Back to the Past (but looking to the future!)

I first moved out of my parent's house when I was 18 years old. I was still in high school, but thanks to our Alternative High School (which I joined because of my initial Thyroid surgery when I was 16 and the subsequent medical issues) I had finished all of the credits required to graduate by the end of my Junior year. My Senior year, I just worked - first as a waitress at Pizza Hut and then at the Sheriff's Office as a 911 dispatcher. I was making good enough money that I moved into my own little apartment in February of 2003 (the year I graduated), made my car payments, and was really doing great.

Then drama happened, surprise frickin surprise!

I quit my job at the Sheriff's Office because of a case of sexual harassment that went terribly, terribly, wrong. If I had just reported it in the first place instead of trying to handle things on my own... I think my life would have went down a way different course. The older you get, the more you can look back and see those "pivotal moments" where you either chose a certain path or were pushed down it by life's foot. In any case, the shit that hit the fan there spilled over into every other area of my life. I thought I was "in love" with a deputy named Aaron and we had something going on behind the scenes - although that is not the story he told everyone else. Anyway, he quit talking to me and wouldn't look at me because he believed the rumors going around about me.

At that time, I also had a second job as a Clinic Receptionist at our local hospital and my boss hated my guts. To this day, I don't know why she hated me so much - but she made my life a living HELL at work. And to this day, I still think she is Satan.

My best friends - Teresa and Erin - quit talking to me for a few months over the whole ordeal. Mostly because of my own stupidity. I had been caught up in a bad situation and didn't handle it well at all.

Because of the state my life was in and how quickly I shifted from being on top of the world to the very bottom, I was pretty depressed. I screwed up my first semester of college because I missed finals week. All the crap that went down, happened the weekend before I was due to take all of my finals and I ended up sleeping that entire week. I don't remember much of it. I just slept and slept and slept. I can remember waking up and it was pitch black in my house - I didn't know and didn't care if it was day or night. I got a drink of orange juice, used the restroom, and went back to bed. By the time I started pulling myself out of that very dark hole, it was too late to salvage my grades. Although I did pass my Human Growth and Development class with an "A" because it had been a "send home" final that I'd already completed and mailed back.

Anyway, when I finally started coming out of it, I realized that some changes needed to be made. I gave my landlord notice that I was moving and started packing up my shit. Aaron lived right next door and there were countless times I felt him watching me, would look back, only to see his blinds flip up as I was hauling things to my car. But he never did say a word to me after he went off on me that weekend everything came down. I moved home to be with my parents, to let my wounded spirit heal, and take time to figure out what I wanted/needed to do.

Two months after I moved home, I decided that while it had been great, I needed to GET OUT. I was 19 years old and had just had my ass kicked, hard, and handed back. I learned some really tough lessons through that mess, but I don't regret it now because of those lessons learned and because I think that ultimately, if you don't move down the path you're supposed to be on, life - or some element thereof, like people - will give you a shove down the right one.

By this time, I had made peace with Teresa and Erin and everything was fine again with them. Aaron had tried talking to me a few times (after the worst part of the "scandal" was over and my friends were speaking to me again), but I was pretty hurt over how he had treated me and I didn't give him a whole lot of my time. My cousin Sarah, her cousin David, and their friend Stephanie came out for a visit in April that year. By the time they left, I had made my decision that I was going to accept the invitation to stay with them for a while and get the hell out of dodge.

I packed everything I could fit into my little Neon, put my cash in various "stash" places, put my map and directions on the seat next to me - along with other items that I needed for travel. Like music and my cell phone. I gave a hug to my brother, sister, mom, and dad... then I got in my car and took off. My parents beat me to the junction of the highways that lead into town. Heading west there are only two choices and they converge to make a fork - in the middle of that fork there is a big dirt area where truckers often pull over to sleep. As I made the right-hand turn my parents were standing there, arms around one another, waving. I honked and waved until I couldn't see them anymore - then drove through my tears for about an hour. By the time I hit the Utah/Colorado state line, I was feeling more excited than homesick.

I spent two months traveling through California and Oregon. Visiting the various aunts, uncles, cousins, and my great-grandpa that all live out there. I got a job for a while, but then had to take four days off of work while they tested me for Mono. Since I was just a temp, even with a doctor's note, they decided to bring someone else in to fill my position - but it wasn't a big loss to me. I had a savings and I had freedom.

Road-tripping by yourself is a very rewarding experience. I drove roads I never thought I'd be brave enough to conquer. I seen things I had always heard about, but never got to see with my own two eyes - like the Redwood Forest. I discovered that I have an inner grit to do what it takes to make myself happy, successful, and get through whatever comes up.

I have a great fear of driving over bridges. Especially long, long, long, bridges that are very high up. And narrow. For as long as I live, I will never forget how I had to take deep breaths so I wouldn't panic and it was just me and God going over that four mile bridge on my way back to the Oroville/Chico area from Crescent City. I had to pull over when I finally got off the bridge and let the shakes subside before I could go on, but I did it.

Just as fast as I made the decision to pick up and go, it was just as quick that I decided it was time to go back home. And so I did.

I spent the summer with my parents and applied to a college about two hours from home. Much to my surprise, I was accepted. July 23, 2004. My Aunt Chris and Uncle Joe's ten year wedding anniversary, the day I started my first online journal on diary-x, and the day I received confirmation that I had gotten in. A very happy day :).

A month later, I was living in the dorms at MSC, adjusting to college campus life - a world unto it's own. Making new friends, figuring out where my classes were located, and partying - a lot. I had never been a really big party-type person in high school. I was the responsible one, although I did have my moments. But nothing like when I started college.

