Today I slept until 11, made pancakes, watched the Women’s World Cup Final, went through some things and packed a bit more, spent way too many hours online and ate Subway with my mom. But isn’t that what summer is for when you’re a full time college student? Is that not what Sundays are for when you’re anyone, at any age? Lazy days.
I always feel I should be doing more.
But I’m learning to appreciate not having to. I’m learning to appreciate lazy days and summer nights. I’m learning to ask less and do more. I’m learning, my God am I learning.
When you grew up like I did, sitting still was not an option. There was always something to be done. If something was clean, it could be cleaner. If it was washed, it could be hung up. If it was not being used, it could be put away. Sitting idle was not something I remember doing often. When we moved in 2002, I remember moving furniture and ridiculously heavy boxes while dad was at work. My mom taught my sister and I that we were always strong enough to do things for ourselves. I would like to think her teachings made me the way I am: strong, independent and so sure that I can do it all on my own. But then I feel I would also blame her for being so headstrong and insisting on pushing others away because I know that I can do it on my own.
I’m the hero of this story, I don’t need to be saved.
I’m outspoken. I’m strong. I’m loud. I’m a bitch. I didn’t use to be this way. I use to be the “good girl”. The quite girl who didn’t cause trouble or stir shit up. The girl who went with the flow and didn’t stand up for what she thought.
College changed me. A lot.
My first year was spent proving that I could move away. My first year of college was spent growing up. Growing out of this quiet small town girl. The problem was, I didn’t know what I was suppose to be growing into.
Year number two was spent making new friends, forming new ideas and making life changes. I transferred back home. Taking a low-blow by feeling like a failure, but knowing the tougher choice was the better one. Springfield held nothing for me, nor had it ever. Second semester started off with new opportunities, Jesus, friends and love.
My third year of college brought heartache and death. After months of fighting for a relationship that was going nowhere, I finally decided to go. And the boy I loved so much didn’t bother to come after me. A head-on collision around the same time took the temporary use of legs from my mother and left the other driver dead on the scene. I walked away with a concussion and a guilty conscious.
I have spent the last nine months recovering from that heartache. Still trying to be “just friends” with someone you loved isn’t an easy task. I’ve also spent the last nine months recovering from that crash, the one that took the quiet, happy-go-lucky girl I use to be away.
I miss her every goddamn day.
But I’ve become stronger. I’ve come to realize the important things in my life: my family, my best friends, my schooling. I have struggled through the last semester and a half, as my memory and thinking skills have been messed up so badly. I have had more emotional breakdowns than I ever had before in the 20 years I had been alive before that crash. I’m not longer the girl who doesn’t cry, I’m now the “sweet girl who seems to get upset real easy”. Every day is a struggle for me. Every single day. But every day is a new day, a day to mold myself into the woman I long to be.
There are still things I hope to find again. The charm bracelet I lost when I was 12, my caring spirit, true love and Jesus. But I’m working on it.