn't there. 

There is a happy part to this post. Just wait for it. I don't mean for this to be a "wo is me" speech. 

Tonight I had my institute class, and I was reminded of something I tend to forget. I think I get so wrapped up in worrying about everyone else in my life that I forget that I matter. I am a person with strengths and weaknesses like everybody else, but I matter just as much as they do. I am not superior or inferior to a single person I interact with. I am equal to them in worth and potential. 

In my class tonight, we talked about how we tend to feel a great love for the people we serve and are given responsibility for, even if we don't know them that well. And when people don't know us well, we don't really believe that they could actually love us. "You don't even know me. How on earth can you say that you love me?"

On the opposite end of things, we have our Savior who knows us through and through. He knows every little thing about us, good and bad. And we still can't believe that we could be truly loved. "But, you know me. You know all my sins and my weaknesses. You know every bad thought I ever have. You know what I'm bad at. You know how selfish I am. You know that I make lots of stupid choices. You know exactly how many times I've fumbled in the past...and you still love me? More than anyone else ever has or ever will?"

Why don't we just accept that we are loved? Why can't we just accept that through the pure love of Christ, it doesn't matter how well we are or aren't known? And that the atonement makes up for any area that we or those around us may lack, and fills it with love? 

This was my major realization tonight that ties all of this together. I am not just the Lord's servant. Through the atonement, I am His daughter. And you are my brothers and my sisters. And this is just what family does. We serve each other, and we love each other, and whether you say "thank you" or not, I will still keep serving you. That's what I'm here for. 

Yours Truly