We'd drive out into the desert at night and get shit-faced under the stars. One of the guys would usually get a fire going and we'd park a vehicle off to the side, running parallel to a sand dune so we could go behind there to pee. Usually there was weed to be had. We'd have a great time and finally pack it in around 4 or 5am - when people were finally sober enough to drive back. Breakfast at the Village Inn and then bed time in the wee hours of dawn.

I screwed that one up by being so party-hardy. I was baby-sitting a lot for my aunt while she finished getting through nursing school, but if I had been doing homework, studying, etc. when I wasn't baby-sitting, instead of partying... then there wouldn't have been a problem.

In any case, I took the second semester off from school that year. I realized I just wasn't ready to "settle down" when I'd finally gotten my first taste of freedom. So I got a Customer Service Rep. job with a big insurance company in town, moved into an adorable little duplex, and continued on with life.

And then... then the accident happened and my life was changed forever. I tried to stay down there, but all of a sudden... the big group of friends and the never-ending party at my house was just stupid. I didn't have the heart for it anymore. So that quit and then I was lonely. Alone with my grief, no one to come home to - just me and an empty house. I figured I needed to be around people I liked and trusted so I accepted my friend Amanda's invite of staying with her and her roommate in an apartment on campus. I had the intention of going back to school that fall so I packed up and moved once again. I lasted until the end of July and then I just... broke.

I knew I needed my family. I knew they needed me, although they never would have asked me to come home. So one night, I packed everything up I could fit into my car (again), gave the rest away to friends, stopped for gas, and drove home. I arrived around 1am and it was a very surprised mom and dad who greeted me in the morning.

And just like that... I was back.

March 23, 2007 will be the two year marker of my brother's death. August 1st will be the two year marker of me moving back to my hometown.

Because of my past failings in school, it was vitally important to me that I get through the MA program and do it well. It was vitally important to me that I pass my state boards for my CNA - although I hadn't even dared dream that I would pass on my first shot. But I did and I feel like I finally did something worthwhile; I'm proud of myself for it.

Because of my past failings in dealing well with men, it was important to me to make myself open up again, trust, and allow myself to love and be loved. Shame on me for thinking a man's hard-on meant that I was touching something other than his lust reflex. And while we're on that subject, WHAT IS WITH my bad luck with lying deputies?! *Note to self: no matter how hot they look in their uniform and no matter how much their tough-guy cop moves might turn you on... STAY AWAY! *ahem* Anyway, I did that and even though it backfired on me, at least I tried again. And I will again... someday.

I've accomplished a lot of things over the past year and a half since I've been home. Some of them, I didn't even realize I needed to do until it was done. I've made peace with a lot of old issues and I've grown up a bit.

But as I lay here on my bed, propped on some pillows, typing this entry tonight... I can't help but wonder about the Big Question: what next?

Have I begun to hold on too closely to my "safety blanket" of home? Of having my parents right there. Of being able to watch out for my sister - as much as I can. Of feeling secure because I'm not out in that big, bad, world by myself anymore. I'm at home, with my loved ones near - both family and friends. Am I not jumping on the boat to get out of here again because I'm terrified of what one phone call and a two hour car ride can do? I had to wait two hours - two pain-filled, confused, scared, shocked, hours - before I could get home the day my brother was killed. Have I subconsciously been thinking I need to stick around to do what I can to keep my family "safe" and a watchful eye on all of them?

These are the kinds of questions running around in my head. It all started with simple, wistful, thoughts on how much easier it had been when I was younger. Then I realized with a start that I am only 3 years older now than I was when I went on my first real adventure, away from home. How on earth is it possible that I feel so much older now, when in reality, it wasn't all that long ago?

The mountains have always soothed me; I was raised in them and they represent home. My beautiful little town is tucked into a valley in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and I've always been surrounded by them.







Is it because of that that I'm having a hard time picking a city and starting the necessary arrangements to move?

I have my state license now for Nursing Assistant and the Medical Assistant program I went through is a nationally accredited program. So I really won't have a problem finding a job pretty much anywhere in the United States.

I don't have all the answers. I don't know why I'm hesitating now that I finally feel like I'm "free" again to GO.

I made peace with my brother a few months before he died and I will always value those months of memories - the laughter, talking, teasing, backgammon tournaments, late-night movies, and yeah... even the getting baked while our parents blissfully slept downstairs. We'd usually sneak out into my sister's room - the little studio apartment attached to the side of our house. But THEN we discovered if you take an empty toilet paper roll, stuff it full of dryer sheets, and blow through that... then the pot smoke smells like laundry coming out the other end. We were all freakin' geniuses I tell ya. Anyway... my dad is the Regional Manager for XYZ Company. The same company that he was a driver for fourteen years. The same company that owns the trash truck that ran my brother over. When I was working there, I was able to bring the company into compliance with DOT regulations and make it as safe as I could through driver education meetings, safety meetings, etc. I feel like I did my part in making sure that what happened to my brother, will never happen to anyone again in that company.

So yeah... I've put a lot of demons to rest, accomplished some personal goals, and most important of all, I got my relationship with Jesus Christ back. I never really "lost" him, but I certainly moved far away from Him there for a while.

I guess I need to do some soul-searching and figure out why the hesitation? Why the stalling? Why the lack of urgency to go try and carve my space in this world out and make my name stand out among the rest?

Maybe I just need to believe in myself, trust that God will keep everyone safe, remember that if He brings you to it - He'll bring you through it, and have faith that my brother is right up there next to Him, keeping an eye out from Heaven. Then perhaps I'd be able to make the decisions that need to be made...



Nearly two years later, and it still hurts. But nearly two years later, and this picture of him that was put into that background... still brings comfort and peace to my heart. I miss him with all my heart and I'll never stop loving him. However, maybe it's time I stop letting the accident overshadow so many different areas of my life.

Is it horrible to think/feel that?